SLAVERY
THE pirates were bound for the port of Tunis, the largest city of
Barbary. But the sight of the glittering white town with its
background of mountains, set in the gorgeous coloring of the African
landscape, brought no gleam of joy or comfort to the sad hearts of
the prisoners. Before them lay a life of slavery which might be worse
than death; there was small prospect that they would ever see their
native land again.
To one faint hope, however, they clung desperately, as a drowning man
clings to a straw. There was a French consul in Tunis whose business
it was to look after the trade interests of his country, and it was
just possible that he might use his influence to set them free.
The hope was short-lived. The pirates, expecting to make a good deal
of money out of their prisoners, were equally aware of this fact, and
their first act on landing was to post a notice that the captives
they had for sale were Spaniards. Nothing was left to Vincent and his
companions, who did not know a word of the language of the country,
but to endure their cruel fate.
The Turks, having stripped their prisoners and clothed them in a kind
of rough uniform, fastened chains round their necks and marched them
through the town to the marketplace, where they were exhibited for
sale much as cattle are at the present day. They were carefully
inspected by the dealers, who looked at their teeth, felt their
muscles, made them run and walk--with loads and without--to satisfy
themselves that they were in good condition, and finally selected
their victims. Vincent was bought by a fisherman who, finding that
his new slave got hopelessly ill whenever they put out to sea,
repented of his bargain and sold him to an alchemist.
In the West, as well as in the East, there were still men who
believed in the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life. By means
of the still undiscovered Stone they hoped to change base metals into
gold, while the equally undiscovered Elixir was to prolong life
indefinitely, and to make old people young.
Vincent's master was an enthusiast in his profession and kept ten or
fifteen furnaces always burning in which to conduct his experiments.
His slave, whose business it was to keep them alight, was kindly
treated; the old man soon grew very fond of him and would harangue
him by the hour on the subject of metals and essences. His great
desire was that Vincent should become a Mohammedan like himself, a
desire which, needless to say, remained unfulfilled, in spite of the
large sums of money he promised if his slave would only oblige him in
this matter.
The old alchemist, however, had a certain reputation in his own
country. Having been sent for one day to the Sultan's Court, he died
on the way, leaving his slave to his nephew, who lost no time in
getting rid of him.
Vincent's next master was a Frenchman who had apostatized and was
living as a Mohammedan on his farm in the mountains. This man had
three wives, who were very kind to the poor captive--especially one
of them, who, although herself a Mohammedan, was to be the cause of
her husband's conversion and Vincent's release. She would go out to
the fields where the Christian slave was working and bid him tell her
about his country and his religion. His answers seemed to impress her
greatly, and one day she asked him to sing her one of the hymns they
sang in France in praise of their God.
The request brought tears to Vincent's eyes. He thought of the
Israelites captive in Babylon, and of their answer to a similar
demand. With an aching heart he intoned the psalm, "By the waters of
Babylon," while the woman, strangely impressed by the plaintive
chant, listened attentively and, when he had ended, begged for more.
The _Salve Regina_ followed, and other songs of praise, after which
she went home silent and thoughtful. That night she spoke to her
husband. "I cannot understand," she said, "why you have given up a
religion which is so good and holy. Your Christian slave has been
telling me of your Faith and of your God, and has sung songs in His
praise. My heart was so full of joy while he sang that I do not
believe I shall be so happy even in the paradise of my fathers." Her
husband, whose conscience was not quite dead within him, listened
silent and abashed. "Ah," she continued, "there is something
wonderful in that religion!"
The woman's words bore fruit. All day long, as her husband went about
his business, the remembrance of his lost Faith was tugging at his
heartstrings. Catching sight of Vincent digging in the fields, he
went to him and bade him take courage. "At the first opportunity," he
said, "I will escape with you to France."
It was nine long months before that opportunity came, for the
Frenchman was in the Sultan's service and was not able to leave the
country. At last, however, the two men, escaping together in a small
boat, succeeded in reaching Avignon, and Vincent was free once more.
Cardinal Montorio, the Pope's legate, was deeply interested in the
two fugitives, and a few days later reconciled the apostate, now
deeply repentant, to the Church. The Cardinal, who shortly afterwards
returned to Rome, took Vincent with him, showing him great kindness
and introducing him to several people of importance. The opinion they
formed of him is shown by the fact that he was chosen not long after
to go on a secret mission to the court of Henry IV, King of France.
