Saint John of God

John, still following the traveler's tracks from afar, had reached Castile. Fatigue overwhelmed him; fed by public charity, he had often struggled to find a piece of black bread, and he had been forced to sleep on the high roads, exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather. How many times had he regretted the tender, multiplied care of the good Thérésa! How many times had he pictured his parents saddened and accusing him of ingratitude! As he moved further away, his thoughts flew toward his paternal home. He felt how weak a child is when the protection of his family is missing; but a sort of fear, of false shame, held him back. If he kept moving forward, it was no longer to satisfy his need to travel, but because he did not dare to retrace his steps. Perhaps it was also necessary for the will of God to be fulfilled, that will which Thérésa had known in her vision.

He was in Oropeza when he was forced to stop. Devoured by hunger, devoid of all resources, he sat down weeping on a fragment of rock. There, he let his head fall between his hands and began to make bitter reflections.

A rough voice pulled him from this state of numbness... He raised his eyes and caught sight of a mayoral, who was observing him attentively. — What are you doing there? asked this man. John frankly recounted his adventure without trying to excuse it. The mayoral reflected for a moment, then he said: — You were very wrong to abandon your family, think of the pain you have caused them. I who love my daughter, my little Mariquita, tenderly, would never console myself if she were taken from me. However, since the harm is done, let us apply a remedy. When a traveler of my acquaintance goes to Portugal, I will entrust him with giving your news to your parents. In the meantime, as you must live honorably, and not as a vagabond, if you want to keep one of my flocks, I will treat you well, on the word of Gonzalès. The child accepted eagerly.

For several years, John practiced this rough trade. Always alone and in the presence of nature, he felt his soul rise, his intelligence expand; often he thought of André, of Thérésa: his dearest hope was to see them again one day, to surprise them with his progress. With the help of a monk who sometimes came to beg at the farm, he had learned to read; and, thanks to the library of the convent of this good religious, he was able to put to good use for his instruction the long hours he spent in the fields. To the graces of childhood had succeeded in him the strength of the adolescent; his stature had developed, his face had taken on a manly character. Gonzalès, satisfied with his excellent conduct and appreciating his sharp intelligence, put him at the head of the farm. John's administration was so good that, after a short time, the mayoral's fortune was considerable.

One day, Gonzalès invited John to follow him into his garden; there he said to him: — I am happy with your care, you have been a faithful servant; I want to reward you worthily by giving you the hand of my gentle Mariquita; her goods will be yours. I am getting old and need nothing more than rest: I will therefore be happy to see my daughter united with an honest man, and, at the same time, to provide you with a well-being that you might perhaps never have obtained through your labors. Instead of welcoming such a brilliant offer with joy, John appeared dismayed. — Oh my master, he replied, I dare not rejoice at your generosity, for I am unworthy of it. What have I done for you to deign to offer me what you have most precious? I have done my duty, that is all. If a poor young man like me aspired to a rich alliance, could one not accuse him of obeying a self-interested calculation? Besides, a secret voice tells me that I must not, now at least, think of marrying; it seems to me that my freedom does not belong to me, that I do not have the right to dispose of it. — You will reflect, resumed Gonzalès with good-naturedness; tomorrow I will ask for your answer, it is impossible that you refuse happiness and fortune.

At night, John, retired to his room, knelt before an image of the Holy Virgin, the only ornament of this modest asylum; his prayer was long and fervent. When he rose, he felt stronger, calmer. — No, he said to himself, I will not abuse the generosity of Gonzalès; later he might perhaps regret his work. I entered his house poor, I will leave it poor. I do not know toward what goal God will guide my steps; but my heart tells me that my trials must not be finished and that I have not sufficiently atoned for my wrongs toward my family.

He then took a resolution that was to spare him the embarrassment of an explanation with Gonzalès; at daybreak, he left the farm without being noticed, and moved away in all haste.

After the first hour of walking, reflection enlightened the fugitive's mind; the horrible phantom of misery rose before his eyes. John felt the need to embrace a new profession, or else to put himself at the service of another mayoral; but what he desired above all was to leave the country so as not to be brought back by gratitude to the house of Gonzalès.

As he entered Oropeza, he caught sight of a company of militiamen who were occupying the main square, where they were performing maneuvers. John approached, and considered these military exercises. The officer, whose troop was not at full strength, thought immediately of acquiring this young villager, who promised to become a vigorous and determined soldier. He called him, and offered him to enlist in the army of H.M. Charles V: — As true as my name is Don Feruz, he said, there will be profit and glory for you in following our banner; for we are going to the siege of Charles-Quint Emperor involved in the wars leading to the destruction of the convent. Fuenterrabía, on the borders of France.

Some of the militiamen who knew John Ciudad and knew what favor he enjoyed with the mayoral, amused themselves quietly at the captain's expense; but what was their astonishment when they heard John answer with gravity that he accepted the proposals of Don Feruz!... Immediately, they had John put on a tunic, and placed a pike in his hands. Henceforth he was in the service of the king.

The life of the camps was then turbulent and dissipated; most of the recruits who made up the armies had pledged their freedom for a little gold; they were generally vagabonds, poor students, unemployed lackeys, or those adventurers like the German reiters or the Italian condottieri; brazen looters, as dangerous to their allies as to their enemies; merciless in victory, but yielding at the first shock of true warriors. Thrown into the midst of these ruffians, John could not escape the pernicious influence of their bad principles. Without imitating their infamous actions, without staining his lips with the same blasphemies, he no longer dared, however, to engage ostensibly in the practices of religion; he hid being an honest man, as one would hide being an assassin. Soon even the conduct of his comrades caused him less vivid horror; in this whirlwind that carried him along, he no longer dared to question himself about the state of his soul. A few more steps, and perhaps he would have fallen into the abyss! A circumstance at once disastrous and happy came to tear him from this peril.

