Volume 5 — Translated from Le Mousquetaire. Sketch of Père Hyacinthe.

The discourses of Père Hyacinthe, in the church of Notre Dame, have been numerously attended, and the sacred eloquence of the orator has furnished subjects for the strangest criticisms that have appeared in what has been called, in the nineteenth century, the profane world.

It is not my intention to give you a portrait of Père Hyacinthe. It has already been drawn by a master hand. I wish merely to sketch the features, the figure, and the personalities of this great saver of souls.

The preacher, who now attracts to Notre Dame the thinking minds of Paris, is in stature above the middle size; his head is closely shaven, like all those of the order of barefooted Carmelites. It is well known that the disciples of St. Teresa wear but a circlet of hair. It is their earthly crown. His form is too large for the size of his head; his face is monkish; his forehead recalls to mind that of St. Augustine; his eyes have rather the expression of seeking truth than of imparting it; but the mouth opens freely to let fall the word of God upon his hearers; the chin, without being aristocratic, is not wanting in a certain nobility that redeems his appearance, which at first sight is ordinary.

On the whole, Père Hyacinthe carries one's thoughts back to those monks of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, who, regardless of personal safety, fearlessly crossed the thresholds of palaces to make the dignitaries of earth listen to the teachings of charity, love, and of liberty. This preacher has been accused of voluntarily laying aside spiritual subjects to descend to the things of earth. This reproach is unjust.

It is necessary to speak of what interests people the most; meet them at their own doors, live their lives, and suffer with them. Christ spoke in parables that the ignorant might understand him better, and the poor flocked in crowds to hear these admirable teachings which transformed the old world and regenerated humanity. For different times we must take different means. In this age the man of God desires to enlighten both Scribes and Pharisees, and to warn noble ladies of the seductive temptations of Bael. What can be found objectionable in the earthly character of these teachings? In spite of philosophical reasonings, we must fall back upon the old adage, "The end justifies the means."

I do not wish to institute a comparison between Père Hyacinthe and the sacred orators who have preceded him, but I have heard two of his sermons in Notre Dame. Not being able to judge which was the best, I can only decide which pleased me the more. Père Hyacinthe possesses in the highest degree the gift of awakening man to a proper estimate of himself. Elevate the creature, and he approaches the Creator.

I have the honor of knowing a priest who exercises his holy ministry in the vicinity of our Lady of Loretto. He is the most amiable and benevolent man that I have ever had the good fortune to meet.

He speaks to the humblest sinner as St. Charles Borromeo spoke to the thoughtless Milanese. He has words of consolation and charity for all classes of unfortunates. His door is open to them at all hours of the day or night. Thus has he labored for several years, and God alone knows how many wandering sheep this minister of Christ has brought back to the fold, and how many erring hearts he has reconciled to God, to their families, and to society. Certainly there do not exist two kinds of morality, but the application of morality can and ought to vary according to the situation in which they who are in need of instruction are placed.

The church of Notre Dame is to my mind one of the churches in the world which most elevates the soul and brings it nearer to God. I like the Gothic church; it seems to me that prayers ascend more easily to heaven through steeples whose spires are lost in the clouds.

The Greek Byzantine style is both rich and beautiful; but I think it wanting in majesty. My soul is more deeply impressed upon entering the portal of one of the cathedrals upon the Rhine than upon ascending the steps of the Vatican.

The other day, upon listening to the touching eloquence of Père Hyacinthe, I could not drive from my thoughts the sad remembrance of a sermon I heard several years ago in the same place from another celebrated preacher. I had then for a neighbor in the church of Notre Dame an abbé whose memoirs have formed the subject of one of my best works. The orator selected for his discourse the subject of devotion, "Thou shouldst love thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." All is contained in these admirable words; the law and the prophets.

Such were the first words of the preacher, who from this starting-point caused his hearers to traverse ages, tracing at length the great efforts of those noble hearts who devoted themselves for the good of humanity.

The subject was beautiful, and the orator was truly convincing, every heart beat in unison.

I looked at my neighbor, he was inspired. Before me was an apostle who asked no greater happiness than to suffer martyrdom for the glory of God and the good of his fellow-creatures.

Subsequently I learned the precise details of the life of the priest, who called himself the Abbé Bernard.

His history is so interesting that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of writing it a second time. The father of the abbé had accumulated great wealth in lending money with interest. He was one of those practical men who shut up their hearts in their money chest.

Widowed in early life, he sent his only son to college, where he remained until he had attained the age of seventeen; he then removed him to finish his studies by travelling for two years in England and eighteen months in Germany.

In translating the works of Shakespeare and Goethe, the young Bernard had acquired a knowledge of the two living languages that are now the keys of the commercial world.

He then returned to Paris, with his thoughts more filled with poetry and philosophy than with a mind prepared for the sterile labors of an accountant.

His father, upon placing him in his counting-house, generously allowed him a salary of 2,000 francs. Forced into acquiescence, Bernard began the life of an accountant, in which he continued for several years. Unhappily, the young man fell in love with the daughter of his father's cashier. She was a beautiful blonde, had every desirable quality, but possessed no greater fortune than modesty. Bernard's father, who had other views, dismissed the cashier from his employment and commanded his son never to speak to him again upon the subject of that foolish union. The young man fell ill, but his father remained inflexible, "I would rather," said he, "see him laid in his coffin than give him in marriage to an inferior. I have not worked like a horse and economized for forty years for the bright eyes of Mademoiselle Marie Closet; more than that, it is the extreme of folly; the time has passed ages ago since anyone died for love."