An interview--or rather several interviews--with a reigning monarch
would have been considered in those days as a first-rate chance for
anyone who had a spark of ambition. Nothing would have been easier
than to put in a plea for a benefice or a bishopric; but Vincent, who
was both humble and unselfish, had no thought of his own advancement.
His only desire was to get his business over and to leave the Court
as quickly as possible.
The question of how he was to live remaining still unanswered, he
took a room in a house near one of the largest hospitals in Paris and
devoted himself to the service of the sick and dying. But even the
rent of the little room was more than he could afford to pay, and he
was glad to share it with a companion. This was a judge from his own
part of the country who was in Paris on account of a lawsuit and who,
not being overburdened with money, offered to share the lodging and
the rent.
It was at this time that Vincent met Father--afterwards Cardinal--de
Bérulle, one of the most holy and learned priests of his time, who
was occupied at that moment in founding the French Congregation of
the Oratory, destined to do such good work for the clergy of France.
De Bérulle was quick to recognize holiness and merit, and he and
Vincent soon became fast friends.
But it did not seem to be God's will that our hero should prosper in
Paris; he fell ill, and one day while he was lying in bed waiting for
some medicine which had been ordered, his companion went out, leaving
the cupboard in which he kept his money unlocked. The chemist's
assistant, arriving shortly afterwards with the medicine and opening
the cupboard to get a glass for the patient, caught sight of the
purse, slipped it into his pocket, and made off.
No sooner had the judge returned than he went to the cupboard and
discovered the theft. Turning furiously on the sick man, he accused
him of having stolen his property and overwhelmed him with insults
and abuse. Vincent, unmoved by his threats, only answered gently that
he had seen nothing of the money and did not know what had become of
it; but his companion, refusing to listen to reason, rushed out and
accused him to the police. This led to nothing, as neither witness
nor proof could be brought forward by the judge, who, furious at the
failure of his accusation, went about Paris denouncing Vincent as a
thief. So determined was he to ruin the poor priest whose room he had
shared that he obtained an introduction to Father de Bérulle for the
express purpose of making Vincent's guilt known to him. As for the
latter, he bore the affront in silence, making no attempt to justify
himself beyond his first declaration that he was innocent. "God knows
the truth," he would reply to all accusations.
The true thief was only discovered six months later. The chemist's
assistant had fallen ill and was lying at the point of death at a
hospital, when, repenting of his crime, he sent to implore
forgiveness of the man he had robbed. The judge, stricken with
remorse, wrote at once to Vincent, offering to come and ask his
pardon on his knees for the wrong he had done him.
Vincent was then living at the Oratory with Father de Bérulle, who
had never doubted his innocence. He hastened to assure his old
roommate that he desired no such apology and begged him to say no
more about the matter. Such was his treatment of the man who had done
him so grievous an injury.
It was during these years that Vincent de Paul had another strange
experience in which he showed heroic courage and steadfastness. He
made the acquaintance of a learned doctor of the Sorbonne who was so
tormented with doubts against the Faith that his reason was in
danger. This man confided his distress to Vincent, who explained to
him that a temptation to doubt does not constitute unbelief, and that
as long as his will remained firm he was safe. It happens, however,
that such temptations often cloud the reason, and Vincent's labors to
restore the man's peace of mind were in vain.
The priest, deeply moved at the sight of a soul in such danger,
besought God for help, offering himself to bear the temptation in the
doctor's place. It was the inspiration of a saint, and the prayer was
granted. The man was instantly delivered from his doubts, which took
possession of Vincent himself. The trial was long and painful. For
several years this humble and fervent soul endured the agony of an
incessant temptation to unbelief. But Vincent knew how to resist this
most subtle snare of the Evil One, and, although the anguish was
continual, his will never wavered.
Copying out the _Credo_ on a small sheet of parchment, he placed it
over his heart, and his only answer to the fearful doubts that
harassed him was to lay his hand upon it as he made his act of Faith.
To prevent himself from dwelling on such thoughts, he devoted himself
more than ever to works of charity, spending himself in the service
of the sick and poor and comforting others when he himself was often
in greater need of comfort.
One day when the temptation was almost more than he could bear and he
felt himself on the point of yielding, he made a vow to consecrate
himself to Jesus Christ in the person of His poor. As he made the
promise the temptation vanished, and forever. His faith henceforward
was a faith that had been tried and had conquered; strong and firm as
such a faith must be, it held him ready for all that God might send.