The company lacked provisions; John was sent, as the youngest, to look for some in the neighboring village; he was mounted on a mare recently taken from the French. The animal, recognizing its former home from afar, wanted to return there; the rider resisted; then the mare reared with such fury that John was thrown by her onto a pile of stones. The unfortunate man lost consciousness. Pain finally awakened him, but it was to show him a new danger. The French camp was so close that John could hear the footsteps of the sentinels. He trembled that an enemy might see him; for, bruised as he was, they would not have taken the trouble to take him away, and a lance thrust would have ended his life. How to avoid this imminent peril, since he could not take a step?

At this moment faith flooded him with its rays; it reminded him that the best protection descends from heaven, and that in the absence of men God could help him. Then he addressed a fervent prayer to the Holy Virgin; he had barely finished it when his strength miraculously returned to him; he succeeded in reaching the Spanish entrenchments.

A few steps from there, his constancy was again put to the test. He had been charged with guarding a rich booty that was to be shared among the men of the company. Clever thieves seized the greater part of this deposit; John was accused of having been in collusion with the bandits. From then on, exposed to the contempt of his chiefs, to the hatred of his comrades, and unable, despite his protests, to clear himself of this infamous accusation, he had to leave the service.

The wandering steps of John Ciudad brought him back to the farm of Oropeza. His arrival was the signal for general joy. Gonzalès embraced him tenderly, and renewed his proposals: — Time has not changed me, said this excellent man; I am still ready to give you my daughter with all my goods; reflect maturely, instead of fleeing like a madman. — Why do you tempt me thus with so much generosity? replied John Ciudad sadly. Do you not understand that I am not called here below to enjoy the rest that wealth gives? Whatever my destiny may be, I feel that it is not accomplished. There are in me vague presentiments that agitate me and of which I do not quite understand. Oh my dear master! if I have returned here, it was to see you again, and not to become your heir.

He told the mayoral the circumstances that had followed his departure, and added: — The King of Spain proposes to make war on the Turks in Hungary. Although I have reason to be dissatisfied with military service, however, I would willingly march in the ranks of the soldiers of Christ; it will seem to me, in fighting the enemies of our holy faith, that I am purifying myself of my stains. As much as struggles between Christians are odious, so much is it noble to shed one's blood for the defense of the Church. — Go, my son, cried the mayoral, it is heaven that inspires you! all interests must be silent before such an enterprise. Only, if ever you return to Spain, remember that Gonzalès will always receive you with pleasure under his roof. — My main regret, said John, is that it has not yet been given to me to see my parents again. Several times I have asked travelers to carry my letters to them, but I have received no answer..., and I must still postpone my return to Monte-Mayor! If I escape the dangers of this war, my first care will be to fly toward the places where I was born, to embrace the cherished beings who are undoubtedly waiting for me impatiently... — Will you find them again? said the mayoral, shaking his head. — Oh! do not inspire in me this cruel doubt... You would break all my strength.

The sun was rising radiantly over Monte-Mayor-el-Novo, where silence still reigned. A man dressed in a military tunic, with a long sword hanging from a wide shoulder belt, and holding a gnarled staff in his hand, entered the small town. This man had a tanned, emaciated face covered with scars. Although he appeared extremely tired, he quickened his pace as he approached the secluded street where the house of André Ciudad was located. Suddenly he made a sharp movement and let out a sharp exclamation upon seeing an old man who had stopped to look at him — Uncle Fabricio! he cried. The old man repeated in a tone of astonishment: — Me, your uncle! — Undoubtedly, said the soldier; am I so changed, then, that you do not recognize me? — How! is it you, John?... After so many years! Indeed, you are much changed... But what are you doing here, you wretch? — Can you ask me that?... I come to express my repentance to the tender parents I have offended. The uncle raised his hands to heaven and said: — They are there, now... For a long time they have suffered no more.

John followed the old man's gestures mechanically with his eyes; this news was so overwhelming that he did not seem to have understood it at first. — What are you telling me? he asked. What! my father, my good mother... — Your father and mother have left this world.

Abundant tears flooded John's face, and these broken words escaped from his oppressed chest: — They are dead! and it is I who gave them the fatal blow!... They had showered me with tenderness, and I repaid them with ingratitude!... They counted on me for the relief and joy of their old age, and I fled, taking their happiness with me! I am no longer worthy to see the light of day!

After this explosion of grief, John collected himself a little and asked his uncle to kindly accompany him to the cemetery.

Guided by Fabricio, he soon arrived in front of the simple stone under which the wife of André rested. A crudely traced inscription, half-erased by time, recalled the name of Theresa, the date of her death, and invoked the prayers of Christians for her. Around the modest monument, the grass had grown thick; some wild flowers bent their calyxes toward the wooden fence.

At the sight of this mausoleum, John let out a great cry... His sobs choked him. He beat his chest, bruised his face, called down the rigor of heaven upon his head, and constantly repeated: "It is I... it is I who killed her!... Pardon; pardon!... Oh my mother!... An eternal penance!"

