Chapter XV: Part 15

"During the past few days I have seen mountains, terrible in their grandeur, covered with ice ten or twelve inches thick; and the inhabitants of the neighbouring valleys told me that a herdsman going out to try and recover a cow which had strayed away fell over a precipice from a height of thirty feet, and was found frozen to death at the bottom. Oh, God! I cried, and was the ardour of this poor herdsman in his search for the beast that had strayed, so burning that even the cold of those frozen heights could not chill it? Why, then, am I so slothful and lax in the quest after my wandering sheep? This thought filled my heart with grief, yet in no wise melted its frozen surface. I saw in this region many wonderful sights. The valleys were full of happy homesteads, the mountains coated with ice and snow. Like the fertile and smiling valleys, the village mothers play their homely part, while a Bishop, raised to such a lofty eminence in the Church of God, remains ice-bound as the mountains. Ah! will there never rise a sun with rays powerful enough to melt this ice which freezes me!" What zeal for souls, what humility, what holy fervour breathe in these words!

ON THE FIRST DUTY OF BISHOPS.

"Being a Bishop," he used to say to me, "you are at the same time a superintendent, sentinel, and overseer in the House of God, for this is what the word Bishop means. It is then your part to watch over and guard your whole diocese, making continual supplications, crying aloud day and night like a watchman on the walls, as the prophet bids you do, knowing that you have to render an account to the great Father of the family of all the souls committed to your care.

"But especially you ought to watch over two classes of people who are the heads of all the others, namely, the Parish Priests and the fathers of families, for they are the source of most of the good and of most of the evil which is to be found in parishes or households.

"From the instruction and good example given by Parish Priests, who are the shepherds of the flock, proceeds all the advance of that flock in knowledge and virtue. They are like the rods of which Jacob made use to give the colours he wanted to the fleeces of the lambs. Teaching does much, but example does incomparably more. It is the same with fathers and mothers of families: on their words, but still more on their conduct, depends all the welfare of their households.

"As Bishop you are the master-builder, the superintendent. It is your duty then to watch over the leaders of your flock and over those who, like Saul, are a head taller than the rest. Through them healing and blessing flows down upon others, even as Aaron's ointment descended from his head to the very hem of his garment.

"This is why you ought continually to exhort and instruct, in season and out of season, for you are the Parish Priest of all Parish Priests, and the Father of all Fathers of families."

UPON THE PASTORAL CHARGE.

On one occasion I was complaining to him of the difficulties which I met with in the discharge; of my episcopal duties. He replied that on entering the service of God we must prepare ourselves for temptation, since no one could follow Jesus Christ or be of the number of His true disciples except by bearing His Cross, nor could anyone enter Heaven except by the path and through the gate of suffering. "Remember," he said, "that our first father even in the state of innocence was put into the earthly Paradise to work in it and to keep it. Do you imagine that he was banished from it in order to do nothing? Consider how God condemned him and all his posterity to labour, and to till an ungrateful earth which produced of itself nothing but thorns and thistles. There is much more toil and difficulty in weeding and cultivating souls than any earthly soil, rough, stony, and barren though it may be. The art of arts is the direction of souls, it is of no use to undertake it unless we have made up our minds to innumerable labours and disappointments.

"The Son of God being a sign of contradiction, can we wonder if His work is exposed to the same; and if He had so much difficulty in winning souls, is it likely that his coadjutors and those who labour with Him will have less?"

Then fearing to depress me by the enumeration of so many difficulties, he went on to cheer me with the example of the Prince of Pastors, the Bishop of our souls, the Author and Finisher of our faith, who preferred shame and toil to joy, that He might further the work of oar salvation.

He added that of the Apostles, and other Pastors of the Church, reminding me that if we think much of the honour of being their successors we must, with the inheritance, accept its burdens, nor shelter ourselves by, in legal phrase, _disclaiming liability for debts beyond the assets_ inherited. Otherwise, he said, we should be like that kinsman of Ruth who wished to have the inheritance of the first husband, but not to marry the widow and raise up to him an heir.

He generally wound up his remarks with some reminder of that love which makes all that is bitter to be sweet: sometimes quoting to me those words of St. Augustine, "Where we love, there is no labour, or if there is any we love the labour itself, for he who labours in loving, loves to labour for the beloved object."

UPON THE CARE OF SOULS.

A Priest once complained to Blessed Francis of the thorns besetting his path in life, of the difficulties of his holy calling, of the anxieties inseparable from it, but chiefly of the intractableness of stiff-necked Christians, who refuse to submit to the easy yoke of Jesus Christ, and to do what their duty requires. The Bishop replied that their obstinacy was not so much to be wondered at as the weakness of their Pastors who were so easily discouraged and impatient, just because they saw that the seed sown by their labours did not forthwith produce the plentiful harvest they desired.

"The peasant is not blamed for failing to reap an abundant harvest, but only for not carefully cultivating his field, and for not doing all that is necessary to make his land productive. Discouragement is a mark of excessive love of self and of zeal unaccompanied by knowledge.

