SOME STRANGE VOCATIONS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXV, Issue 39, 28 January 1898, Page 5

SOME STRANGE VOCATIONS.

The ways of grace are oftentimes mysterious — '• The Spirit breatheth whereHe willeth '' — but circumstances occasionally occur in connection with vocations to the priestly or religious life which plainly indicate the pretence and touch of God's finger in the affairs of men. Instances of this form of special Providence will perhaps occur to the minds of some of our readers. Our own personal experience has neither been wide nor varied. It has nevertheless brought us into personal touch with several remarkable calls to the priesthood. One of these was the case of a distinguished Parisian lawyer, who. a widower, at the age of 5-i years, quietly relinquished a lucrative practice and a luxurious home, ar>d entered the Theological Seminary of St. Sulprice, where in due course he was ordained to the priesthood. In the same class was a son of General D'Hodonville — Captain D'Hedonville, a dashing cavalry officer, some 50 years of age. He had served with great distinction throughout the Franco-German war, and gave up the promise of a brilliant military career to devote himself to the labours, trials, and dangers of the life of a missionary in far Tonquin. Both were men of great talent and of singular piety. The same may be said of a friend of the present writer's, Signor — , now Father — Gambarelli. As a boy, in his home in northern Italy, he developed a fine voice and a remarkable musical talent. His own tastes and feelings drew him powerfully towards the priestly life. His mother, however, was dead, and his father had so set his heart on his following a musical career, that young Gambarelli reluctantly consented. While still a young man, he took to the operatic stage. His success was sudden and pronounced. For several years he created a furore in London, Paris, Brussels, St. Petersburg, and the other capitals of Europe. God's blossoms bloom in every land, and His graces and gifts are not withheld from any occupation in life that is not itself vicious or forbidden. Like •' our " Mary Anderson, young Gambarelli retained, in the midst of his greatest operatic triumphs, the simple faith that he had learned in his Lombard home, and a virtue which neither the flattery of success, nor the allurements of vice could sully. He was, we believe, playing the leading role in Ernani at St. Petersburg, when news reached him of his father's death. As soon as the opportunity offered he cancelled his engagements, and left the stage forever. Soon after this we find him in Rome, in student's garb, in the Collegio degli Abbati of the Seminario Pio, studying for the priesthood, to which dignity he finally attained.

The Paris Fujaro, in one of its recent issues, gives the following account of another remarkable call to the priestly life :—: —

The new-papers announced the other day that one of our confrere", M. (J.ibnel de Combes, for a long time connected with the Pi tit Journal, had entered the novitiate of the Fathers of the Assumption of Livry-sur-Seine.

Resolutions of this tort interest the public. People always love to build up some romance around them. To leave the world voluntarily and shut oneself up in a cloister appears to many persons such an extraordinary thing that they can only explain it by one of those family dramas or one of those hard blows of fate that knock a man down forever and drive him with a broken heart to suicide or to the cell of a monastery.

The truth is often far more simple, and this is the case with our esteemed confrere whom we have just lost. In his life there was no love romance and no catastrophe. But if his history is not very complicated, none the less it merits attention, for it is always interesting to discover the secrets of vocation. Moreover, it is rarely that a journalist becomes a monk. It is not from the Press that the personnel of monasteries is recruited. Belonging to a very good family in Tarbes. grand-nephew of the bright musician, Dalayrae, M. Gabriel de Combes, having finished his studies, served in a regiment of dragoons. He remained five years in the regiment. He was a perfect D'Artagman in appearance, thin, dry, and sinewy. In character he was energetic, brave, straightforward, and generous. He would have become a splendid officer ; but he left the army to enter journalism, attracted, perhaps, by the hope of finding occasions to do some lighting, which was his nature. De Combes was at first employed by a Royalist sheet in Lyons. Then he came to Paris, and for two years was engaged in Parliamentary reporting for an agency. At the same time he edited the Gazette de Para me. a little local paper started by a Parisian journalist. But it lived a little more than a soason. Finally he came on the Petit Journal, where for 10 years I worked side by side with him, appreciating him and esteeming him every day more and more, but suspecting all the time that journalism was not his vocation.