Resolved to mourn this misfortune, or rather this crime, for he considered himself a parricide who had killed his mother through grief, he left his country, went to Andalusia, and hired himself out to a wealthy woman in the territory of Seville as a shepherd. His design was undoubtedly to surrender himself to the counsels of solitude: in the face of the heaven he had outraged, in the face of his soul, which he had forgotten, neglected, lost, he groaned, he wept day and night, all the time that his duty left him free. He sought how he could repair his ingratitude toward God. He already vaguely glimpsed that it would be through the sacrifice of himself for his neighbor, the most visible form that God takes to offer Himself to our love. He obeyed this voice that called him. He set out for Africa, where he wanted to bring aid to Christian slaves, to redeem them if he could. In a hospital where he stopped, he assisted the poor and said loudly "that God would take vengeance on those who took more care of their horses than of the poor and the sick," and made other similar remonstrances.

At Gibraltar, he met a Portuguese gentleman, surrounded by officers of King John III. The deep affliction that could be read on the features of this gentleman caught Ciudad's attention. He approached, and, respectfully greeting the traveler, he said to him: — Lord cavalier, you are being watched:... are you a prisoner? The gentleman, far from being offended by this apparent curiosity, replied in a half-whisper: — Yes, my friend... The king has stripped me of my property and condemned me to exile. I am being taken to Ceuta, on the Barbary coast. It is not my fortune that I regret. I am already old... It would matter little to me to end my days in Portugal or in Africa... But my family has been caught up in my disgrace... My wife, my daughters will perhaps succumb to the attacks of a deadly climate... We are being exiled, and yet I was not guilty! — Console yourself then, my lord. Happy is he who possesses the peace of conscience!

The ship that was to transport Count da Silva being ready to leave Gibraltar, the Portuguese officers ordered the noble old man to follow them, and John to withdraw.

But the latter comte da Silva An exiled Portuguese nobleman whom Jean served in Africa. said with firmness: — Do I not have the right to attach myself to the person of this gentleman? If he deigns to accept me as his servant, I will accompany him to Africa. — Alas! my friend, said Count da Silva in his turn, I possess nothing more... I could not pay you wages. — What does it matter!... At least you will never doubt my zeal.

When the vessel set sail and took the count with his family, it also carried John Ciudad.

Hardly had the exiles touched the soil of Africa when, undermined by misery, exhausted by the excessive heat of the climate, they fell ill one after the other. The fatal consequence of this state of affairs was that the little that had remained of their fortune was soon exhausted. But God, good and merciful, had left John his health and his two arms. Pressed by extreme need, the gentleman one day took him aside and revealed to him all the horror of his position; he ended by saying to him: — If you could resolve to work on the fortifications of Ceuta and share your salary with us, we would be saved... have pity on my wife and my four daughters! John consented to this arrangement, which would have been unacceptable to anyone else. He first exhausted all his resources in order to provide for the needs of his master. Then, not content with watching over the sick man every night, he performed the most tiring work during the entire day; no task discouraged him: he was the one seen first at the port, ready to hire out his arms to unload the ships. If it was necessary to arm himself with a pickaxe and open a road, or work on the ramparts: he gave the laborers an example of ardor. In short, he seemed tireless. One day when John had not found work, he consoled his master and fed him with part of his clothes, which he sold. Despite his numerous occupations, he still found a way to enter the prisons and make the captives hear consoling words. There, seated on the cold stone, beside the suffering, he shed tears with them; his intelligent charity had taught him the art of dressing their wounds. He was for them at once the physician of the soul and the physician of the body.

Count da Silva felt the end of his sufferings approaching. John had not left him for a single moment since he had recognized the gravity of his condition. Taking advantage of a remnant of strength, of a last breath of life, the exile said to his faithful servant: — I want to thank you, you who have been my true friend,... you who have shown me devotion beyond all proof. Before we part, receive my thanks, my blessings. Your share on earth is modest, it will be magnificent in heaven. There, no more distinction of rank or fortune... Brothers, the elect, a God!... Do not worry about the fate of my family... Captain Martinez has informed me that the king deigns to recall it to Portugal and return a portion of its property... If you wish to follow it there, your future will be assured. — No, worthy lord, replied John. This calm is not for me. My trials would be finished too soon. Once already I have refused fortune, and I applaud myself for it. If I were rich or even simply sheltered from need, perhaps I would no longer feel the same commiseration for the sorrows of others. I must live and die poor. — And I, murmured the count, a voice from heaven tells me that you will be one of the most glorious apostles that Spain has ever honored. Yes, you will be great before God and before men!

However, one of his fellow workers having abjured Christianity to become a Muslim, John's confessor took the opportunity to explain to him the danger of living in contact with infidels, and determined him to return to Europe. Yielding to this advice, our Saint returned to Spain.

The ship he was on was caught in such a furious storm, while passing through the Strait of Gibraltar, that they expected nothing but the hour of death. John, attributing this misfortune to his sins, begged the pilot to throw him into the sea to stop the storm; and he had persuaded him so well that they were on the point of doing so, when John, having implored the help of the Blessed Virgin and said an Ave Maria, the storm suddenly subsided.