"The best lesson for those who have the care of souls, is that which the Apostle gives to all in the person of one: _Preach the word: be instant in season and out of season: reprove, entreat, rebuke in all patience and doctrine._[1]

"In this text the word _patience_ is the key to the whole mystery, for patience has its perfect work when it is accompanied by charity, which is patient, kind, and is the virtue by which we possess our souls in peace."

The charge of souls means having to bear with the weak, for the strong are able to go on by themselves in their progress towards what is good. Our holy Bishop explained this by two beautiful similitudes: "The plumage of birds is heavy, and yet without this load they could neither raise themselves from the ground nor hover in the air. The burden borne by holy souls is like a load of cinnamon, which, by its perfume invigorates him who carries it. So souls which are weak serve to make their Pastors, who bear the burden of them, rise on wings towards Heaven, and on earth to run in the way of God's commandments."

The other comparison Is this: "Notice," he said, "a shepherd driving a flock of sheep: if one of them breaks a leg the shepherd at once takes it on his shoulders to carry it back to the fold, and this single one is certainly a heavier load than all the rest together, who go along of themselves. In like manner souls which of themselves advance in the way of God afford little occasion for their Pastors to exercise care and vigilance. It is of the faulty and intractable they have chiefly to think, St. Bernard says that the care of souls is not a care of the strong, but of the infirm, for if any one helps thee more than he is helped by thee, know that thou art not his father but his equal."

Even the prophets complain of men of obstinate and rebellious hearts. To work among them is to go down to the sea in ships and to do our business in great waters, for these waters are God's people with whom we have to deal.

[Footnote 1: 2 Tim. iv. 2.]

UPON LEARNING AND PIETY.

By rights, the more learned a man becomes the more pious should he be. This does not, however, always happen, and if we must choose between the two, there is no doubt that it is better to be uneducated but pious, rather than to be learned without being religious-minded.

Blessed Francis remarked one day when we were speaking of a Parish Priest whose holy life was highly praised, but with whose defects as a teacher great fault was found: "It is quite true that knowledge and piety are, as it were, the two eyes of a Priest; still, as a man can, by dispensation, receive Holy Orders even though he has only one eye, so also it is quite possible for a Parish Priest to be a most faithful servant in his ministry by simply leading a zealous, exemplary, and well-regulated life. The function of teaching may be discharged by others, who, as St. Paul says, are instructors but not fathers.[1] But no one can be a pattern to others except by giving good example, and this cannot be done by proxy."

Besides, the Gospel tells us that we are to pluck out the eye which offends. It is better to enter heaven with one eye, than to be cast into hell-fire with two.[2] "There is, indeed," he continued, "a degree of ignorance so gross as to be inexcusable and to render him who is plunged into it in very truth a blind leader of the blind. When, however, a man is in good repute for his piety he surely has within him that true light which leads him to Jesus Christ and enables him to show light to others. It is as though he said to them, like Gideon, _Do as I do_, or with St. Paul, _Be ye followers of me, as I also am of Christ_.[3] Such a one does not walk in darkness and those who follow him are sure to reach the haven. Though he has not talents of learning and erudition such as would make him shine in the pulpit, yet he has enough if he can, as the Apostle says, _exhort in sound doctrine and convince the gainsayers_.[4] Remark," he added, "how God taught Balaam by the mouth of his ass." Thus, his charity dexterously covered the defects of his neighbour, and by this lesson he taught us to value an ounce of piety more than many pounds of empty learning.

[Footnote 1: 1 Cor. iv. 15.] [Footnote 2: Matt. xviii. 9.] [Footnote 3: 1 Cor. iv. 16.] [Footnote 4: Tit. i. 9.]

ADVICE TO BISHOP CAMUS AS TO RESIGNING HIS SEE.

When I was consulting him once as to whether or not I should follow the bent of my own inclination in the matter of retiring into a private and solitary life, he, wishing to ascertain by what spirit I was led, answered me in the beautiful words of St. Augustine: _Otium sanctum diligit charitas veritatis, et negotium justum suscipit veritas charitatis_.[1] Charity, the holy love of eternal truth, draws us into retirement, that we may in that calm leisure contemplate things divine; but when our hearts are filled with true charity we are none the less urged to undertake good works in order to advance the glory of God by serving our neighbour.

Although he esteemed Mary's part--called in the Gospel "the better part"--much more highly than Martha's, yet it was his opinion that Martha's, undertaken purely for the love of God, was more suitable to this present life, and that Mary's had more in common with that of a blessed eternity. He only made an exception as regards some special and extraordinary vocations, some irresistible and most powerful attractions, acting upon the soul, and in the case of those who do not possess the talents requisite for serving as Martha served, and have only those suitable for a purely contemplative life. Also those who, having expended, all their physical strength in the service of the Church, withdraw into solitude towards the close of their life, there to prepare for that last journey which is ordained for all flesh.

