hast no part in them, and if thou so continue, that Christ will set
as light by thee: "Those that honor him he will honor, and those that
despise him shall be lightly esteemed." Thou wilt feel one day that
thou canst not live without Him; thou wilt confess then thy need of
Him; and then thou mayest go look for a savior where thou wilt; for He
will be no Savior for thee hereafter, that wouldst not value Him, and
submit to Him here. Then who will prove the loser by thy contempt? Oh,
what a thing will it be for a poor miserable soul to cry to Christ for
help in the day of extremity, and to hear so sad an answer as this!
Thou didst set lightly by Me and My law in the day of thy prosperity,
and I will now set as light by thee in the day of thy adversity.
Read Prov. i., 24, to the end. Thou that, as Esau, didst sell thy
birthright for a mess of pottage, shalt then find no place for
repentance, tho thou seek it with tears. Do you think that Christ shed
His blood to save them that continue to make light of it? and to save
them, that value a cup of drink or a lust before His salvation? I tell
you, sirs, tho you set so light by Christ and salvation, God doth not
so: He will not give them on such terms as these: He valueth the blood
of His Son, and the everlasting glory, and He will make you value them
if ever you have them. Nay, this will be thy condemnation, and leaveth
no remedy. All the world can not save him that sets lightly by Christ.
None of them shall taste of His supper. Nor can you blame Him to deny
you what you made light of yourselves. Can you find fault if you miss
of the salvation which you slighted?
9. The time is near when Christ and salvation will not be made light
of as now they are. When God hath shaken those careless souls out of
their bodies, and you must answer for all your sins in your own name,
oh, then, what would you not give for a Savior! When a thousand bills
shall be brought in against you, and none to relieve you, then you
will consider, Oh! Christ would now have stood between me and the
wrath of God; had I not despised Him, He would have answered all.
When you see the world hath left you, and your companions in sin have
deceived themselves and you, and all your merry days are gone, then
what would you not give for that Christ and salvation that now you
account not worth your labor! Do you think that when you see the
judgment seat, and you are doomed to everlasting perdition for your
wickedness, that you should then make as light of Christ as now? Why
will you not judge now as you know you shall judge then? Will He then
be worth ten thousand worlds? And is He not now worth your highest
estimation and dearest affection?
10. God will not only deny thee that salvation thou madest light of,
but He will take from thee all that which thou didst value before it:
he that most highly esteems Christ shall have Him, and the creatures,
so far as they are good here, and Him without the creature hereafter,
because the creature is not useful; and he that sets more by the
creature than by Christ, shall have some of the creature without
Christ here, and neither Christ nor it hereafter.
So much of these considerations, which may show the true face of this
heinous sin.
What think you now, friends, of this business? Do you not see by this
time what a case that soul is in that maketh light of Christ and
salvation? What need then is there that you should take heed lest this
should prove your own case! The Lord knows it is too common a case.
Whoever is found guilty at the last of this sin, it were better for
that man he had never been born. It were better for him he had been a
Turk or Indian, that never had heard the name of a Savior, and that
never had salvation offered to him: for such men "have no cloak for
their sin." Besides all the rest of their sins, they have this killing
sin to answer for, which will undo them. And this will aggravate their
misery, that Christ whom they set light by must be their Judge, and
for this sin will He judge them. Oh, that such would now consider how
they will answer that question that Christ put to their predecessors:
"How will ye escape the damnation of hell" or, "How shall we escape if
we neglect so great salvation?" Can you escape without a Christ? or
will a despised Christ save you then? If he be accurst that sets light
by father or mother, what then is he that sets light by Christ? It was
the heinous sin of the Jews, that among them were found such as set
light by father and mother. But among us, men slight the Father of
Spirits! In the name of God, brethren, I beseech you to consider how
you will then bear this anger which you now make light of! You that
can not make light of a little sickness or want, or of natural death,
no, not of a toothache, but groan as if you were undone; how will you
then make light of the fury of the Lord, which will burn against the
contemners of His grace! Doth it not behoove you beforehand to think
of these things?
