THE GALLEYS
M. DE BÉRULLE had certainly not exaggerated matters when he said that
the parish of Châtillon-les-Dombes was in need of earnest workers.
Vincent looked about him and set to work at once.
The first thing to be done was to clean out the church, which was in
such a state of dirt and squalor that people had some excuse for not
wishing to enter it. He then turned his attention to the clergy
already there. They were ignorant and easygoing men, for the most
part, who thought a good deal more of their own amusement than of the
needs of their flock, but they were not bad at heart. Vincent's
representations of what a priest's life ought to be astonished them at
first and convinced them later--all the more so in that they saw in
him the very ideal that he strove to set before them.
There was no presbytery at Châtillon, and to the astonishment of
everyone, Vincent hired a lodging in the house of a young gentleman
who had the reputation of being one of the most riotous livers in the
town. He was, moreover, half a heretic, and Vincent had been warned to
have nothing to do with him. But the new rector had his own ideas on
the subject, and the ill-assorted pair soon became very good friends.
The change in the young man's mode of life was gradual. His first step
was to be reconciled to the Church, his second to begin to interest
himself in the poor. Gradually his bad companions dropped away, until
one day Châtillon suddenly awoke to the fact that this most rackety of
individuals was taking life seriously--was, in fact, a changed man.
The whole town was in a stir. Who was this priest who had so suddenly
come among them, so self-forgetful, so simple, so unassuming, yet
whose influence was so strong with all classes?
It was a question that might well be asked in the light of what was
yet to come.
There lived near Châtillon a certain Count de Rougemont, a noted
duelist, whose violence and immorality were the talk of the
neighborhood. Having heard people speak of the wonderful eloquence of
M. Vincent, this man came one day out of curiosity to hear him preach.
Surprised and touched in spite of himself, he determined to make the
preacher's acquaintance and, hastening into his presence, flung
himself on his knees before him.
"I am a wretch and a sinner!" he cried, "but tell me what to do and I
will do it." Raising him with gentle courtesy, Vincent bade him take
courage, and spoke to him of all the good that a man of his position
might do in the world. The Count, profoundly struck by the contrast
between this man's life and his own--the one so powerful for good, and
the other so strong for evil--vowed to mend his ways. And he kept his
word.
One by one he sold his estates to find the wherewithal for Vincent's
schemes of charity, and he would have stripped himself of all that he
had, had not Vincent himself forbidden it. His sword, which had served
him in all his duels, and to which he was very much attached, he broke
in pieces on a rock. His great chateau, the walls of which had rung to
the sound of wild carousals, was now thrown open to the sick and the
poor, whom the once-dreaded Count insisted on serving with his own
hands. He died the death of a saint a few years later, amid the
blessings of all the people whom he had helped.
The ladies of the parish, to whom before Vincent's arrival the hour of
the Sunday Mass had seemed too long for God's service and who had
spent it chattering behind their fans, began also to realize that
there was something in life besides selfish amusement. Some of them,
moved by curiosity, went to see the new preacher, who, receiving them
with his usual kindness and courtesy, drew a touching picture of the
suffering and poverty that surrounded them and begged them to think
sometimes of their less fortunate brothers and sisters.
Two of the richest and most fashionable ladies of the district,
touched by Vincent's words and example, gave themselves up entirely to
the service of the poor, traveling about the country nursing the sick,
and even risking their lives in the care of the plague-stricken. They
were the forerunners of those "Sisters of Charity" who were in after
years to carry help and comfort among the poor of every country.
One day, as Vincent was about to say Mass, one of these ladies begged
him to speak to the congregation in favor of a poor family whose
members were sick and starving. So successful was his appeal that when
he himself went a few hours later to see what could be done, he found
the road thronged with people carrying food and necessaries.
This, Vincent at once realized, was not practical. There would be far
too much today and nothing tomorrow. There was no want of charity, but
it needed organization. Sending for the two ladies, he explained to
them a scheme which he had thought out on his way home. Those who were
ready to help the poor were to band themselves together, each in turn
promising to provide a day's food for starving families.
Thus was founded the first confraternity of the "Ladies of Charity,"
who were to work in concert for the relief of their poorer brethren.
The association was to be under the management of the curé of the
parish, and every good woman might belong to it. Its members were to
devote themselves to the service of the poor for the love of Our Lord
Jesus Christ, their Patron. They were to tend the sick cheerfully and
kindly, as they would their own children, not disdaining to minister
to them with their own hands. The work developed quickly;
confraternities of charity were soon adopted in nearly all the
parishes of France and have since extended over the whole Christian
world.