Having no more means of subsistence, our Saint, when he had landed in Spain, sold paper images and small books, particularly catechisms: when people bought this pious merchandise from him, he would only give it to them after making some exhortation to virtue. One day, as he was going to sell images in a village, Jesus Christ appeared to him in the guise of a little boy, poorly dressed and barefoot; he had compassion on him, loaded him onto his shoulders with his bundle, and carried him, sweating under the weight; so that after having walked a little way, he needed to rest and refresh himself at a fountain that was nearby. He therefore asked the little child to get down, but Jesus took this opportunity to make himself known, showed him an open pomegranate, in the mid Grenade City under Moorish rule of which he was bishop and where he was martyred. dle of which was the figure of the Cross, and said these words: "John of God, Granada will be your cross"; after which he disappeared. The Saint, knowing by this the will of God, went promptly to Granada, rented a small shop under the Elvira gate, and continued to sell his images, until Our Lord made him undertake something else for His glory; which happened some time later.

Doctor John of Avila, so famous for the holiness of his life a nd the emine Jean d'Avila Preacher whose funeral oration left an impression on Francis. nce of his doctrine, was preaching, on the day of Saint Sebastian, in a hermitage dedicated to his honor. John, by a particular disposition of divine Providence, happened to be at his sermon; he felt deeply touched by the word of God, which pierced his heart as happily as the soldiers' arrows had pierced the body of Saint Sebastian; he resolved, on the spot, to suffer all kinds of insults and pains, in imitation of the Saint whose virtues he heard preached. Pressed by extreme regret for his past faults and an ardent desire to endure something to make amends for them, as soon as the preaching was finished, he went out into the street, shouting with all his might: "Mercy, Lord, mercy, to this great sinner who has offended you!" and went thus through the whole city, tearing his hair, striking his face, and rolling in the mud and against the pavement. This made him the object of ridicule for the people and the children, who took him for a madman; indeed, he spared nothing to better lend credit to this opinion. One day he entered the cathedral church, and, throwing himself to the ground, he shouted even louder than before: "Mercy! mercy!" Some pious people, moved by compassion at the sight of such an extraordinary object, believing that he had effectively lost his mind, had him charitably taken to the hospital intended for the insane. John, happy to see himself thus despised, continued to act the madman; so that they thought it necessary to use the most violent remedies on him, such as whipping him every day until he bled. He endured this punishment with admirable patience, and, among his extravagances, he sometimes said: "Strike, strike this rebellious flesh; it is just that it bears the penalty for the evil it has done." He received more than five thousand blows, and they would have continued to mistreat him, had not Father Avila, under whose guidance he was, warned of the cruelty being exercised upon him, made him understand, on behalf of God, that it was time to put an end to his voluntary folly and to employ himself in something more useful for himself and his neighbor.

Upon leaving the hospital, he made the journey to Our Lady of Guadalupe, to give thanks to the most holy Virgin for the favors he had received from her Son through her intercession, and for the dangers he had avoided through her help. On the way, the demon appeared to him in the guise of a nobleman, and presented him with a purse full of money, begging him to accept it to provide for his needs, which were extreme; but the Saint replied that the poverty he had vowed to Jesus, his master, forbade him to accept any money, unless on the condition of distributing it to the priests of the church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, to have masses said there in honor of Mary, Queen of Heaven; the demon disappeared, unable to hear the names of Jesus and Mary. As soon as he could see the church, he prostrated himself on the ground, kissed it several times, and crawled on his knees to the door. Then, redoubling the fervor of his devotion, he went to greet the Blessed Sacrament, and from there to make his prayer in the chapel of the Virgin. As he was reciting the Salve Regina, at these words: "Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us," the veil that covered the image was drawn back to give him the means to see her; the sacristan, having run to the noise the curtain had made, and seeing no one but John of God, took him for a thief and raised his foot to chase him away; but his leg having been suddenly paralyzed, he could only be cured by the prayer of the Blessed one: which made known the merit of his holiness.

Returning from this pious excursion, which he had extended as far as Oropeza to see his former benefactors, and to Baeza to present himself to John of Avila, he began to sell wood at the Granada market that he would cut in a forest, and dedicated the profit he drew from his daily sale to feeding several poor people. A few months later, in 1540, he rented a house at the fish market, not far from the cathedral, to receive poor sick people and the infirm there, and with an alms of three hundred reals that had been given to him by a priest of the royal chapel, he set up forty-six beds, each furnished with a mat, sheets, blankets, and a bolster. Alone, he provided for the multiplied care that all these sick people required, relieving them in their sufferings, preparing their food, and arranging their beds; in a word, he knew how to provide with such intelligence for the pressing needs of the unfortunate whom he had taken in, that the inhabitants of Granada, greatly edified by his zeal, hastened to compete to help him in his charitable enterprise. The archbishop himself, Don Pedro Guerrera, having been informed of everything that was happening, wished to visit the establishment founded by John, and, satisfied with the admirable order with which it was administered, he took this establishment under his protection, gave considerable sums to ensure its stable existence, and, following his example, several wealthy people of the city also endowed the new hospital.

To procure suitable food for the unfortunate sick who filled his house, John, with a basket on his back and a pot on each arm, would walk the streets of Granada crying: 'My brothers, for the love of God, do good to yourselves.'

This new way of asking for alms had the power of a magic wand; so true it is that for most men, personal interest is the motive for even the best actions.

In the course of one of these collections, John was kept for dinner by Don Sebastian Ramirez, Bishop of Tuy, and president of the royal chancery of Granada. The prelate having asked him what his name was, our Blessed one ingenuously replied that the little child who had sent him to Granada had named him John of God, but that as this name could not suit a man as little virtuous as he, he did not dare to bear it.