Dearly beloved in the Lord, I have now done that work which I came
upon; what effect it hath, or will have, upon your hearts, I know not,
nor is it any further in my power to accomplish that which my soul
desireth for you. Were it the Lord's will that I might have my wish
herein, the words that you have this day heard should so stick by you
that the secure should be awakened by them, and none of you should
perish by the slighting of your salvation. I can not follow you
to your several habitations to apply this word to your particular
necessities; but oh, that I could make every man's conscience a
preacher to himself that it might do it, which is ever with you!
That the next time you go prayerless to bed, or about your business,
conscience might cry out, Dost thou set no more by Christ and thy
salvation? That the next time you are tempted to think hardly of a
holy and diligent life (I will not say to deride it as more ado than
needs), conscience might cry out to thee, Dost thou set so light by
Christ and thy salvation? That the next time you are ready to rush
upon unknown sin, and to please your fleshly desires against the
command of God, conscience might cry out, Is Christ and salvation no
more worth than to cast them away, or venture them for thy lust?
That when you are following the world with your most eager desires,
forgetting the world to come, and the change that is a little before
you, conscience might cry out to you, Is Christ and salvation no more
worth than so? That when you are next spending the Lord's day in
idleness or vain sports, conscience might tell you what you are doing.
In a word, that in all your neglects of duty, your sticking at the
supposed labor or cost of a godly life, yea, in all your cold and lazy
prayers and performances, conscience might tell you how unsuitable
such endeavors are to the reward; and that Christ and salvation should
not be so slighted. I will say no more but this at this time, it is a
thousand pities that when God hath provided a Savior for the world,
and when Christ hath suffered so much for their sins, and made so full
a satisfaction to justice, and purchased so glorious a kingdom for
His saints, and all this is offered so freely to sinners, to lost,
unworthy sinners, even for nothing, that yet so many millions should
everlastingly perish because they make light of their Savior and
salvation, and prefer the vain world and their lusts before them. I
have delivered my message, the Lord open your hearts to receive it.
I have persuaded you with the word of truth and soberness; the Lord
persuade you more effectually, or else all this is lost. Amen.
BOSSUET
THE FUNERAL SERMON ON THE DEATH OF THE GRANDE CONDÉ
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Jacque Benigne Bossuet was born at Dijon, in Burgundy, in 1627. In an
illustrious group of French Catholic preachers he occupied a foremost
place. In beginning his sermons he was reserved and dignified, but as
he moved forward and his passionate utterance captured his hearers,
"he watched their rising emotion, the rooted glances of a thousand
eyes filled him with a sort of divine frenzy, his notes became a
burden and a hindrance, and with impetuous ardor he abandoned himself
to the inspiration of the moment."
To ripe scholarship Bossuet added a voice that was deep and sonorous,
an imposing personality, and an animated and graceful style of
gesture. Lamartine says he had "a voice which, like that of the
thunder in the clouds, or the organ in the cathedral, had never been
anything but the medium of power and divine persuasion to the soul; a
voice which only spoke to kneeling auditors; a voice which spoke in
the name of God, an authority of language unequaled upon earth,
and against which the lowest murmur was impious and the smallest
opposition blasphemy." He died in 1704.
BOSSUET 1627-1704
THE FUNERAL SERMON ON THE DEATH OF THE GRANDE CONDÉ
In beginning this address, in which I purpose to celebrate the
immortal glory of Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, I feel myself
overweighted both by the grandeur of the subject and, to be frank, by
the fruitlessness of the effort. What part of the inhabited world has
not heard of the victories of the Prince de Condé and the wonders of
his life? They are recounted everywhere; the Frenchman who boasts of
them in the presence of the foreigner tells him nothing which the
latter does not know; and in no matter how exalted a strain I might
sound his praises, I should still feel that in your hearts you were
convinced that I deserved the reproach of falling far short of doing
him justice. An orator, feeble as he is, can not do anything for the
perpetuation of the glory of extraordinary souls. Le Sage was right
when he said that "their deeds alone can praise them"; no other praise
is of any effect where great names are concerned; and it needs but the
simple story of his deeds faithfully recorded to sustain the glory of
the Prince de Condé.