For this reason he repulsed and silenced me--not indeed harshly, for his incomparable sweetness was incompatible with harshness--but firmly and decidedly whenever I spoke to him of quitting my post and of resigning the helm into the hand of some more skilful pilot. He called my desire to do so a temptation, and in the end closed the discussion so peremptorily that, during his lifetime, I never ventured to revive it with anyone.

He dealt in almost exactly the same manner with that virtuous soul[2] the corner-stone of the spiritual edifice of the Congregation of the Visitation which he founded, for he kept her in the world for more than seven years, bringing up and educating the children whom God had given her and affording spiritual help to her father and father-in-law. He kept her back, I say, for this long period, before permitting her to retire into the solitude of the cloister; so exact was he in himself following, and in leading those who were under his direction to follow, the holy light of faith rather than the false and lurid glimmers of their natural inclinations.

On a previous occasion a certain Bishop whom I knew well asked him whether in his opinion it would be allowable for him to give up his Bishopric with its heavy burdens and retire into private life, bringing forward as an example St. Gregory of Nazianzen, surnamed the Theologian, the oracle of his time, who gave up the charge of three Bishoprics, Sozima, Nazianzen, and the Patriarchate of Constantinople, that he might go and end his days In rural life, on his paternal estate of Arianzen.

Our Blessed Father replied that we must presume that these great Saints never did anything without being moved to do it by the Spirit of God, and that we must not judge of their actions by outward appearances. He added that St. Gregory in quitting Constantinople was only yielding to pressure and violence, as is proved by the manner in which he said his last Mass in public, and which brought tears into the eyes of all who heard him.

This same Bishop replying that the greatness of his own charge terrified him, and that he was overpowered by the thought of having to answer for so many souls: "Alas!" said Blessed Francis, "what would you say, or do, if you had such a burden as mine on your shoulders? And yet that must not lessen my confidence in the mercy of God."

The Bishop still complaining and declaring that he was like a candle which consumes itself in order to give light to others, and that he was so much taken up with the service of his neighbour that he had scarcely any leisure to think of himself and to look after the welfare of his own soul, our Blessed Father replied: "Well, considering that the eternal welfare of your neighbour is a part, and so large a part, of your own, are you not securing the latter by attending to the former? And how, indeed, could you possibly work out your own salvation except by furthering that of others, seeing that you have been called to do so precisely in this manner?"

The Bishop still objecting and saying that he was like a whetstone which is worn out by the mere sharpening of blades, and that while trying to lead others to holiness he ran the risk of losing his own soul, our Holy Prelate rejoined: "Read the history of the Church and the lives of the Saints, and you will find more Saints among Bishops than in any other Order or avocation, there being no other position in the Church of God which furnishes such abundant means of sanctification and perfection. For remember that the best means of making progress in perfection is the teaching others both by word and example. Bishops are by their very office compelled to do this and to strive with all their heart and soul to be a pattern and model to their flocks. The whole life of a Christian on earth is a warfare, and should be one unceasing progress towards the goal of perfection. Were you to do as you propose it would be in a manner to look behind you, and to imitate the children of Ephraim, who turned back when they should have faced the enemy. You were going on so well, who is it who is holding you back? Stay in the ship in which God has placed you to make the voyage of life; the passage is so short that it is not worth while changing the boat. For, indeed, if you feel giddy in a large vessel, how much more so will you in a slight skiff tossed by every motion of the waves! A lower condition of life, though less busy and apparently more tranquil, is none the less equally subject to temptation."

This reasoning so convinced the Bishop[3] that he remained faithful to his post in the army of Holy Church.

[Footnote 1: De Civit. Dei. Lib. 19. cap 19.] [Footnote 2: St. Jane Frances de Chantal.] [Footnote 3: This Bishop was evidently M. Camus himself. [Ed.]]

THE JOYOUS SPIRIT OF BLESSED FRANCIS.

So light-hearted and gay was he, so truly did his happy face express the serenity and peace of his soul that it was almost impossible to remain for any time in his company without catching something of this joyous spirit.

I feel sure that only those of dull and gloomy temperament can take exception to what I am going to relate in order to illustrate our Blessed Father's delightful gift of pleasantry in conversation.

On one occasion when I was paying a visit to him at Annecy two young girls, sisters, and both most virtuous and most devout, were professed in one of the convents, he performing the ceremony, and I, by his desire, giving the exhortation. While preaching, although I said nothing to my mind very heart-stirring, I noticed that a venerable Priest who was present was so much affected as to attract the attention of everyone. After the ceremony, when we were breakfasting with the holy Bishop, the Priest being also at table, I asked Blessed Francis what had been the cause of such emotion. He replied that it was not to be wondered at seeing that this good Priest had lost his aureola, and had been reduced from the high rank of a martyr to the lowly one of a Confessor!

He went on to explain that the Priest had been married, but that on the death of his wife, who was a most saintly woman, he had become a Priest, and that all the children of that happy marriage had been so piously brought up that every one of them had devoted himself or herself to the service of the Altar, the young girls just professed being of the number.