The b ishop, admir Jean de Dieu Founder of the Hospitaller Order of the same name. ing this profound humility, commanded him to bear it in the future, and to call himself John of God, if he did not wish to disavow the Master he served. 'God forbid, Monseigneur,' replied the Blessed one; 'since it is His will, I am willing, although I am unworthy to be the servant of such a great Master.' And this prelate, having noticed that he wore no other garment than that of the poor man to whom he gave his own, had a tunic of coarse cloth bought for him, with a small cloak that he had him take after blessing it; and, from then on, our Saint never wore any other.

John's solicitude was not limited only to the sick in his hospital; it extended to all the unfortunate he encountered, to all those who solicited his ardent charity. He would strip himself to clothe them, give them all his money, and sometimes even, when he had nothing left to distribute, he would give them a note signed by his hand, which he addressed to a pious person, begging them to help the bearer of the note. Thus, returning one day around noon to his hospital with the bread necessary for his patients' dinner, he found himself surrounded in the street by a group of unemployed workers who begged him to have pity on their deep misery. Deeply moved by the complaints of these poor workers, John of God gave them all the bread he was carrying; and as this relief seemed insufficient to him, he added twelve reals, the only money he had on him. Another time, it was young orphans, covered in disgusting rags, whom he met in a village near Granada, and whose miserable state inspired such deep pity in him that, leading them immediately to a second-hand clothes dealer, he had them entirely dressed. And if these wretches abused the good faith of John of God, if he was warned that his alms were ill-placed, he would reply: "That is not my business; what I give, I always do for the love of God." He sought out the "shamefaced poor" everywhere and went to bring them consolation in the places where they hid; or else, every evening at nightfall, he would walk around his hospital, and he often found honest people of various conditions waiting for him aside to confide their solitary poverty to him. Sometimes it was a town bourgeois involved in a lawsuit that the judge's avarice made interminable, who received the money necessary to end the trial; sometimes it was a young girl from a noble family who lacked a dowry to enter religious life, and to whom John of God opened the doors of a monastery; sometimes it was a poor widow who could not pay her rent, or a peasant, ruined by a bad harvest, who could not pay his dues, and both would leave satisfied. There was even the indebted soldier whose expenses he paid, and the poor student whom he helped at home. Another very difficult work, the conversion of debauched women and girls, also excited his zeal. At first, he stood in the vicinity of a disreputable neighborhood, stopped all those who were going there, and, throwing himself at their knees, begged them to renounce the design that led them to such a place. If he persuaded the majority, he was also often booed, pushed away, and even insulted; nevertheless, he courageously continued this charitable practice, and later, when he no longer had anything to fear from public opinion, he dared to enter the houses where these unfortunate sinners practiced their infamous trade; he presented himself with a crucifix in his hand, and spoke to them with such vehemence about the judgments of God that he forced them to blush for their state and to abandon it. Then he would feed them to prevent them from falling back into disorder, then place them in some convent, or sometimes marry them off. But this work offered great difficulties, and John of God experienced frequent disappointments. Once, four women having asked him to take them away from the scene of their disorders in order to convert more easily, he took them to Toledo and rented horses to provide them with more comfortable transport, while he and his companion followed on foot. When they arrived, three of these women disappeared, and only one persevered in her pious project; and as John of God's companion complained of having made a useless journey, he replied: "We will have gained much if, through our care, we can save one soul"; then he added: "If we were sent four loads of fish from the port of Motril for the hospital, and three were found spoiled, would we not be very satisfied, however, to receive one load of good fish?" Young children also had a share in his solicitude; for, having learned that a little girl, born only a few days before, was left an orphan and had no one who wanted to take care of her, he immediately went to the scene, carried the child in his robe, and put her out to nurse in the village of Gavia, near Granada. The nurse not having met John of God's expectations, he looked for another more careful one and continued to oversee the education of this poor little orphan, named Geneva Pulida. He did even more, and entrusting an honest merchant with a sum of fifty ducats so that he could make them prosper in his business for the benefit of his protégée, he was able to marry her off and thus provide her with a very advantageous establishment. Finally, his charity was so vast that it even included the dead. While making his usual collection, he crossed a poor and deserted quarter of Granada and encountered the corpse of an unfortunate man lying abandoned on the public road, without a shroud and without burial. Heartbroken by such a spectacle, he ran to a rich person and begged him to give him the sum necessary to bury this dead body; having received only a dry answer, he returned to the corpse, which he loaded onto his shoulders, and came to deposit it on the threshold of this merciless rich man, saying to him: "Since you have the means that I do not have to render the last duties to this dead man, who is your brother as much as mine, I conjure you to do so in the name of God, or else I will leave him here." These words, and especially the energetic action that accompanied them, terrified the person to whom John was speaking to such an extent that he obtained a large alms to properly bury the poor unfortunate whose mortal remains he had picked up. All the hagiographers who have written the life of Saint John of God say that, like a new Tobias, he received on this occasion a sensible testimony from God, and they report that, a few days after the preceding event, John having found the body of an unfortunate man on the pavement, noticed that he was still breathing. He carried him gently to his hospital, placed him in a bed, and as he religiously kissed the feet of this dying man, after having washed them, he received a divine light that made him see on these feet the holy stigmata of the crucifixion all shining with light. He then recognized that it was Jesus Christ whose feet he had just washed, and immediately the divine Redeemer said to him: "John, the good you do to the poor is done to me; it is I who receive the alms you give them, who covers myself with the clothes you dress them in, and you wash my feet as many times as you accomplish this charitable care towards a poor person." At these words, the sick man disappeared, and John remained with his soul penetrated by such a celestial joy, by such a vivid desire to relieve his neighbor, that a fire having broken out at the great hospital of Granada, he was seen rushing several times into the middle of the flames to snatch a large number of patients from death. Enveloped on all sides by the fire that had transformed the hospital buildings into a burning furnace, he remained there for more than half an hour, so that for a moment it was believed that he had perished as a victim of his devotion; and when he reappeared, no burn was found on him other than that of his eyebrows.