But, while awaiting the appearance of the history which is to tell the
story of his life to coming ages, it is necessary to satisfy as best
we may the public recognition of his merit and bow to the order of the
greatest of all sovereigns. What does not the kingdom owe to a prince
who has honored the house of France, the French name, his century,
and, so to speak, all mankind? Louis the Great himself shares these
sentiments; after having mourned this great man, and by his tears,
shed in the presence of his entire court, rather than by words,
uttered the most glorious eulogy he could receive, he assembled
together in this celebrated temple all that is most august in his
realm, in order that the last rites to the memory of this prince might
there be celebrated; and he wishes that my feeble voice should animate
all this funeral equipage. Let us try, then, to forget our grief. Here
an object greater and worthier of this pulpit presents itself to my
mind: it is God, who makes warriors and conquerors. "It is Thou," said
David unto Him, "who hast trained my hand to battle, and my fingers to
hold the sword." If He inspires courage, no less is He the bestower of
other great qualities, both of heart and of mind. His mighty hand is
the source of everything; it is He who sends from heaven generous
sentiments, wise counsels and every worthy thought. But He wishes
us to know how to distinguish between the gifts He abandons to His
enemies and those He reserves for His servants. What distinguishes His
friends from all others is piety. Until this gift of heaven has been
received, all others not only are as naught, but even bring ruin on
those who are endowed with them; without this inestimable gift of
piety what would the Prince de Condé have been, even with his great
heart and great genius? No, my brethren, if piety had not, as it were,
consecrated his other virtues, these princes would have found no
consolation for their grief, nor this pontiff any confidence in his
prayers, nor would I myself utter with conviction the praises which I
owe so great a man.
Let us, by this example, then set human glory at naught; let us
destroy the idol of the ambitious, that it might fall to pieces before
this altar. Let us to-day join together (for with a subject so noble
we may do it) all the finest qualities of a superior nature; and, for
the glory of truth, let us demonstrate, in a prince admired of the
universe, that what makes heroes, that what carries to the highest
pitch worldly glory, worth, magnanimity, natural goodness--all
attributes of the heart; vivacity, penetration, grandeur and sublimity
of genius--attributes of the mind; would be but an illusion were piety
not a part of them--in a word, that piety is the essence of the man.
It is this, gentlemen, which you will see in the forever memorable
life of the most high and mighty Prince Louis de Bourbon, Prince de
Condé, first prince of the blood.
God has revealed to us that He alone creates conquerors, and that He
makes them serve His designs. What other created a Cyrus if it is
not God, who named him two hundred years before his birth in the
Prophecies of Isaiah? "Thou art as yet unborn," He said unto him, "but
I see thee, and I named thee by thy name; thou shalt be called Cyrus.
I will walk before thee in battle, at thy approach I will put kings to
flight; I will break down doors of brass. It is I that stretch out the
heavens, that support the earth, that name that which is not as that
which is," that is to say, it is I that create everything and I that
see, from eternity, all that I create. What other could fashion an
Alexander, if it is not this same God who caused the unquenchable
ardor of Daniel, His prophet, to see from so great a distance and by
means of foreshadowings so vivid. "Do you see him," he says, "this
conqueror; with what rapidity he rises from the west by bounds, as it
were, and touches not the earth?"
In the boldness of his leaps, and the lightness of his tread like unto
some powerful and frisking beast, he advances by quick and impetuous
bounds, and nor mountain nor precipice arrests his progress. Already
has the King of Persia fallen into his hands. "At his sight he was
exasperated; _efferatus est in eum_," says the prophet; "he strikes
him down, he tramples him under foot; none can save him from his blows
nor cheat him of his prey." But to hear these words of Daniel, whom
would you suppose you perceived, gentlemen, under that figure of
speech--Alexander or the Prince de Condé? God gave him that dauntless
valor that France might enjoy safety during the minority of a king but
four years old. Let him grow up, this king, cherished of Heaven, and
all will yield to his exploits; rising above his own followers, as
well as his enemies, he will know how sometimes to make use of, and
at others to dispense with, his most illustrious captains, and alone,
under the hand of God, who will be his constant aid, he will be seen
to be the stanch rampart of his dominions. But God chose the Duc
d'Enghien to defend him in his infancy. So, toward the first days of
his reign, at the age of twenty-two years, the duke conceived a plan
in the armor of which the seasoned veterans could find no vulnerable
point; but victory justified his course at Rocroi. The opposing force,
it is true, is stronger; it is composed of those old Walloon, Italian
and Spanish regiments that, up to that time, could not be broken; but
at what valuation should be placed the courage inspired in our troops
by the pressing necessities of the state, by past successes, and by
a young prince of the blood in whose eyes could be read victory? Don
Francisco de Mellos awaits the onset with a firm foot; and, without
being able to retreat, the two generals and the two armies seemed to
have wished to imprison themselves in the woods and the marshes in
order to decide the issue of combat like two champions in the lists.