The tears shed by the Priest were therefore of joy, not of sorrow, for he saw his most ardent desire fulfilled, and that his daughters were now the Brides of the Lamb. "But," I cried, "what did you mean by saying that a man married to such a wife as that was a Martyr? That may be the case when a man has a bad wife, but it cannot be true in his case."

Our Blessed Father's manner changed at once from gaiety to seriousness. "Take care," he said to me in a low voice, "that the same thing does not happen to you; I will tell you how, by-and-by, in private."

When we were alone afterwards I reminded him of his promise. "Take care," he said again with some severity of aspect, "lest if you yield to the temptation which is now assailing you something worse does not befall you." He was alluding to my desire to give up the burden of my Bishopric and to retire into more private life.

"Your wife," he went on to say, meaning the Church, whose ring when he consecrated me he had put on my finger, "is far more holy, far more able to make you holy than was that good man's faithful wife, whose memory is blessed. It is true that the many spiritual children whom she lays in your arms are a cause of so much anxiety that your whole life is a species of martyrdom, but remember that in this most bitter bitterness you will find peace for your soul, the peace of God which is beyond all thought or imagination. If you quit your place in order to seek repose, possibly God will permit your pretended tranquillity to be disturbed by as many vexations as the good brother Leone's, who, amid all his household cares in the monastery, was often visited by heavenly consolations. Of these he was deprived when, by permission extorted from his Superior, he had retired into his cell in order, as he said, to give himself up more absolutely to contemplation. Know (Oh! how deeply these words are engraven on my memory) that God hates the peace of those whom He had destined for war.

"He is the God of armies and of battles, as well as of peace, and he compares the Sulamite, the peaceful soul, to an army drawn up in battle array and in that formation terrible to its enemies." I may add that our Blessed Father's predictions were perfectly verified, and after his death when the very things he had spoken of happened to me I remembered his words with tears.

As I write I call to mind another instance of his delightful manner which you will like to hear.

Young as I was when consecrated a Bishop, it was his desire that I should discharge all the duties of my holy office without leaving out any single one of them, although I was inclined to make one exception, that of hearing confessions. I considered myself too young for this most responsible work, and wanting in that prudence and wisdom which are born of experience.

Our Blessed Father, however, thought differently in the matter, and I, holding this judgment in so much higher esteem than my own, gave way, bent my neck under the yokes and took my place in the confessional. There I was besieged by penitents, who scarcely allowed me any time for rest or refreshment.

One day, worn out with this labour, I wrote to St. Francis, saying, among other things, that intending to make a Confessor he had really made a Martyr.

In answering my letter he said that he knew well that the vehemence of my spirit suffered the pangs of a woman in travail, but then I must take courage and remember that it is written, _a woman when she is in labour hath sorrow because her hour is come; but when she hath brought forth the child she remembereth no more the anguish for joy that a man is born into the world_.[1]

[Footnote 1: John xvi. 21.]

UPON DAILY MASS. HIS ADVICE TO A YOUNG PRIEST.[1]

To a Priest whom I know well, and whom our Blessed Father loved much in Our Lord, he gave most excellent advice, and in a very kindly manner, conveyed it to him by means of an ingenious artifice.

The Priest was young, and owing to his extreme youth, although he was a Parish Priest, he dreaded saying Mass often, contenting himself with doing so on Sundays and holidays.

Our Blessed Father, wishing to lead him to say his Mass every day, devised this plan. He presented him with a little box covered with crimson satin, embroidered in gold and silver and studded with pearls and garnets. Before he actually put it into his hands, however, he said to him, "I have a favour to ask of you which I am sure you will not refuse me, since it only concerns the glory of God, which I know you have so much at heart." "I am at your command," replied the Priest. "Oh, no," said the Bishop, "I am not speaking to you as one who commands, but as one who requests, and I make this request in the name and for the love of God, which is our common watchword." After that, what could the Priest possibly refuse him? His silence testified his readiness to obey, better than any words could have done.

Blessed Francis then opening the box showed him that it was quite full of unconsecrated hosts, and said, "You are a Priest, God has called you to that vocation, and also to the Pastoral Office in His Church. Would it be the right thing if an artisan, a magistrate, or a doctor only worked at his profession one or two days in the week? You have the power to say Holy Mass every day. Why do you not avail yourself of it?

"Consider that the action of saying Mass is the loftiest, the most august, of all the functions of religion, the one which renders more glory to God and more solace to the living and the dead than any other.

"I conjure you, then, by the glory of Him in whom we live and move and have our being, to approach the Altar every day, and never, except under extreme necessity, to fail to do so.

"There is nothing, thank God, to prevent your doing this. I know your soul as well as a soul can be known, and of this you are yourself quite aware, you who have so frankly unfolded to me the inmost recesses of your conscience. Far from seeing any impediment, I see that everything invites you to do what I ask, and that you may so use the daily and supersubstantial Bread I make you this present, entreating you not to forget at the holy Altar him who makes you this prayer on the part of God Himself."