Despite the time he spent in the accomplishment of all these good works, he nevertheless made a collection every day through the streets of Granada, and this collection was even more for him an occasion to show his patience and his humility. One day as he was passing through Gomelez Street, he was pushed by the crowd in front of a nobleman who was walking up the street. John of God hastened to move aside to give way to this nobleman; but in his haste, a large basket he was carrying on his arm caught the gentleman's cloak and pulled it off his shoulder. The latter rudely addressed the miserable stranger in front of him; but his anger became more intense when John of God said to him, following his custom of expressing himself: "Pardon, my brother." Then he gave a slap to the audacious man who treated him so familiarly; and as he received no excuses, and John replied to him: "I well deserved it, you can give me a second one," he signaled to his valets to punish this insolent and rude man. The valets hastened to rain blows on the one their master had designated, when an honorable man from the neighborhood ran up and pronounced the name of John of God. At this name, venerated throughout Granada, the nobleman turned around, stunned and dismayed; he wanted to throw himself at John's knees, who raised him up while embracing him, and they parted by asking each other for forgiveness. The next day, John of God received an invitation to dinner from this gentleman, who also sent him fifty gold crowns.

Another day as he was crossing the courtyard of the old Inquisition palace, a lackey pushed him abruptly into a basin full of water, and he came out without showing the slightest emotion, without giving the slightest sign of discontent. In another circumstance, a man having thrown a stone at his face, he excused him by saying that he could well forgive this man a single offense, he who had so many to be forgiven for before God. He finally endured with the greatest calm the outrageous words of those who refused to participate in his collection; but the whole person of John of God breathed a virtue so high, so venerable, that most often he would bend under the weight of the alms; then he would return very late to his hospital, and although he was overwhelmed with fatigue, he would spend part of the night at the bedside of the sick, entertaining each one in particular, lavishing them with consolation, showing them, in a word, the tenderest interest. Without credit and without authority, possessing neither goods nor income, he was alone in worrying about the means to provide the necessary relief to the unfortunate who flocked in such great numbers to his hospital that three times it had to be transferred to larger buildings. Following one of these translations, he had even gone to Valladolid, where the court of Spain was located, to obtain help, and, welcomed very favorably, he received abundant alms from the infants of Spain and the lords who accompanied them.

But his charity, unable to bear the sight of the unfortunate without assisting them, distributed so liberally everything that was given to him that he had, in a short time, in Valladolid, almost as many shamefaced poor to feed as he had in Granada. And as his companion pointed out to him that he should reserve this money for his hospital: "My brother," he said to him, "whether one gives here or in Granada, it is always giving for God, for He is in all places and in all the poor."

This feeling of compassion that he had for others did not extend to himself, and, if he was so gentle toward his neighbor, he was extremely severe toward his own body. He did everything possible to put the sick to bed softly and at their ease; as for himself, he had only a mat and a stone for a bed and a bolster. All his clothing consisted of a tunic of coarse cloth, and he never used linen or any fine fabric; he always went barefoot and bareheaded, whatever the weather. His ordinary food was only a few vegetables; and he never ate more than one kind at a meal; and, as for Fridays, he always spent them on bread and water only. In a word, he treated his body like a slave to whom, according to the word of the Wise Man, after bread, one must not spare discipline or work. That is why he did not spare it this kind of mortification; he did not cease striking himself until blood flowed from his body in abundance.

These were his exterior exercises: they did not deprive him of the interior ones, with which he occupied himself for entire nights. He employed in prayer all the time he had left after he had assisted the sick, and when sleep pressed him, he would say aloud, to wake himself: "Ah! how unworthy it is for one who wishes to serve God to think of sleeping." His fervor, during his prayers, appeared by the tears that flowed from his eyes and by the extraordinary splendor that shone upon his face.

Such happy progress was soon thwarted by the common enemy of the salvation of men, for he attacked the servant of God by all sorts of ways, and, firstly, by the debauched women whom he had withdrawn from vice. Abusing his kindness, they insulted him ceaselessly with words full of outrage, and called him a hypocrite, a bigot, when they did not have what they asked for at their whim; but the Saint only laughed at it, and he was so persuaded that they were doing him justice, that one time he gave two reals to one of these creatures, so that she would say aloud, in the middle of the street, the insults that she said to him in private. And an honest man, taking his side one day, the Blessed one begged him not to do so: "I conjure you by charity," he said to him, "to let them be; they know me better than you, and they know that I am the wickedest man in the world."

Finally, the demon, seeing that he could do nothing through men, wanted to attack him by himself. Indeed, one night when the servant of God was at his prayer, he appeared to him in a hideous form that threw fire from its mouth, and mistreated him so cruelly that the brothers, running to the noise, found him all tearful, weary and dejected, and crying out, his eyes fixed on a crucifix: "Jesus, deliver me from Satan! Jesus, be with me!" A short time later, he returned again to his room, in the figure of a young girl; but the Saint, recognizing by her answers who it was, invoked the name of Jesus and made the phantom vanish. Another time he took the appearance of a poor man who was asking for alms; but the blessed John refused to give it to him, unless he asked for it for the love of God; the demon dealt him such a rude blow against his stomach that it made him recoil very far. In a word, he persecuted him so much that the Saint was sometimes eight days, sometimes a month, recovering from the blows he had received from him.

