Here is a little village story to show how often true and solid piety is to
be found among the lowly and ignorant, of whom the world thinks not at all.
I had it from the lips of our Blessed Father, who loved to tell it.
While visiting his diocese, passing through a little country town, he was
told that a well-to-do inhabitant was very ill and desired to see him, and
to receive his blessing before he died. Our Blessed Father hastened to his
bedside and found him at the point of death, yet in full possession of all
his faculties. When he saw the Bishop the good farmer exclaimed: "Oh! my
Lord, I thank God for permitting me to receive your blessing before I die."
Then the room being cleared of all his relations and friends, and he being
left quite alone with the holy Prelate, he made his confession and received
absolution. His next question was, "My Lord, shall I die?" The Bishop,
unwilling to alarm him unnecessarily, answered quietly and reassuringly
that he had seen people far more ill than he recover, but that he must
place all his trust in God, the Master of life and death, who knows the
number of our days, which cannot be even one more than he has decreed.
"But, my Lord," returned the man, "do you really yourself think that I
shall die?" "My son," replied the good Prelate, "a physician could answer
that question better than I can. All I can tell you is that I know your
soul to be just now in a very excellent state of preparation for death, and
that perhaps were you summoned at any other time, you might not be so fit
to go. The best thing you can do is to put aside all desire of living and
all care about the matter, and to abandon yourself wholly to the providence
and mercy of God, that He may do with you according to His good pleasure,
which will be undoubtedly that very thing which is best for you."
"Oh, my Lord," cried the sick man, "it is not because I fear to die that
I ask you this, but rather because I fear I shall not die, for I can't
reconcile myself to the idea of recovering from this sickness."
Francis was greatly surprised at hearing him speak in this manner, for
he knew that a longing to die is generally either a grace given to very
perfect souls such as David, Elias, St. Paul, and the like; or, on the
contrary, in sinners a prelude to despair, or an outcome of melancholy.
He therefore asked the man if he would really be sorry to live, and, if so,
why such disgust for life, the love of which is natural in all men.
"My Lord," answered the good man, "this world appears to me to be of so
small account that I cannot think why so many people care for nothing
beyond what it has to give. If God had not commanded us to remain here
below until He calls us by death I should have quitted it long ago."
The Bishop, imagining that the man had something on his mind, or that
the bodily pain he was enduring was too much for him, asked him what his
trouble was--perhaps something about money?
"Not at all," replied he, "I have up to the present time, and I am seventy,
enjoyed excellent health, and have abundant means. Indeed, I do not, thank
God, know what poverty is."
Francis questioned him as to his wife and children, asking him if any one
of them was an anxiety to him. "They are each one a comfort and a delight
to me," he answered, "Indeed, if I had any regret in quitting this world it
would be that I shall have to part from them."
More and more surprised, and unable to understand the man's distaste for
life, the Bishop said: "Then, my brother, why do you so long for death?"
"My Lord," replied he, "it is because I have heard in sermons so much about
the joys of Paradise that this world seems to me a mere prison." Then,
speaking out of the fullness of his heart, and giving vent to his thoughts,
he uttered marvellous words concerning the Vision of God in Heaven, and the
love kindled by it in the souls of the blessed.
He entered into so many details respecting the rapturous joys of Eternity
that the good Bishop shed tears of delight, feeling that the good man
had been taught by God in these things, and that flesh and blood had not
revealed them to him, but the Holy Spirit.
After this, descending from those high and heavenly speculations, the poor
farmer depicted the grandeur, the wealth, and the choicest pleasures of the
world in their true colours, showing their intrinsic vileness, and how in
reality they are vanity and vexation of spirit, so as to inspire Blessed
Francis himself with increased contempt for them. The Saint, nevertheless,
did no more than silently acquiesce in the good man's feelings, and to calm
the excitement under which he saw that he was labouring, desired him to
make acts of resignation, and indifference as to living or dying. He told
him to follow the example set by St. Paul, and by St. Martin, and to make
his own the words of the Psalmist: _For what have I in heaven? And besides
Thee what do I desire upon earth?_[1]
A few hours later, having received Extreme Unction from the hands of the
holy Bishop, the man quietly, and apparently without suffering, passed from
this world. So likewise may we when our last hour comes fall gently asleep.
_Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord!_
Another story told me by our Blessed Father relates to himself and a man
with whom he came in contact.
When he was at Paris in the year 1619, this gentleman, who was not only
rich in this world's goods but also in piety and charity, came to consult
him on matters of conscience, and began thus: "Father, I am much afraid
that I shall not save my soul, and therefore I have come to you to beg you
to put me in the right way."
The Bishop asked him what was the cause of this fear. He answered: "My
being too rich. You know Scripture makes the salvation of the rich a matter
of such difficulty that, in my case, I fear it is an impossibility."
Francis, thinking that perhaps he had made his money dishonestly, and that
on that account his conscience was now pricking him, questioned him as to
this.
"Not at all," he answered, "My parents, who were excellent people, left
me no ill-gotten goods, and what I have added to my inheritance has been
amassed by my own frugality and honest work, God preserve me from the sin
of appropriating what belongs to my neighbour! No, my conscience does not
reproach me in that respect."
"Well, then," said the Bishop, "have you made a bad use of this wealth?"
"I live," he replied, "in such a manner as becomes my rank and position,
but I am afraid that I do not give enough to the poor, and you know that we
shall be one day judged on this point."
"Have you any children?" asked Francis.
"Yes," he replied; "but they are all well provided for, and can easily do
without me."
"Really," said the Bishop, "I do not see whence your scruples can arise;
you are the first man I have ever met who has complained to me of having
too much money; most people never have enough."
It was easy to set this good soul at rest, so docile was he in following
the Bishop's advice. The latter told me afterwards that he found upon
enquiry that the man had formerly held high appointments, discharging his
duties in them most faithfully, but had retired from all in order to devote
himself to works of piety and mercy. Moreover, he passed all his time in
churches or hospitals, or in the houses of the uncomplaining poor, upon
whom he spent more than half his income. By his will, after his many pious
legacies were paid, it was found that our Lord Himself was his real heir,
for he gave to the town hospital a sum of money equal to that which was
divided among his children. I may add that a life so holy and devoted was
crowned by a most happy death. Truly, _Blessed are the merciful, for they
shall obtain mercy!_
[Footnote 1: Psal. lxxii. 25.]