The young Priest was somewhat surprised, and without attempting to evade the implied rebuke contented himself with submitting to the judgment of the holy Bishop his secret unworthiness, his youth, his unmortified passions, his fear of misusing so divine a mystery by not living as they should live who each day offer it up.

"All this excusing yourself, replied our Blessed Father, is only so much self-accusing as would appear if I chose to examine your reasons in detail and weigh them in the scales of the sanctuary. But without entering into any discussion of them let it suffice that you refer the matter to my judgment. I tell you then, and in this I think that I have the Spirit of God, that all the reasons which you bring forward to dispense yourself from so profitable an exercise of piety are really those which oblige you to practise it. This holy exercise will ripen your youth, moderate your passions, weaken your temptations, strengthen your weakness, illuminate your path, and the very act of practising it will teach you to do so with greater perfection. Moreover, if the sense of your unworthiness would make you abstain from it out of humility, as happened to St. Bonaventure, and if your own unfitness makes the custom of daily celebrating productive in your soul of less fruit than it should, consider that you are a public person, and that your flock and your Church have need of your daily Mass. More than that, you ought to be stimulated and spurred on by the thought that every day on which you refrain from celebrating you deprive the exterior glory of God of increase, the Angels of their delight, and the Blessed of a most special happiness."

The young Priest deferred to this counsel, saying "_Fiat, fiat_," and from that time for a space of thirty years has never failed to say Mass daily, even when on long journeys through France, Italy, Spain, Germany, and in heretical countries. He never failed, I repeat, even under conditions which seemed to make the saying of Mass impossible.

Such power have remonstrances when tempered with kindness and prudence.

[Footnote 1: Possibly M. Camus himself. [Ed.]]

A PRIEST SAYING MASS SHOULD BE CONSIDERATE OF OTHERS.

He was told that I was very lengthy in my preparation for saying Holy Mass, and that this was a cause of inconvenience to many who either wished to be present at it or to speak to me afterwards. I was accustomed, by his orders, to say daily Mass at a fixed hour, and not in the private chapel of the Bishop's house, unless I happened to be ill, but in a large chapel adjoining the Cathedral Church, where synods, ordinations, and similar pastoral functions were held. The bell rang for this Mass always at a few minutes before the appointed hour, but those who knew the length of my preparation in the sacristy did not hurry to come to it, and those who did not know lost patience, and in winter time often got chilled to the bone.

Our Blessed Father, wishing to correct this fault in me, waited quietly till the right moment came for doing so. He was paying me one of his annual visits at Belley, when it chanced that one morning he was detained very late in his room writing some letters which he had to send off without loss of time. When eleven o'clock drew near, his servants, knowing that he never failed to say Mass unless hindered by illness or some real impediment, came to remind him that he had not yet done so.

The Altar in the private Chapel had been prepared for him. He came out of his room, wearing as usual his rochet and mosetta, and after saluting those who had come to see him and to hear his Mass, said a short prayer at the foot of the Altar, then vested and celebrated the holy sacrifice. Mass ended, he knelt down again, and, after another short prayer, joined us with a face of angelic serenity. Having greeted each of us affectionately, he entered into conversation with us, until we were called, as we soon were, to table. I, who watched his actions most closely and ever found them regular and harmonious as a stave of music, was amazed at the brevity of this preparation and thanksgiving. In the evening, therefore, when we were alone together, I said, using the filial privilege which I knew was mine, "Father, it seemed to me this morning that your preparation for Mass and your thanksgiving were very hasty and short."

He turned suddenly, and, embracing me, exclaimed, "Oh, how delighted I am that you are so straightforward in telling me home truths! For three or four days I have been wanting to do the same thing to you, but did not know how to begin! Now, tell me what do you say as to that lengthiness of yours which inconveniences everybody? All complain, and quite openly, though possibly these complaints have not yet reached your ears, so few dare speak the truth to Bishops. Doubtless it is because no one loves you as I do that I have been asked to speak about this. My commission is quite authentic, though I do not show you the signatures. A little of your superfluity handed over to me would do us both good, by making you go more quickly and, me more slowly.

"Do you think," he continued, "that the people who are so anxious to assist at your Mass have any sympathy with your long preparation before-hand in the sacristy? Still less those who are waiting to speak to you after Mass, with your interminable thanksgiving.

"Many of these people come from a distance, and have business engagements in the town."