Reared by very religious parents, my friend certainly could pass for a good Catholic, but his faith did not reach the point of devotion, and whether he was a practitioner or not I could not say. One fortuitous circumstance developed in his mind the sentiment that was lying dormant. About three years ago his editor-in-chief s?ent him to Palestine to be pre.-ent at the inauguration of the railroad from Jaffa to Jeiusalem. That railroad line was for him the road to Damas. His visit to the Holy Land impressed him to such an extent that he came back to us completely transformed. For months he would remain silent and reserved with his collaborators. He deserted the t-alle d'armes, where he used to fence and foil interminably. He abandoned bicycling, for which he had a passion, and we saw him no more in the clubs and cafes.

One evening, about six months ago, he said to me suddenly : " I have just handed in my resignation. 1 leave the paper to-morrow." Three months passed on when the news came to our ears that our comrade was about to enter Holy Orders. The story was at first denied, but we could not tell whether or not there was really any truth in it. I asked the romance writer, Pierre Sales, who is a second cousin of De Combes, if there was any truth in the story. He replied to me in a mysterious sort of way that really told me nothing. On Saturday last I received from De Combes this laconic note : "If you would like to bid me farewell, come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning at the Cafe ." The letter caused me a certain anxiety, and I was almost broken up when the next day I went to the cafe mentioned. In a few seconds my friend arrived with a joyous expression of countenance. He took my hand. "My letter must have puzzled you," he said. "But I will tell you my story in a few words. It is simple enough. But we had better sit down and have breakfast first." Then he added, laugh- 1 ing : " This is the last breakfast that I will take in a boulevard cafe." At the table he commenced his story as follows : " I am thirty-nine years old. and thoroughly aware of the fact that I have done nothing useful in my life. Consequently, lam trying to make up for lost time. lam a bachelor, and have nobody to whom my presence might be indispensable, and 1 am ttill energetic. I did think of marrying, but the chance never presented itself to me, and. indeed, I didn't seek it very eagerly. I have, therefore, decided to consecrate the rest of my life to the service of God and my fellows. You have doubtless noticed that my religious sentiments were aroused after my trip to the Holy Land. It is from that period that my resolution to enter Holy Orders was formed. Nevertheless, I determined to let some time elapse, to see if 1 would persevere in my resolution. Several months passed, and at last, sure of myself, 1 left journalism and went on a retreat to the Grande Trappe. " My intention was to enter that monastery, but the superior dissuaded me. ' You would have too much difficulty,' said he, 'in supporting the rigours of our rules.' It was impossible for me to become a Dominican, on account of my age and the long studies of the order. At last I met the Rev. Father des Cournicres, the superior of the Assumptionists. at Toulouse. By a strange coincidence I found in him a former confrere who edited a journal at Limoges, where he was also the correspondent of the I'< tit Journal. The similarity of our stations created a sympathy between him and me. He questioned me at length, and finally advised me to see the Rev. Father Picard, the superior-general of the Assumption. A visit to Father Picard decided my fate, and that is why in two hours from now I will throw off completely the man of the world and become a simple novice in the convent at Livry-sur-Seine." My friend finished his cup of coffee, lighted a cigarette, and watched the rings of smoke that mounted toward the ceiling. " This is the last cigarette that I will smoke," said he, laughing. Notwithstanding his apparent good humour, I became sad while thinking of our parting for ever, and for some moments we remained silent. " But, you know," said he, " that 1 will be obliged to work hard. I will be compelled to re-study my Latin, learn theology, etc. I will remain a year at Livry. At Hie end of that time I will go to Romo to finish my studio-, and in three years I will be ordained a priest.'' " And after that ?" said I. '• After that," he replied, " I will go wherever my s iperiorj may choose to send me." Again there was a silence. " I have sent all my belongings to my family," he added. 'I have nothing now except the clothes I wear." The conversation languished more and more, when suddenly De Combes looked at the clock and jumped up. " I must be off," said he. ■■ Faiewill '"' We went out. He hailed a cab and grasped my hand firmly. " Farewell again," said he. I was all broken up. '• De Combes," sail 1, •' do you regret nothinr, nobody, not even your old-time friends ' ' "Nothing," he replied, in a tone that was almost gruff. Then, smiling, fearing no doubt that he hail woun led my feelings, and moved himself by my emotion, he added : " Yes, uiy dear fellow. 1 do regret my irue friends." Then he signalled the driver, and started for the terminus of the Eastern Railroad. — Maxime Skki'KLLi:, in the Fi.jaro.