Last night, September 18, I suffered terribly. I had been suffering like that all day long and was utterly exhausted. Every breath, every movement, however small, was most painful for me and forced me, who never complain, to protest. And then there was the coughing... I would have preferred a gunshot to an attack of coughing.
At supper time - that is, from 8 to 9 p.m. - when I had been left alone, my mental sight was beatified by the vision of Holy Mary. I will try to describe Her to you.168 But how can I manage to show you her beauty and the colors She had?
She is dressed in white: a dress closed at the base of the neck, as if it were curled, for I see that over her breast the cloth forms soft folds which chastely follow Mary’s figure. The sleeves are rather narrow and long, down to her wrists. At her waist a belt gathers in her dress. But it is not golden or silver. It seems to be a silken cord, the same as the dress in color and luster. It has no bows, but falls down over the dress. It encircles it, and that’s all.
Over her head, a mantle of the same cloth as the dress, light, but not veiling Her. It descends over Mary’s cheeks and approaches her neck, as if it were held back by a clasp. A long clasp, though, for I see Mary’s extremely white throat. In short, it is supported at her shoulders and descends along the upper part of her arms and her side down to the ground.
But how can I describe for you the splendor of that very white and simple dress? Snow is gray and opaque; the lily is still less beautiful. Its whiteness shines so brightly that it resembles silver turned into cloth. Oh, words are impotent to describe the light! Only in Heaven - and to robe Mary - can there be such cloth of a phosphorescent, diamond-like, pearly, opaline whiteness which is a gem without being a gem or resulting from the union of gems so as to shine that way!
I see the rather round oval of Mary’s face. Of a shade of ivory like certain magnolia petals, the same color as that of her Son’s face, though shaped differently from his, which is longer and thinner. On this flowery face only the thin lips and eyebrows, slightly dark, provide color.
The eyes, not wide open, but seeds veiled by her eyelids, have the same gaze as her Son’s and are of the same skyblue as Jesus’, but paler. To continue with human comparisons, I might say that Jesus’ eyes are sapphire, and Mary’s, turquoise. Jesus’ serious, saddened look is in Mary a sadness joined, however, to a smile: the good smile of someone who is afflicted, but wants to console and exhort at the same time.
Her hair is the color of ripe wheat, or pure gold, if you prefer, always tending towards reddish blond, but more blond than red, whereas in Jesus there is a tendency towards a coppery blond.
Her long, thin hands, with very long and tapering fingers, emerge from the tight sleeves, with their delicate, very white wrists. They are two magnolia petals joined in prayer. They so resemble budding flowers that it seems to me they must smell of flowers.
No necklace, none at all. It is all of Mary which is a Gem with the luminosity of alabaster, or, better, of opal inwardly illuminated by a flame. Her glorified body emits light, a very gentle light which really makes me think of a lamp burning before the Tabernacle: a lamp of white alabaster or, I repeat, of opal. I do not see her feet because the dress is so long that it covers them. That’s my description of our Mother for you.
She kept and keeps me company, and it strikes me that everything around me is becoming luminous and virginal, and light and purity descend into my heart and, along with them, a joy that makes me weep with blessedness.
I believe that if Mary said a single word, my soul would swoon in ecstasy, for only a thread keeps me from sinking into it, and this is only so I can see the Blessed One and feel kissed by her smile and her look. It is now evening, and I say to Jesus, “Lord, won’t you say something today?”
He replies that my lesson today is being given me by Mary and that the contemplation of Her does not require other words. Indeed, just seeing Her teaches the beauty of purity, of prayer, and of silence. Three great things very little and poorly practiced.
In the midst of my physical and moral aching, I find myself in joy, for the light of the loveliest star, Mary, shines upon me, and it is granted to me to fix my eyes upon Her.
Later...
...And Mary tells me wordlessly that She is teaching me something else: to see her children even in one’s enemies. For them, too, She gave her Son and accepted them as children, as She accepted us. She makes me grasp that to look upon them with acrimony is to cause Her pain and become unlike Her, who gazed at those who crucified her Son and pierced her Immaculate Heart with loving compassion.
168 She is addressing Father Migliorini.