"But, Father," I said, "how ought we to make our preparation? Scripture says, _Before prayer prepare thy soul, and be not as a man that tempteth God_.[1] How much more, then, must we prepare with all care for the stupendous act of celebrating Mass, before which, in the words of the Preface, the powers of Heaven tremble? How can one play on a lute without tuning it?" "Why do you not make this preparation earlier, in your morning exercise, which I know, or at least I think, you never neglect?" "I rise at four o'clock in the summer, sometimes sooner," I replied, "and I do not go to the Altar till about nine or ten o'clock." "And do you suppose," he returned, "that the interval from four to nine is very great to Him, in _Whose sight a thousand years are as yesterday?_"[2]

This passage, so well applied, was like a sudden illumination to me. "And what about the thanksgiving?" I said. "Wait till your evening exercise to make it," he answered; "you make your examination of conscience, surely so great an act will have its weight; and is not thanksgiving one of the points of self-examination? Both these acts can be made more at leisure and more calmly in the morning and evening: no one will be inconvenienced by them, and they will interfere with none of your ordinary duties." "But," I objected, "will it not be a cause of disedification to others to see me so quick over things? _God should not be adored hurriedly_." "We may hurry as much as we like," he replied; "God goes faster than we do. He is as the lightning which comes forth from the east and the next moment flashes in the west. All things are present to Him; with Him there is neither past nor future. How can we escape from His spirit?" I acquiesced, and since then all has gone well in this matter.

[Footnote 1: Eccle. xviii. 23.] [Footnote 2: Psalm lxxxix. 4.]

BLESSED FRANCIS ENCOURAGES THE BISHOP OF BELLEY.

Owing to the fact that the See of Belley had been vacant for four years, a dispensation was obtained from the Bishop enabling me, at the age of twenty-five, to be consecrated Bishop, and at the same time to be put in possession of that See to which the King, Henry IV., had already appointed me.

Blessed Francis Himself consecrated me, in my own Cathedral Church of Belley, August 30th, 1609.

After a while scruples began to disturb my mind on account of this consecration, seemingly so premature. I had, as it were, been made a captain when I had scarcely enlisted as a soldier. I carried my troubles to the director of my conscience, this Blessed Father who consoled and cheered me by suggesting many excellent reasons for this unusual state of things. The necessities of the diocese, the testimony to my character of so many persons of dignity and piety, the judgment of Henry the Great, whose memory he held in high honour, and, last of all, and above all, the command of His Holiness. He concluded by urging me not to look back, but rather to stretch forward to the things which were before me, following the advice of St. Paul.

"You have come to the vineyard," he went on to say, "in the first hour of your day. Beware lest you labour there so slothfully, that those who enter at the eleventh hour outstrip you both in the work and in reward."

One day I said jestingly to him: "Father, virtuous and exemplary as you are considered to be, you have committed one fault in your life, that of having consecrated me too early."

He answered me with a laugh which opened a heaven of joy to me. "It is certainly true," he said, "that I have committed that sin, but I am much afraid God will never forgive me for it, for up to the present moment I have never been able to repent of it. I conjure you by the bowels of our common Master to live in such a manner that you may never give me cause for regret in this matter and rather, often to stir up in yourself the grace which was bestowed upon you from on high by the imposition of my hands. I have, you must know, been called to the consecration of other Bishops, but only as assistant. I have never consecrated any one but you: you are my only one, my apprenticeship work.

"Take courage. God will help us.

"_He is our light and our salvation, whom shall we fear? He is the Protector of our life, of whom shall we be afraid?_"

UPON A COMPASSIONATE MIND.

Although his soul was one of the strongest and most well-balanced possible, yet it was capable of the tenderest and most compassionate feelings for the sorrows of others. He did not repine over the miseries and infirmities of human nature, he only desired that all souls should be strengthened by grace.

To a lady who was heart-broken at the death of a sister whom she passionately loved, he wrote:

"I will not say to you, do not weep, for, on the contrary, it is just and reasonable that you should weep a little--but only a little--my dear daughter, as a proof of the sincere affection which you bore her, following the example of our dear Master, who shed a few tears over His friend Lazarus, but not many, as do those whose thoughts, being bounded by the moments of this miserable life, forget that we, too, are on our way to Eternity, in which if we live well in this life we shall be reunited to our beloved dead, nor ever be parted from them again. We cannot prevent our poor hearts from being affected by the changes of this life, and by the loss of those who have been our pleasant companions in it. Still never must we be false to our solemn promise to unite our will inseparably to the Will of God."

Again, let me remind you how tenderly he expresses himself on the sorrowful occasions of the death of his dearest relatives and friends. "Indeed," he says, "at times like these I myself weep much. Then my heart, hard as a stone with regard to heavenly things, breaks and pours forth rivers of tears. But God be praised! They are always gentle tears, and, speaking to you as to my own dear daughter, I never shed them without a loving grateful thought of the providence of God. For, since our Saviour loved death and gave His death to be the object of our love, I cannot feel any bitterness, or grudge against it, whether it be that of my sisters or of anyone else, provided it be in union with the holy death of my Saviour."

And in another place he says:

"I must say just one word in confidence to you. There is not a man living who has a heart more tender and more open to friendship than mine, or who feels more keenly than I do the pain of separation from those I love; nevertheless. I hold so cheap this poor earthly life which we lead that I never turn back to God with a more ardent affection than when He has dealt me some blow of the kind or permitted one to be dealt me."