Then what a sight is presented to the eye! the young prince appears
another man; touched by an object so worthy, his great soul displays
all its sublimity; his courage waxes with the dangers it has to
encounter, and his penetration becomes keener as his ardor increases.
That night, which had to be spent in the presence of the enemy, like
the vigilant commander that he was, he was the last to retire. But
never were his slumbers more peaceful. On the eve of so momentous
a day, when the first battle is to be fought, his mind is entirely
tranquil, so thoroughly is he in his element; and it is well known
that on the morrow, at the hour he had indicated, it was necessary to
awaken this second Alexander from a deep slumber. Do you see him as
he rushes on to victory or death? No sooner had he inspired the ranks
with the ardor with which his soul was animated than he was seen
almost at the same time to press the right wing of the enemy, support
our own shaken by the shock of the charge, rally the disheartened
and almost vanquished French forces, put to flight the victorious
Spaniards, carrying dismay everywhere, and terrifying by his lightning
glances those who escape his blows. There still remained that dreaded
infantry of the Spanish army, whose great battalions in close line of
battle like so many towers, but towers which knew how to repair their
breaches, were unshaken by the onset, and, tho the rest of the army
was put to rout, maintained a steady fire. Thrice the young conqueror
attempted to break the ranks of these intrepid warriors, thrice was
he repulsed by the valorous Comte de Fontaines, who was borne to
the scene of combat in his invalid's chair, by reason of his bodily
infirmities, thus demonstrating that the warrior's soul has the
ascendant over the body it animates.
But at last was he forced to yield. In vain does Beck, with a body of
fresh cavalry, hasten his march through the woods in order to attack
our exhausted soldiers; the prince has forestalled him; the defeated
battalions are asking quarter. But victory for the Duc d'Enghien was
destined to be more terrible than the combat. While with an air
of confidence he advances to receive the surrender of these brave
fellows, they, on their part, still on their guard, are in dread of
being surprized by a fresh attack. The frightful havoc wrought by the
discharge of their musketry infuriates our troops. Carnage is now
rampant; the bloodshed intoxicates the soldiers to a high degree. But
the prince, who could not bear to see these lions slaughtered like so
many lambs, calmed their overwrought feeling and enhanced the pleasure
of victory by that of pardoning the vanquished. What, then, was the
astonishment of these veteran troops and their brave officers when
they perceived that their only salvation was to give themselves up to
their conqueror! With what wonder did they regard the young prince,
whose victory had rendered still more impressive his customary proud
bearing, to which, however, his clemency had imparted a new grace.
How willingly would he have saved the life of the brave Comte de
Fontaines, but unhappily he lay stretched upon the field of battle
among the thousands of dead bodies, those whose loss is still kept by
Spain. Spain knew not that the prince who caused her the loss of so
many of her old regiments on the day of Rocroi was to finish the rest
on the plains of Lens.
Thus the first victory was the guarantee of many others. The prince
bent his knee and on the field of battle rendered to the Lord of Hosts
the glory He had sent him. There was celebrated the deliverance of
Rocroi, and thanksgivings were uttered that the threats of a once
dreaded enemy had resulted in his own shameful defeat; that the
regency was strengthened, France calmed, and a reign which was to
be so illustrious begun by an augury so auspicious. The army led
in thanksgiving; all France followed; the first venture of the Duc
d'Enghien was lauded to the skies. Praise sufficient to render others
forever illustrious; but for him it was but the first stage in his
career!
