Blessed Francis had a great dislike of any kind of affectation or
singularity practised by devout persons, whether in Religious houses or in
the world. He went so far as to say that it rendered their piety not merely
offensive, but ridiculous.
He wished every one to conform as far as possible to the way of life proper
to his or her calling, without affecting any peculiarity. He gave as his
authority for this desire the example of our Lord, who, in the days of His
flesh, condescended to make Himself like to His brethren in all things
excepting sin.
The holy Bishop inculcated this lesson upon his penitents, not only by
word, but much more by his example. Never during the whole fourteen years
which, happily for me, I spent under his direction studying most closely
all his actions, his very gestures, his words, and his teaching; never, I
say, did I observe in him the faintest shadow of singularity.
I must confess to having, in order to find out exactly what he was,
practised a _ruse_, which some might think inexcusable or impertinent.
Every year he paid me a week's visit, and before he came I took care to
have some holes pierced in the doors or boarding of his rooms, that I might
closely observe his behaviour when quite alone. Well, I can truly say that
whatever he did, whether he prayed, read, meditated, or wrote, in his lying
down and in his rising up, at all times and in all circumstances, he was
the same--calm, unaffected, simple--his outward demeanour corresponding
with the interior beauty of his soul. Francis quite alone was the very same
as Francis in company. I think, myself, that this was the result of his
continual attention to the presence of God, a practice which he recommended
so strongly to all who were under his direction.
When he prayed, it was as though he saw the angels and the saints gathered
round him. He remained for hours calm, motionless as a statue, and
changeless in expression.
Never, even when alone, did he for the sake of greater comfort sit or stand
or assume attitudes other than those he permitted himself when in public.
He never so much as crossed his legs, or rested his head on his hand. The
unvarying but easy gravity of his demeanour naturally inspired an unfailing
love and respect.
He said that our exterior deportment should be like water which, the better
it is, the more is it tasteless.
I was much pleased on hearing a very famous and devout person,[1] whom
I met in Paris, say this to me about our Saint. That nothing brought so
vividly to his mind what the conversation of our Lord Jesus Christ must
have been among men, as the presence and angelic deportment of the holy
Bishop, of whom one might truly say that he was not only clothed with, but
absolutely full of, Jesus Christ. Nor will this appear strange to us if we
remember that the just soul, that is to say, the soul which is in a state
of grace, is said to be conformed to the image of the Son of God, and is
called a participator of the divine nature.
[Footnote 1: St. Vincent de Paul.]