UPON DOING ONE'S DUTY, WITHOUT RESPECT OF PERSONS.

After I had preached several Advents and Lents in various towns of my diocese of Belley, he thought it well that I should do so in my own native city, Paris.

Well knowing, as he did, the various views and judgments of the great world which rules there, he wished to teach me to care very little what people said about me, and he impressed the lesson upon me by relating to me the following story of an aged Priest and the college clock.

A good Father being incapacitated by infirmities even more than by age from fulfilling the duty of teaching binding on his Order, and yet being anxious to have some little useful employment, was entrusted by his Superior with the winding and regulating the college clock.

Very soon, however, he came to complain of the difficulty and almost impossibility of his work; not, he said, that it was at all beyond his strength, but that it was quite beyond him to satisfy everyone. When the clock was a little slow, he said, the young men who had difficult and troublesome work to do indoors, complained, declaring that the town clocks were much faster, and to please them he would put it on a little. As soon as this was done complaints burst forth from those whose work lay outside the college, in visiting the sick and prisoners, or providing for the needs of the household in the city. They came back declaring that the town clocks were much slower, and reproaching me for having put theirs on.

The Superior settled the matter by telling the good Father to let the clock take its own course, but always to use soft words to those who might complain, and to assure each one of them that he would do his best to keep the clock right if possible. "So let it be with you," concluded our Blessed Father. "You are going to be exposed to the criticism of many; if you attend to all that they say of you, your work, like Penelope's, will never be done, but every day you will have to begin it over again.

"Even some of your friends will in perfect good faith give you suggestions on matters which seem to them important, but which in reality are not so at all.

"One will tell you that you speak too fast, another that you gesticulate too much, a third that you speak too slowly, and don't move enough--one will want quotations, another will dislike them; one will prefer doctrinal, another moral lessons; some one thing, some another.

"They will be like drones who do nothing but disturb the working bees, and who, though they can sting, yet make no honey."

"Well! what is to be done in all this?"

"Why, you must always answer gently, promising to try and correct yourself of your faults whatever they may be, for there is nothing which pleases these counsellors so much as to see that their suggestions are accepted as judicious, and, at least, worthy of consideration. In the meantime go your own way, follow the best of your own character, pay no heed to such criticisms, which are often contradictory one of the other.

"Keep God before your eyes, abandon yourself to the guidance of the spirit of grace, and say often with the Apostle, 'If I yet pleased men I should not be the servant of Christ,' who said of Himself that He was not of this world. Neither, indeed, were His Apostles, for the friendship of the world is enmity with God.

"It is no small matter for a steersman in the midst of a storm to keep the rudder straight. Of little consequence ought it to be to us that we are judged by men. God is our only true judge, and it is He Who sees the secrets of our hearts, and all that is hidden in darkness."

THE HONOUR DUE TO VIRTUE.

Honour is like thyme which the pagans thought ought only to be burnt on the Altar of Virtue. In ancient Rome the Temple of Honour could only be entered through the Temple of Virtue.

The virtue of Blessed Francis de Sales was so generally recognized by both Catholics and Protestants that he may be truly said to have been universally reverenced.

A remarkable instance of this occurred at Grenoble, the chief town of Dauphiné, in the year in which he went there to preach during Advent and Lent. Monsieur de Lesdigiuères, the King's Viceroy at Grenoble, and Marshal of France, was not yet converted to the Catholic Faith. He, however, received the Bishop with affectionate warmth, and paid him extraordinary honours. He frequently invited him to his table, and often visited him in his house, sometimes even being present at his sermons, for he really valued the teaching of the holy Bishop, and thought most highly of his virtue. The Protestants of Grenoble took fright at this, more particularly because of the long, private interviews which took place between the Magistrate and the holy Bishop.

Wherever he went the King's representative spoke of Blessed Francis in the highest terms, and invariably made a point of giving him his title, Bishop of Geneva. In short, he paid him such deference as excited universal astonishment.

In vain did the Huguenot clergy storm and rage, in vain did they threaten to excommunicate anyone having dealings with the Bishop. They could not prevent the majority of their congregations from pressing every day to hear the Saint's sermons, which created a great sensation amongst them.

The Huguenot preachers, far from gaining fresh adherents, saw their flock steadily dwindling away.

At last, in despair, the Consistory determined to send a deputation to remonstrate with M. de Lesdigiuères on the warm welcome he was giving the holy Bishop, and on his own behaviour in scandalizing the whole Protestant party by attending Blessed Francis' sermons.

The deputation, formed of the elders and most notable men of the sect, reached the Marshal's house early in the morning, so that he was not even dressed when their request for an interview was brought to him.

Being a man who would not be dictated to, he sent down word to the Huguenots that if they came to visit him as friends, or to communicate any matter of business to him, he would receive them gladly, but if they meant to remonstrate with him, in the name of the Consistory or ministers, on the politeness he was showing to the Bishop of Geneva, they might rest assured that they would go out through the window faster than they had come in by the door!