But if God, to test the virtue of his servant, allowed him to be afflicted in this way, He did not fail to console him in many ways, through particular graces and favors, and especially through a miraculous abundance of alms for the maintenance of his poor. One day, John of God met Don Pedro Henriquez, Marquis of Tarisa, who was gambling with other lords; they all gave him, as alms, up to twenty-five ducats. In the evening, the Marquis went to the hospital in disguise, and, pretending to be a poor gentleman who had fallen into need, he begged him to have pity on him and give him help. The Saint, touched with compassion, said to him: "Hope in Him who makes no one despair, and in whom the most desperate find their consolation and the remedy for their misfortunes: here is what has just been given to me"; and he actually gave him twenty-five ducats. Henriquez received them and went to show them to the other lords; the next day, he returned to see the Saint and returned the twenty-five ducats to him; he also gave him one hundred and fifty gold crowns, and had one hundred and fifty loaves of bread, four sheep, and eight chickens sent to him, and ordered his steward to have this provision given to him every day as long as he remained in Granada.

He also had the gift of prophecy, whether to discover present secrets or to foresee the future: for he declared in private to several people the enormous sins they were hiding while confessing, which served for their perfect conversion. Being on his deathbed, he saw with the eyes of his spirit a poor weaver who was about to hang himself from a tree in his garden: the Saint asked for his habit, put it on, ran to the aid of this wretch, and delivered him. Before his death, he predicted that several people, full of zeal for the service of the sick, would establish, following his example, a congregation in the world that would devote itself to this ministry: and this has been seen to be accomplished through the care of Pope Paul V, who erected his Order into a true cong regat Ordre Religious hospital order founded on the example of John of God. ion under the rule of Saint Augustine; these religious bind themselves, in addition to the three ordinary vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty, to a fourth: hospitality toward the poor sick; which Pope Pius V had already granted for Spain by a Bull of January 4, 1572.

It is also a particular grace, the care with which Divine Providence exalted him when he humbled himself, or when he exposed himself to contempt, or when his enemies wanted to overwhelm him. Here is another example: He was accused before the Archbishop of Granada of keeping idlers and people of bad character in his hospital who were eating the bread of the poor; the Archbishop had him called so that he could justify himself. The Saint obeyed, and, going to find the prelate, told him in the most natural tone in the world that he did not know anyone in the hospital who was not of good character, and that he alone was so useless and so vicious that he did not deserve to lodge there. This humility so charmed the Archbishop that he said these words to him: "Brother John of God, govern your house as you see fit, I give you the power to do so; and, for my part, I rely entirely on you."

Besides all the graces of which we have spoken, Our Lord was pleased to honor him several times with His sensible presence. As he was praying one day before the crucifix in the church of Our Lady, it seemed to him that he saw Jesus Christ, accompanied by the Blessed Virgin and Saint John the Evangelist; the Blessed Virgin, coming to him with a crown of thorns in her hand, placed it forcefully on his head, saying to him: "John, it is through thorns and sufferings that you must merit the crown that my Son reserves for you in heaven." And, at the same time, he felt very sharp pains; but his love made him answer: "I will receive from your loving hand these thorns and these sufferings as beautiful flowers and very pleasant roses."

But so many labors, joined to the harsh mortifications that John of God imposed upon himself, soon exhausted his strength, and an act of that ardent charity which consumed him came to hasten his already premature end. During the winter of 1550, the Xenil, which flows under the walls of Granada, was rolling a large quantity of wood in its torrential waters, swollen by the melting snows of the Sierra Nevada. John, wishing to use this wood for the service of his hospital, entered the river, and the cold he felt caused such a violent shivering that he had to be pulled from the water; but, noticing that a servant of the hospital had advanced imprudently into the middle of the torrent, he rushed back into the Xenil to try to snatch from death this young man, who disappeared, carried away by the currents. Desperate at not having been able to succeed in his charitable design, John of God fell into a deep despondency, and his indisposition made great progress in a few days, because he went to all those to whom he was a debtor in order to settle his accounts. Soon he became so seriously ill that, despite the devoted care of a virtuous lady named Anne Ossorio, who had wanted to receive him in her palace so that he would be better assisted in his illness, his condition worsened so much that there was no longer any hope of saving him. Immediately, the court and the nobility were seen crowding around the bed of John of God; the magistrates of Granada rushed to ask him to give his blessing to their city, and the Archbishop, Don Pedro Guerrera, came to administer himself to this indigent peddler of books and images, this humble wood merchant, this poor soldier, this obscure man finally, whom Christian charity had transformed and of whom it had made an illustrious saint.

The Archbishop himself wanted to give him the last Sacraments: he confessed him, and, at the end of the mass he said in the sick man's room, he gave him communion, and, some time later, gave him Extreme Unction. When he asked him if he had anything on his heart, the Saint gave him this beautiful answer: "There are only three things that give me anxiety: the first, that having received many graces from God, I have not recognized them, having rendered Him only very small services; the second, that the women I have withdrawn from vice and the bashful poor may suffer much after my death; and the third, that those to whom I owe may not be paid for what they lent me to feed the poor." The Archbishop, melting into tears, exhorted him to trust in the mercy of God, and promised him to be the protector of his poor and to pay the debts of the hospital.