As a result of this first campaign, and after the capture of
Thionville--a prize worthy of the victory gained at Rocroi--he was
regarded as an adversary equally to be feared in sieges and in
battles. But there is one trait in the character of the victorious
young prince no less admirable than that which was brought out by
victory. The court, which at his arrival was prepared to welcome him
with the plaudits he deserved, was surprized at the manner in which
he received them. The queen-regent assured him that the king was well
pleased with his services. This from the lips of his sovereign was
a fitting recompense for his labors. If others dared to praise him,
however, he treated their eulogies as insults, and, impatient of
flattery, he was in dread even of its semblance. Such was the
delicacy, or rather the solidity of character, of this prince.
Moreover his maxim was (listen, for it is a maxim which makes great
men), that, in the performance of great deeds, one's sole thought
should be to perform them well, and leave glory to follow in the train
of virtue. It is this which he has endeavored to instil into others,
and by this principle has he himself ever been guided. Thus false
glory had no temptation for him. It was with truth and greatness alone
that he was concerned.
Thus it came about that his glory was wrapt up in the service of his
kind and in the happiness and well-being of the state; They were the
objects nearest his heart; these were his first and most cherished
desires. The court had but little charm for him, or occupation suited
to his talents, tho he was there regarded as its greatest hero. It was
deemed needful to exhibit everywhere in Germany, as in Flanders, the
intrepid defender whom God had given us. Remark well what is about to
transpire: There is being formed against the prince an enterprise of a
more formidable nature than, that at Rocroi; and, in order to put his
talents to the test, warfare is about to drain all its resources, and
call to its aid every known invention. What is it that is presented
to my vision? I see not merely men to meet in combat but inaccessible
mountains: on one side are ravines and precipices; on the other
impenetrable forests in the heart of which are marshes, and in
proximity to streams are impregnable intrenchments; everywhere are
lofty fortresses and forests of felled trees lying across roads which
are frightful; and there arises Merci, with his worthy Bavarians
inflated by the large measure of success which has fallen to their
arms and by the capture of Fribourg; Merci, whom none has ever seen
retreat from the combat; Merci, whom the Prince de Condé and the
vigilant Turenne have never surprized in a movement that was not in
accord with the rales of warfare, and to whom they have conceded this
great mark of admiration--that never has he lost a single favorable
opportunity, nor failed to anticipate their designs as tho he had
taken part in their councils.
Here, then, in the course of eight days, and by four separate attacks,
is seen how much can be supported and undertaken in war. Our troops
seem as much dispirited by the frightful condition of the field of
battle as by the resistance of the enemy, and for a time the prince
sees himself, so to speak, abandoned. But like a second Maccabee,
"his right arm abandons him not, and his courage, inflamed by so many
perils, came to his aid." No sooner had he been seen on foot the first
to scale those inaccessible heights, than his ardor drew the whole
army after him. Merci sees himself lost beyond redemption; his best
regiments are defeated; nightfall is the salvation of the remainder of
his army. But a severe rainstorm serves to add to our difficulties and
discouragements, so that we have at the same time to contend with not
only the highest courage and the perfection of art, but the forces of
nature as well. In spite of the advantage that an enemy, as able as he
is bold, takes of these conditions, and the fact that he intrenches
himself anew in his impregnable mountains, hard prest on every side,
he is forced not only to allow his cannon and baggage to fall a prey
to the Duc d'Enghien, but also the country bordering the Rhine. See
how everything is shaken to its foundation: Philipsburg is in dire
distress in ten days, in spite of the winter now close at hand;
Philipsburg, which so long held the Rhine captive under our laws,
and whose loss the greatest of kings so gloriously retrieved. Worms,
Spire, Mayence, Landau, twenty other places I might name, open their
portals: Merci is unable to defend them, and no longer faces his
conqueror. It is not enough; he must fall at his feet, a worthy victim
of his valor. Nordlingen will witness his overthrow; it will there
be admitted that it is no more possible to withstand the French in
Germany than in Flanders. And all these benefits we will owe to this
self-same prince. God, the protector of France and of a king whom He
has destined to perform His great works, thus ordains ...