He was told that I was very lengthy in my preparation for saying Holy Mass,
and that this was a cause of inconvenience to many who either wished to
be present at it or to speak to me afterwards. I was accustomed, by his
orders, to say daily Mass at a fixed hour, and not in the private chapel
of the Bishop's house, unless I happened to be ill, but in a large chapel
adjoining the Cathedral Church, where synods, ordinations, and similar
pastoral functions were held. The bell rang for this Mass always at a few
minutes before the appointed hour, but those who knew the length of my
preparation in the sacristy did not hurry to come to it, and those who did
not know lost patience, and in winter time often got chilled to the bone.
Our Blessed Father, wishing to correct this fault in me, waited quietly
till the right moment came for doing so. He was paying me one of his annual
visits at Belley, when it chanced that one morning he was detained very
late in his room writing some letters which he had to send off without loss
of time. When eleven o'clock drew near, his servants, knowing that he never
failed to say Mass unless hindered by illness or some real impediment, came
to remind him that he had not yet done so.
The Altar in the private Chapel had been prepared for him. He came out of
his room, wearing as usual his rochet and mosetta, and after saluting those
who had come to see him and to hear his Mass, said a short prayer at the
foot of the Altar, then vested and celebrated the holy sacrifice. Mass
ended, he knelt down again, and, after another short prayer, joined us with
a face of angelic serenity. Having greeted each of us affectionately, he
entered into conversation with us, until we were called, as we soon were,
to table. I, who watched his actions most closely and ever found them
regular and harmonious as a stave of music, was amazed at the brevity of
this preparation and thanksgiving. In the evening, therefore, when we were
alone together, I said, using the filial privilege which I knew was mine,
"Father, it seemed to me this morning that your preparation for Mass and
your thanksgiving were very hasty and short."
He turned suddenly, and, embracing me, exclaimed, "Oh, how delighted I am
that you are so straightforward in telling me home truths! For three or
four days I have been wanting to do the same thing to you, but did not know
how to begin! Now, tell me what do you say as to that lengthiness of yours
which inconveniences everybody? All complain, and quite openly, though
possibly these complaints have not yet reached your ears, so few dare speak
the truth to Bishops. Doubtless it is because no one loves you as I do that
I have been asked to speak about this. My commission is quite authentic,
though I do not show you the signatures. A little of your superfluity
handed over to me would do us both good, by making you go more quickly and,
me more slowly.
"Do you think," he continued, "that the people who are so anxious to assist
at your Mass have any sympathy with your long preparation before-hand in
the sacristy? Still less those who are waiting to speak to you after Mass,
with your interminable thanksgiving.
"Many of these people come from a distance, and have business engagements
in the town."
"But, Father," I said, "how ought we to make our preparation? Scripture
says, _Before prayer prepare thy soul, and be not as a man that tempteth
God_.[1] How much more, then, must we prepare with all care for the
stupendous act of celebrating Mass, before which, in the words of the
Preface, the powers of Heaven tremble? How can one play on a lute without
tuning it?" "Why do you not make this preparation earlier, in your morning
exercise, which I know, or at least I think, you never neglect?" "I rise at
four o'clock in the summer, sometimes sooner," I replied, "and I do not
go to the Altar till about nine or ten o'clock." "And do you suppose," he
returned, "that the interval from four to nine is very great to Him, in
_Whose sight a thousand years are as yesterday?_"[2]
This passage, so well applied, was like a sudden illumination to me. "And
what about the thanksgiving?" I said. "Wait till your evening exercise to
make it," he answered; "you make your examination of conscience, surely
so great an act will have its weight; and is not thanksgiving one of the
points of self-examination? Both these acts can be made more at leisure and
more calmly in the morning and evening: no one will be inconvenienced by
them, and they will interfere with none of your ordinary duties." "But,"
I objected, "will it not be a cause of disedification to others to see me
so quick over things? _God should not be adored hurriedly_." "We may hurry
as much as we like," he replied; "God goes faster than we do. He is as the
lightning which comes forth from the east and the next moment flashes in
the west. All things are present to Him; with Him there is neither past nor
future. How can we escape from His spirit?" I acquiesced, and since then
all has gone well in this matter.
[Footnote 1: Eccle. xviii. 23.]
[Footnote 2: Psalm lxxxix. 4.]