The father was right, nature triumphed over the malady, and the young Bernard's health was soon restored. The first day he went out during convalescence, he hastened to the father of his beloved, who declined seeing him, not wishing to give a pretext for calumny. Despairing on all sides, the young Bernard resolved to put an end to his existence; a frequent recourse for despairing lovers of twenty and twenty-five years!

His mother, a holy woman, had before her death inculcated in the spring-time of his life religious precepts, of which be retained the faithful remembrance. Strange caprice of the human heart! at the moment he determined to offend God the most, be felt unwilling to die before entering a church.

Finding himself within two steps of the church of St. Vincent de Paul, he entered the temple. Lights burned before the two altars. At his right, a marriage was being celebrated, and at the end of the chapel a funeral service was being performed. The bridal party was not numerous; but the deceased must have occupied a high position in society, judging from the numbers who followed his remains to their last resting-place. Bernard became absorbed in prayer. When he raised his eyes, he saw before him a young priest blessing the assemblage. An idea quick as lightning crossed the mind of the self-destroyer. It is noble, thought he, to console others, even when there is no hope of happiness for one's self. A week had not elapsed before Jean Léon Bernard entered a theological seminary. Two years after be received ordination; he never saw his father again, but the banker settled upon him an annuity of three thousand francs. The young Levite was sent to a small village to begin the exercise of his holy ministry. After celebrating his first mass, he found upon entering the sacristy a letter awaiting him sealed with black. His father had just died and left him an inheritance of over four millions.

Remember Christ himself has said, "The poor and those who lead sinful lives are in great need of being encouraged and consoled." Bernard returned to Paris, the great centre of glory and the abode of every misery.

When I first saw him at Notre Dame, the Abbé Bernard had been administering his admirable charities in that capital for ten years. From the time he put on the soutane he lived the life of a saint, his days and nights were at the disposal of suffering humanity. He passed his time and consecrated his life to healing the wounds of the soul and curing those of the body. He multiplied himself, as it were, to accomplish his hard task. He was soon everywhere, carrying words of peace to the dying, of hope to the occupants of prisons, and alms to the afflicted of all classes.

Indefatigable in well-doing, with charity for the faults of others, this worthy disciple of Christ exercised severity only toward himself.

Though scarcely forty years of age, he appeared more than fifty; in the vigor of life he was bent like an old man. The worn features and the cadaverous paleness of his countenance would have given him a doomed look, had not his whole aspect been illumined by the divine halo of charity.

I will relate a few more particulars, in the brief space allotted me, of the life of this priest and the manner of his death. In order to fulfil a great mission of charity this abbé set out for Rome. Arriving at Marseilles, he learned that a change consequent upon the state of the tide would compel him to wait three days for a boat leaving for Civita Vecchia.

Patience being a Christian virtue, the worthy priest submitted to the necessity without a murmur. Having nothing better to do, he set out upon a tour of investigation through this interesting city, which, thanks to the conquest of Algeria and the opening of the isthmus of Suez, should become at some future day the first maritime city of the world. Pursuing his walk, he took a cross street dividing the port from the oldest quarter of Marseilles. He had hardly advanced thirty steps, when be found himself among a crowd assembled before a house of humble appearance. A horrible sight burst upon his vision. A woman stood before the door uttering the most piercing shrieks.

The priest asked, "What is the matter?"

"What! Monsieur le Curé!" replied the porter at the gate. "Do you not understand that here lies another victim to the terrible epidemic which is ravaging the city, and that this woman is shrieking for help for her husband who is dying?" Without waiting for the sentence to be finished, the Abbé Bernard made his way through the crowd and directed his steps toward the unhappy woman. "Take me to your husband," said he, extending his hand toward her.

The woman regarded him earnestly, but, prevented from replying by choking sobs, she showed him the way to the third floor. Upon a rough bed a naked man was prostrated. Two of his comrades were rubbing him with woollen cloths.

Finding himself in the presence of cholera the abbé reflected a second, then wrote some words upon a detached leaf of his note-book. "Here," said he to the elder of the two porters, "is an order and five francs. Run quickly to the apothecary's! I will take your place until you return." The priest took the cloths and rubbed the poor unfortunate. Under his skilfully applied friction the sick man became calm; but upon seeing the costume of the priest he could hardly contain himself with terror. "My God!" cried he, "must I die? Yes, they have brought me a confessor." The abbé assured him he would be better. The messenger returned bringing the medicines. The priest remained three hours by his bedside, and when the doctor arrived he declared him out of danger.

In the south, the people are sensational and carry their feelings to great excess. We can hardly wonder, then, that in their enthusiasm the woman and porters carried the Abbé Bernard out to the street in triumph. Unhappily, while enthusiastic, they are superstitious. The crowd immediately spread the report that the priest had power to cure the cholera. At the end of the street, a woman, upon seeing the abbé, threw herself upon her knees, exclaiming with sobs: "Father, my child is dying; I have only him on earth; in the name of the Holy Virgin save him." The indefatigable apostle of charity followed her to the poor little creature only five or six years of age, whom he found rolling in agony. God has not given to man the power of staying the angel of death when he turns from his path to strike the infant in its cradle. Prayers and science are often powerless. Notwithstanding, the child was saved.

The worthy abbé did not regain his hotel until a late hour, greatly overcome with fatigue. The next morning he did not leave his room. Toward noon, fearing he was ill, they visited him, and found him with closed eyes and a smile upon his lips. He was dead. The good pastor had given his life for his flock.

Such was the man I had for a neighbor at one of the sermons of Père Lacordaire. Such was the man whom memory recalled to my thoughts yesterday while listening to the last discourse of Père Hyacinthe.