This message was enough. The deputation broke up at once; but with how many lamentations over this unexpected reception, given by one whom they had reckoned upon as the chief stay and prop of their sect.

Their next plan was to send one of the principal noblemen of the province, a Protestant like themselves, upon the same errand as before. He, however, fared no better than the deputation.

Tell those gentlemen (said M. de Lesdigiuères) that I am old enough to know the rules of politeness.

Up to the age of thirty I was myself a Roman Catholic. I know how Roman Catholics treat their Bishops, and with what respect these Bishops are treated by Kings and Princes. They hold a rank altogether different from that of our ministers, who, even the highest among them, are only Parish Priests, since they themselves deny the very existence of the order of Bishop, however good a foundation for it there may seem to be in the teaching of Holy Scripture. As for me, my belief is that they will in the end be sorry they have given up this distinction of rank. "Tell M. B. (he was a minister of low birth, had formerly been M. de Lesdigiuères' servant, and owed to him his actual position in the so-called Reformed Church of Grenoble) that when I see among Huguenot ministers, sons and brothers of sovereign Princes, as I do among Roman Catholic Bishops, Archbishops, and Cardinals, I will perhaps change my mind as to how to treat them socially.

"As regards the Bishop of Geneva, I can only say that if I were in his place and were, as he is, sovereign Prince of this city, I would see that I was properly obeyed, and that my authority was duly recognised. I know what are his rights and titles better than B ... or any of his colleagues can possibly do; it is for me to give them a lesson on the subject, and for them, if they are wise, to listen. It is not for young, uneducated men to presume to show a man of my age and rank how to behave himself."

After this the Viceroy redoubled his attentions to the holy Bishop, to whom he paid every honour in his power.

On the other hand, he himself received such good impressions of our religion from what he saw of the Bishop that they greatly facilitated his conversion, which took place after he had been promoted to the rank of Constable.

He died an excellent Catholic, and most happily.

UPON MEMORY AND JUDGMENT.

On one occasion Blessed Francis was complaining to me of the shortness of his memory. I tried to console him by reminding him that even if it were true, there was no lack in him of judgment, for in that he always excelled.

In reply, he said that it was certainly unusual to find a good memory and excellent judgment united, although the two qualities might be possessed together by some in a moderate degree. He added that there were of course exceptions to the rule, but such exceptions were mostly of rare and extraordinary merit.

He gave as an instance one of his most intimate friends, the great Anthony Favre, first President of Savoy, and one of the most celebrated lawyers of his time, who united in his own person remarkable keenness of judgment with a marvellous memory. "In truth," he went on to say, "these two qualities are so different in their nature, that it is not difficult for one to push the other out. One is the outcome of vivacity and alertness, the other is not unfrequently characteristic of the slow and leaden-footed."

After some more conversation with me on this subject, in which I deplored my want of judgment, he concluded with these words: "It is a common thing for people to complain of their defective memory, and even of the malice and worthlessness of their will, but nobody ever deplores his poverty of spirit, i.e., of judgment. In spite of the Beatitude, everyone rejects such a thought as a doing an injustice to themselves. Well, courage! advancing years will bring you plenty of judgment: it is one of the fruits of experience and old age.

"But as for memory, its failure is one of the undoubted defects of old people. That is why I have little hope of the improvement of my own; but provided I have enough to remember God that is all I want.[1] _I remembered, O Lord, Thy judgments of old: and I was comforted._"

[Footnote 1: Psalm cxviii. 52.]

A PRIEST SHOULD NOT AIM AT IMITATING IN HIS SERMONS ANY PARTICULAR PREACHER.

I esteemed him so highly, and not without reason, that all his ways delighted me. Among others, I thought that I should like to imitate his style of preaching. Can it be said that I chose a bad model or was wanting in taste?

Do not, however, imagine for a moment that I have ever aimed at reproducing his lofty and deep thoughts and teaching, the eloquent sweetness of his language, the marvellous power which swayed the hearts of his audience. No, I have always felt that to be beyond my powers, and I have only tried to mould my action, gestures, and intonation after the pattern set by him. Now, as it happened, that owing to his constitution and temperament his speech was always slow and deliberate, not to say prosy, and my own quite the opposite, I became so strangely changed that my dear people at Belley (where the above incident occurred) almost failed to recognise me. They thought a changeling had been foisted upon them in the place of their own Bishop, whose vehement action and passionate words they dearly loved, even though sometimes they had found his discourses hard to follow. In fact, I had ceased to be myself; I was now nothing more than a wretched copy with nothing in it really recalling the original.

Our Blessed Father heard of this, and being eager to apply a remedy chose his opportunity, and one day, when we were talking about sermons, quietly remarked that he was told I had taken it into my head to imitate the Bishop of Geneva in my preaching. I replied that it was so, and asked if I had chosen a bad model, and if he did not preach better than I did.