Finally, the Blessed one, feeling the hour of his death approaching, had everyone leave his room, got up, knelt on the ground, and, embracing a crucifix, he rendered his soul to his Creator, pronouncing these very sweet and very loving words: "Jesus, Jesus, I commend my soul into your hands!" It was Saturday, March 8, 1550, shortly after midnight. He was beatified by Urban VIII in 1630 and canonized by Alexander VII in 1690.

Saint John of God is especially honored in Granada. Booksellers have also placed themselves under his protection, because he had been for some time a peddler of books and religious imagery.

He is represented with a rope or strap passed around his neck, from which hangs the earthenware pot he used to collect alms. In his left hand, a pomegranate, usually surmounted by a cross, recalls that a voice from heaven said to him, in the midst of his indecision: "Granada shall be your cross." It was, in fact, in the city of Granada that he established his first hospital. He is depicted being crowned with thorns by the hand of the Virgin and Saint John the Evangelist. He is also seen carrying men on his back. — Letters patent from Louis XIII, sent from the camp before La Rochelle on February 15, 1631, allowed the Brothers of Charity established in France to have "the royal arms, banners, and staves affixed to the doors and prominent places of the convents and hospitals they wished." Following this privilege, the religious of Saint John of God had taken as their arms the shield of France with a golden pomegranate surmounted by a cross, in the midst of three fleurs-de-lis with these words as a motto: Reges cœli et terrœ dederunt: "The kings of heaven and earth have given it to us."

In his profound humility, the holy founder of the Order of Charity had never conceived the thought of establishing a new religious congregation in the Church; he had only wanted to form a society of secular persons to serve the various duties of his hospital. Thus, during his lifetime, he had given his disciples no other rule than the example of his virtues to imitate; and the rule that bears his name was not made until 1556, that is to say, six years after his death. But Pope Pius V, in approving the Order of Charity by a bull of January 1, 1571, imposed on the religious of this Order the obligation to follow the rule of Saint Augustine. He further prescribed the form of the habit they were to wear, authorized them to have a religious promoted to holy orders in all the hospitals of the Order to administer the sacraments, permitted them to collect alms, and finally submitted all the establishments of the Brothers of Charity to the jurisdiction of the ordinary.

In Spain, the religious of Saint John of God are called Hospitaller Brothers; in France, Broth ers of Charity; in Frères hospitaliers Religious hospital order founded on the example of John of God. Italy, Fate ben, Fratelli (do good, Brothers), or simply Ben Fratelli.

At the end of the 18th century, the Order counted 281 hospitals, 2,915 religious, and 10,689 beds in Europe and America; in France, where they had been called by Marie de' Medici, there were 335 religious, tasked with serving 3,181 beds, distributed among 36 different houses. In Paris, the Brothers of Charity partially fulfilled the functions of that complicated and costly administration which we call today the Public Assistance.

The church of Charity in Paris possessed the radius of the arm of Saint John of God: this relic and others, the paintings, and the sculptures that decorated the chapel of the Hospitaller Brothers were destroyed or dispersed during the revolutionary hurricane of the end of the 18th century; but the building still exists, and after having undergone various transformations, it is occupied by the Academy of Medicine, which holds its sessions there. Few people know today why the hospital on the Rue des Saints-Pères (a corruption of Saint-Pierre) is still called the Hôpital de la Charité; it is because before the Revolution , it was entrusted to Hôpital de la Charité Parisian hospital formerly managed by the Brothers of Saint John of God. the Brothers of Saint John of God.

After 1789, the Hôpital de la Charité lost its name and became the Hôpital de l'Unité, a title it kept until 1802; but, as early as February 1801, it passed under the direction of the Administration of Civil Hospitals and Hospices of Paris, which had just been organized. What is peculiar is that the surveillance agent and the steward, appointed to the Hôpital de la Charité by this new administrative system, were former religious of the Order of Saint John of God, who had been secularized by the decrees of the Constituent Assembly, and who came to finish their careers in the places that witnessed their first vows.

Since the Revolution, the memory of the admirable devotion of the brothers of Saint John of God seemed erased in France, when in March 1819, pious bachelors gathered in Marseille under the banner of the founder: they replaced the male servants as nurses in the wards of the hospital of that city. In 1823, some brothers, having left various communities, went to Rome to solicit the canonical re-establishment of the institute of the religious of Charity: their requests were granted on August 20, two or three hours before the death of Pius VII. Today, the Brothers of Charity possess establishments in Lyon, Lille, Marseille, Dinan, and Paris. In most of these cities, they devote themselves particularly to the care of the mentally ill. In Paris, their establishment on the Rue Oudinot is a nursing home.

See the life of Saint John of God, written in Spanish by Father François Castro, rector of the hospital of his Order in Granada, translated into Italian by Father François Bourdais, one of the first priests of the Oratory congregation in Rome, and, since then, into our language by François de Harlay de Chanvalon, Archbishop of Rouen. De Loyac, doctor of theology, also composed one; and Father Hilarion de Coste, of the Order of Minims, in his Catholic History of the 17th Century, did not fail to praise this great servant of God, who was, in fact, one of the greatest illustrations of that century. Regarding modern works, we have particularly consulted, to rewrite this life, the Acta Sanctorum; a Historical Study on the Order of Saint John of God, by M. Leguay; and the Celestial Legend, by Des Essarts.