The de Gondis, in the meantime, had discovered the place of Vincent's
retreat and had written him several letters, piteously urging him to
return. They had succeeded in enlisting as their advocate a certain M.
du Fresne, a friend of Vincent's, who had promised to plead their
cause and who set about it with a shrewd common sense that was not
without its effect. The work at Châtillon, he represented to Vincent,
could be carried on by any good priest now that it had been set
agoing, whereas in refusing to return to the de Gondis he was
neglecting an opportunity for doing good on a very much larger scale.
Helped by their money and their influence, not only their vast
estates, but Paris itself, lay open to him as a field for his labors.
Moreover, he had taken his own way in going to Châtillon; was he sure
that it was God's way?
Vincent was humble enough to believe that he might be in the wrong. He
consented to go to Paris to see M. de Bérulle and to allow himself to
be guided by his advice. The result was a foregone conclusion, for the
de Gondis had won over de Bérulle completely to their side. The next
day Vincent returned to the Hôtel de Gondi, where he promised to
remain during the lifetime of the Countess.
Delighted to have him back at any price, Vincent's noble patrons asked
for nothing better than to further all his schemes for the welfare of
the poor and infirm. Confraternities of charity like that of Châtillon
were established on all the de Gondi estates, Madame de Gondi herself
setting the example of what a perfect Lady of Charity should be.
Neither dirt, discourtesy nor risk of infection could discourage this
earnest disciple of Vincent. In spite of weak health she gave freely
of her time, her energy and her money.
M. de Gondi was, as we have already seen, General of the King's
Galleys, or, as we should now say, Admiral of the Fleet. It was no
easy post in days when the Mediterranean was infested with Turkish
pirates, to whom the royal ships had to give frequent chase; but the
General had distinguished himself more than once by his skill and
courage at this difficult task.
The use of steam was as yet unknown, and the King's galleys were rowed
by the convicts and prisoners of France, for it would have been
impossible to find volunteers for the work. Chained to their oars
night and day, kept in order by cruel cuts of the lash on their bare
shoulders, these men lived and died on the rowers' bench without
spiritual help or assistance of any kind. The conditions of service
were such that many prisoners took their own lives rather than face
the torments of such an existence.
As Vincent went about his works of charity in Paris it occurred to him
to visit the dungeons where the men who had been condemned to the
galleys were confined. What he saw filled him with horror. Huddled
together in damp and filthy prisons, crawling with vermin, covered
with sores and ulcers, brawling, blaspheming and fighting, the galley
slaves made a picture suggestive only of Hell.
Vincent hastened to M. de Gondi and, trembling with emotion, poured
forth a description of the horrors he had seen.
"These are your people, Monseigneur!" he cried; "you will have to
answer for them before God." The General was aghast; it had never
occurred to him to think of the condition of the men who rowed his
ships, and he gladly gave Vincent a free hand to do whatever he could
to relieve them.
Calling two other priests to his assistance, Vincent set to work at
once to visit the convicts in the Paris prisons; but the men were so
brutalized that it was difficult to know how to win them. The first
advances were met with cursing and blasphemy, but Vincent was not to
be discouraged. With his own gentle charity he performed the lowest
offices for these poor wretches to whom his heart went out with such
an ardent pity; he cleansed them from the vermin which infested them
and dressed their neglected sores. Gradually they were softened and
would listen while he spoke to them of the Saviour who had died to
save their souls. At Vincent's earnest request, money was collected
among his friends and patrons, and a hospital built where the
prisoners condemned to the galleys might be nursed into good health
before they went on board.
In due time the rumor of the good work that was being done reached the
ears of Louis XIII, who promptly made Vincent de Paul Almoner to the
King's ships, with the honors and privileges of a naval officer and a
salary of six hundred livres. This enabled Vincent to carry his
mission farther afield, and he determined to visit all the convict
prisons in the seaport towns, taking Marseilles as his first station.
Here, where the conditions were perhaps even worse than in Paris,
Vincent met them in the same spirit and conquered by the same means.
The fact that he had once been a slave himself gave him an insight
into the sufferings of the galley slaves and a wonderful influence
over them. Accustomed as they were to be looked upon as brutes, it was
a new experience to be treated as if it were a privilege to be in
their company. This strange new friend who went about among them,
kissing their chains, sympathizing with their sufferings and attending
to their lowest needs seemed to them like an Angel from Heaven; even
the most hardened could not resist such treatment.
In the meantime, through the generosity of Vincent's friends,
hospitals were being built and men and women were offering themselves
to help in any capacity in this work of charity. Many of these earnest
Christians gave their very lives for the galley slaves; for fevers,
plague and contagious diseases of every kind raged in the filthy
convict prisons, and many priests and lay helpers died of the
infection. Yet other devoted workers were always found to take their
place, and the work which Vincent had inaugurated thrived and
prospered.