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New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 22, 17 June 1925, Page 34

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By Eileen Duggar

St. John Baptist Vianney: Anecdotes and Reminiscences Of her "'great' courtesy it is the wish of Mother Aubert of the Order of Compassion that readers of the Tablet should ■ have the benefit of her memories of her spiritual guide and counsellor, the Cure of Ars, now a saint of the court of heaven: He is the patron saint of the only New Zealand-born Order that this country possesses. At each corner of the Home on the hill at Island Bay the corner-stone holds a picture of the Cure of Ars. This brings him close to us all, and the more one knows of his life the more one marvels.

' Lyons was near to Ars and Mother Aubert and her mother made many pilgrimages thither. Those days are as vivid as yesterday to her. "His life itself was a miracle," she says. And indeed it was, a physical miracle. We all remember St. Francis of Assisi who called his body, "my little brother, the ass," and mourned that he had treated it so badly. Francis Thompson wrote a wonderful thing on that, showing, poor genius, that holiness is health. Was he thinking of his own poor brother, the ass that he had burdened so?. The Cure forgot his body utterly, but its protests were vehement at times and his sufferings were great. This anecdote speaks for itself. A pious woman once reproached the Cure, "You never invite me to dine with you." He answered with the courtesy of his race, "Very well! Come to-morrow!" She came. The clock showed the hour. Dinner was due. She looked at the fare, and broke into weeping. "Is this the fare?" He looked at her gently, "My child, T invite you to the dainties of Our Lord." Well might the kind heart weep. The dainties of Our Lord were a few dry crusts, and nothing more. On those dry crusts he lived. On three hours' sleep he lived. Come, Science, omniscient Science, explain these things! Passing from his one meal of dry crusts to those long hours in the church at the altar or in the Confessional —he was pre-eminently the pastorsaint, the saint of-the Confessional —he would go to his hard pallet at midnight l and rise, after three hours to another day. He did this for years. "Why is Science so silent, so dumb )■;■■■',: The Pilgrimages All classes flocked to him. The pleasant winding road to Ars was rutted by wheels. There was no room in the inns. The shabby cart would raise its dust before the stately coach of the noblesse. The pilgrims would sit outside the church in the hope of a word from him as he passed to the : presbytery. Another priest, a big nun, used to 'guard with his great; arms the; frail body) of the saint from the pressure of the throng. Among the pilgrims ; was a servant girl: In /those days wages were low- A servant maid would get about .four pounds, : a 1; year, though .. of course four pounds in those days meant more.

This poor girl had only: a few shillings left. It was not enough to take her back to her situation and slid was in terror of losing it. She went to the Cure “ Mon pere, my money is spent. I have but a few small coins. Oh, what will I do?” “Take,” he said, “what money you have, and give it for a Mass for the souls in Purgatory. Then take that road” —he pointed to it. On it you will meet a young man, and he will tell you what to do.” “But mon pi-re, ” she cried despairingly, “it is not my road. It runs the other way.” “Nevertheless you must take it,” said he. She gave the money, she took x i e road. After a time she met a young man proud of bearing, and rich of dress. “Go into that house,” he said pointing to a mansion off the road, and tell its mistress, that I sent you.” “She will not heed me,” said the. poor girl. “Who shall 1 say sent me?” “Tell her, that it was her son sent you.” She went within and faltered out that, message. The chatelaine grew white, as white as a candle. “Come.” she said, and led the little shabby maid to the great gallery. The girl fixed her eyes on a picture. “There he is,” said she, “That is the man that sent me.” “That,” said the other, “is my only son. He died two weeks ago.” She took the little serving maid for her daughter, convinced that she was a gift from the dead.

Except to answer the troubled the Cure rarely spoke. His habit was silence. Mother Aubert herself did not hear him speak until the third day after their meeting.. But all the time he watched. Those lambent, piercing eyes were like licking flames. Falsehood and deceit were burned before them and the soul of the subject stood bare and shivering before he clothed it again with the mantle of his charity. Nobody forgot those eyes. And his silence to the sinner was more terrible than an army with banners. His Learning Ho was the sou of a peasant. Of booklearning he had little, but he had the greatest of all gifts, the shrewd common sense of the thrifty peasant stock of France. Someone complained to the Bishop that lie was ignorant, and sent as proof two hundred questions on dogma with the answers given to them by the Cure. "I think," said the good Bishop in answer, "To all but tw0...1 would have returned the same answers." Who has God .for his teacher quickly grows wise. Of himself he spoke most slightingly, as "a poor ignorant little cure." And yet how many on earth, mad worshippers of Fame, will be remembered with John Baptist Vianney? He asked only to be despised and forgotten. His reward is to be remembered and revered forever. ... -... A Return to Ars h - ; Mother Aubert returned to Ars in 1913.> She left it in 1858. She found many. changes in the little village. No one lives in the

little presbytery where the walls are ' silent ' now, living like Age in its past, remember-: ing whispered prayers.; and the discordant wrath *of thwarted devils. 1 • Those noises -ty/jm Ars !"* Noises in the church, noises in little house! Devils in legions" advancing,' retreating,'fleeing' in rout. Others heard them 1 besides .the Cure. Mockers were ■confuted. The' house: is tenderly cleaned and swept by loving hands. Ars is proud of its saint. His body is gone, but they hold his spirit as in the days when he was thenlittle shepherd of souls, their parish priest. Prophecies lii 1858 he foretold all that was to happen to the Institute. He told Mother Aubert that she would leave France, with whom she would leave it, and all the circumstances. ".Vous partircz dans deux ans avec le ■'parent d'un jeune ho mine qui est venu a Ars arrr, • vous." The young man was Antoine Ponipallier, nephew of the Vicar-Apostolic, Mgr. Pom'pallier. That prophecy was fulfilled to the letter. " HJ In another prophecy he showed her the country, the work in Auckland, Hawke's Bay, and Wanganui. "When I reached Wanganui I recognised the place at once. It was just as he had told me. He never named places but described them so clearly that they were easily recognised when you came to them," says Mother Aubert. He told her beforehand of the work of the Archbishop of Wellington, and assured her that he would be the firm friend of her Institute. That prophecy has been nobly fulfilled." '" "Will you help me when the time comes?" she asked him. "'Je vous aiderai davantage par ma, mart que par ma vie," was his answer. "I will help you more by my death - than by my life." It happened so. She left home in 1860 to attend the Anniversary celebrations of his death and never returned. She took ship for New Zealand. It was his death that gave her the first opportunity to leave home for the mission. ■• iv, ■■■.-: As a final prophecy he told her that her work would lastthat it would meet with obstacles and even endure some failures, but, under God, it would succeed. She was never to lose confidence. This too has been fulfilled. And that promise of aid after death will be doubly fruitful, now that St. John Baptist Vianney is the Patron Saint of the Order of Compassion', its intercessor with God. >. "■ •<■-' _ 4"fc : ■■■■Li 'J:- I