THE INTERIOR LIFE OF THE BLESSED CURE.
IN the preceding chapters we have recounted many things both edifying
and interesting in the external life of the pious cure. But for a
better knowledge of his noble personality we must look into his inner
life. Many readers of these lines have doubtless asked themselves how
the cure, in his unremitting labors for others, could have bestowed
the necessary care upon his own soul.
Let it be understood that the very moment when the cure seemed to have
any leisure for himself, he was more actively engaged in the business
of his own spiritual welfare. Then were displayed those beautiful
virtues which showed him to be an example of charity and meekness, of
voluntary sacrifice and humility. The very glow from his clear eyes
revealed the genuine piety by which he was animated. To all who
approached him, Father Vianney showed a befitting attention and
respect. Indeed, with increasing years, he was even more affable than
before.
And yet to what trials was not his patience subjected? Almost daily,
as he passed through the village square, people would crowd about him,
tug at his soutane and ask questions, which were oftimes trivial, if
not foolish. Father Vianney never met importunate persons with so much
as a harsh word or a frown. His unchanging kindness toward all earned
for him in his life-time the title of the "Good Cure." He was ever
considerate of his co-workers, striving to spare them every irksome
duty. In order to show his affection he distributed among them his
personal belongings, including crosses, medals and relics, which he
dearly prized.
For many years before his death he possessed absolutely nothing. He
had sold his furniture, books, etc., and had given the proceeds to the
poor. The purchasers generally were glad to have him use the articles
for which they had given him the money.
Lenient as Father Vianney was towards others, he was correspondingly
severe with himself. He was extremely hard upon his own body, which he
referred to as his "corpse." After his superiors had prohibited some
of the rigorous mortifications to which he was accustomed, he devised
other forms of self-denial in respect to his daily food.
During the last decade of his life he was required, by order of his
superiors, to take, every morning, at least a cup of milk and a roll.
Brother Jerome, who waited upon him, observed that the cure, with his
usual desire to practice penance, first ate the dry bread and then
drank the milk.
For many years Father Vianney suffered from violent pains which
frequently compelled him to shorten his addresses in the pulpit and
sometimes even caused him to collapse. If, on such occasions, he were
questioned about his illness his only answer was: "Yes, I am suffering
a little." Terrible indeed must have been his torture when we consider
that his emaciated body, racked with pain, was confined for sixteen or
seventeen hours a day, during so many years, in the narrow space of
the confessional.
In the winter he suffered greatly from the cold. The north-west wind
blowing over the bleak region of the Jura mountains, whistled through
the door of the church, which could not be kept closed owing to the
constant stream of penitents passing in and out. In summer, conditions
were worse, if that were possible, for on account of the location of
his confessional, only the air from the farther side could reach it
and that was heated and stifling because of the many persons who were
gathered there. Frequently, when Father Vianney left the confessional,
he was unable to stand erect, being obliged to support himself by
leaning against the seats or pillars of the church.
After a day of such work and suffering he was surely entitled to a
full night's rest. But no, he often said that with one hour of sound
sleep he found himself quite refreshed. Even this one hour, however,
was hardly ever allowed him. Like one grievously sick he breathed
painfully as he lay on his miserable couch of straw. A cough
unceasingly racked his body. He arose every night four or five times,
in the hope of getting some relief by walking up and down. When at
last thoroughly exhausted he slept only for a short time. When the
hour for rising had come, this poor, feeble septuagenarian with a
heroic effort tore himself away from the rest which he had hardly
enjoyed and began the work of another day as long and as trying as
that which had gone before.
To these corporal sufferings was added spiritual anguish of the
bitterest kind. In his own life the cure was a saint, chaste,
magnanimous and faithful, and yet, day after day, he had to listen in
the confessional to an endless recital of sins against those virtues.
Loving God as he did, with his whole soul, he could not but suffer
when listening to the recital of most grievous offences committed
against the Divine Majesty. His heart was torn thereby and not
infrequently his anguish manifested itself in a flood of tears.
One day while giving instructions in catechism, he cried out: "There
is no one in the world more unhappy than the guardian of souls. How
does he spend his time? In hearing how the good God has been offended
and His love rejected! Like St. Peter the poor priest is ever to be
found in the court of Pilate. The Divine Saviour is always before his
gaze, derided, scorned and reviled. Some sinners are spitting upon His
countenance, others rain blows upon His defenceless head; still others
crown Him with thorns and scourge Him until the blood flows. He is
buffeted about, thrown on the ground and trampled upon. He is
crucified and His heart is transpierced. Alas! had I known what it
meant to be a confessor, instead of going to a seminary I would rather
have fled to a Trappist Monastery."
It would have been some consolation and encouragement if the poor
cure's humility had allowed him to rejoice at the tremendous success
of his spiritual labors. But no matter what wonderful effects his
ministry produced, he always regarded himself as most incapable of
discharging his priestly duties as they should be performed. With
unaffected sympathy did he speak of his "poor soul," his "poor corpse"
his "poor sins" and his "poor misery," praying that God in His
goodness would bear with them. Without his humility, Father Vianney
undoubtedly would not have become a saint. How otherwise could he have
withstood for years the enthusiastic veneration of the thousands who
were the witnesses of his holy life.
One day, when Bishop Devie, of Belley, in the ardor of conversation,
gave him the title of the "holy cure," Father Vianney in despair
ejaculated: "Oh, what a misfortune for me! Your reverence even is
deceived in me." He was more than surprised when, in August, in the
year 1855, he was nominated a "Knight of the Legion of Honor." Of
course he never wore the badge nor availed himself in any way of the
distinction. Against the onrush of a multitude of corporal and
spiritual anxieties and cares he sought consolation in prayer.
It has remained almost completely a secret what supernatural
consolations were vouchsafed to the blessed cure. On that subject he
always preserved a strict silence. He prayed practically throughout
the whole night, for his sufferings, as mentioned above, allowed him
only a few minutes rest at a time. What he recommended to others in
the catechism lessons, he himself constantly practiced. He was wont to
say, for instance: "See now, dear children, should you wake up during
the night, go quickly in spirit before the tabernacle and say to our
Saviour: "Here am I, O Lord, I adore Thee, I praise Thee, I thank
Thee, I love Thee and with the Angels let me keep Thee company.""
During the day all his spare time was devoted to prayer. In visiting
the sick his thoughts were always with God. But his prayers were of
the most simple kind. He favored simplicity in every action.
In the church, before the Blessed Sacrament, the pious cure's sense of
the Real Presence was so vivid that a colleague, who noticed his
radiant look, regarded him with astonishment, thinking Father Vianney
with his corporal eyes, beheld some one there. This intuition of the
Divine Presence the pious man referred to, one day, saying: "That is
faith when we speak to God as a fellow man!"
Despite the ardor of his desire for God's blissful vision, he had to
struggle for many decades in the exile of this life, persevering in
work and prayer. Only when his venerable age and increasing
infirmities disabled him from further laboring in the conversion of
sinners, did our Divine Lord see fit to take this soul to Himself. The
cure was then in his seventy-fourth year.