The Secret of the
Curé de Ar
Compiled, Partially Adapted, and Arranged
by Pauly Fongemie

SOURCES USED:
Secrets of the Saints, Henri Ghéon, 1944;
From the Housetops Magazine, Vol. XXIV, No. 3, Serial No 53;
The Life of the Curé de Ars, Abbé Alfred Monnin, 1861;
and Eucharistic Meditations, Curé de Ars, Eccles. Appr. 1923

+ + + + + + +

THE SPECIAL PRODIGIES
AND GRACES OF THE SAINT

HIS MODE OF DIRECTION THE POWER OF READING HEARTS CONVERSIONS MIRACULOUS CURES This entire sub-section is an extract from Monin. HIS MODE OF DIRECTION There was neither pride, ambition, nor avarice in the heart of M. Vianney; and consequently there was neither tenacity nor feebleness in his mind. He was not beguiled by the flickering light of the imagination, nor subject to the tyranny of the senses. He had that clearness and exactness of vision which comes from purity of intention, and which the Holy Ghost Himself infuses before time has bestowed the teaching of experience. In all his judgments reason was his law, and the will of God his guiding light. To him accordingly were brought for solution questions of every kind and degree, from the most intricate case of casuistry to the simplest detail of daily life; from the foundation of a monastery, or the inauguration of some new work of expansive charity, to the marriage of a daughter or the hiring of a servant.  The following questions have been heard by M. Monnin himself: "Father, my mother is very ill. Some think she may recover; others that the case is hopeless. What am I to believe?---Father, I have a relation who is threatened with loss of sight; should he try an operation?---Father, will my daughter recover?---Father, my health will not allow me to do any thing alone; will the good God procure me an assistant? A person has been recommended to me who would suit me in many respects; should I receive him?---Father, should I increase the number of my workmen?---Father, should I change my servant?---Should I sell my property?---Should I give up my business?---Should I go and live in the country?---Father, tell me in what college my son will be best placed, both with regard to soul and body?---My son has just taken his bachelor's degree; what career should he pursue?---Father, an offer of marriage has been made for my daughter; should I give my consent?---Father, what ought we to think of La Salette?---Father, what ought we to think of the miracle of Rimini?---What ought we to think of Louis XVII?---Father, what ought we to think of such and such a mode of dress?" "This question," says M. Monnin, "was often addressed to him." The gravity of our subject will not allow us to introduce a letter, in which the question of a fashion then becoming prevalent was treated at great length, and with a seriousness which greatly amused M. Vianney. "Poor ladies!" said he, speaking of the tyranny of this fashion; "they drag mountains after them. They incommode themselves and incommode others. They have done well to enlarge the streets; but they will soon have to widen the doors. Poor ladies! with all their fashions, they suffer in this life, to suffer in the other." When the questions were idle, indiscreet, or painful to his humility, he marked his perception of it by something slightly ironical in his reply. "Father," said a lady, "I have been here three days, and have not been able to speak to you yet." "In Paradise, my child; we will speak in Paradise." "Father," said another, "I have come two hundred miles to see you." "It was not worth while to come so far for that." " Father, I have not yet been able to see you." " You have not lost much." "Father, only one word." "My child, you have already spoken twenty." "Father, is my husband in Purgatory?" "I have never been there." "Father, I wish you would tell me what is my vocation." "Your vocation, my child, is to go to Heaven." "Father, I have such a great fear of Hell." "Those who have a great fear of Hell are in less danger of going there than others." "Father, I am very bad and very slothful." "When people address such severe reproaches to themselves, it is a sign that they do all in their power not to deserve them." When he perceived that some lurking vanity or egotism mingled with the inquirer's desire to know his opinion, he would cut the matter very short: "Father," said a very good young person, in whom he, however, perceived something of this kind, "tell me where I should go to make my novitiate,---to the Dames de la Nativite, or to the Dames du Sacre Coeur? I should prefer the Dames de la Nativite, because they know me." "Alas!" was M. Vianney's only reply, "they know no great thing, then." The poor young lady was sorely disconcerted; but the mists of self-love were scattered, and she learned to look to God alone in the choice of her vocation. "My child," said he, with his sweet smile, to another, who had been long pursuing him with the same story, which he knew by heart,---"my child, in which month of the year do you speak least?" As she bit her lips in silence, "It must be the month of February," continued he, "because it has three days less in it than any other." In all cases but such as these, the good father, as he was universally called, listened and replied with unfailing patience and attention to every question addressed to him.   His singular gift of discernment enabled him to give that counsel to every person who came to him which proved to be the most conducive to the perfection of each. He would advise one to enter religion at once, another to wait till some present call of duty had been fully discharged; he would advise a third to marry, and a fourth to lead a single life in the world. A young lady, on recovery from a severe illness, had made a vow of chastity. Being afterwards sought in marriage with much perseverance, and finding in herself no marks of vocation, she was on the point of yielding, when M. Vianney showed her that nothing could compensate for the gift which she had made of herself to Jesus Christ, who had vouchsafed to accept her. He told her plainly that were she to prove faithless to her vow she would be miserable, and advised her at least to make a trial of the religious life. After much hesitation, she followed his advice, and is now an excellent religious. "Father," said another, "from the time of the retreat preparatory to my first Communion, I have felt an urgent desire to enter some cloistered order; I wish to fulfill what seems to me to be the will of God; but my family throw obstacles in the way. I am very unhappy. I get impatient with those who oppose my wishes. And at other times the thought comes into my mind that these desires are illusions and devices of Satan, who wants to disturb me and make me offend God." "Poor child! It is indeed God Who is calling you, and I believe that He means you one day to be a religious; but it must be with your parents' consent. If you leave home against their will, there will be no need of sending you out of the convent; you will come out of your own accord. Besides, your father and mother would die of grief, so strongly are they attached to you. In every house there is a privileged child, who is loved more tenderly than the rest. Well, you are the darling of your family. You must stay with your parents as long as they live. If you leave them, all will go wrong with you from that day forward." This counsel was likewise followed; and after being the stay and comfort of her aged parents to their last hour, the dutiful and cherished child is now the happy spouse of Jesus Christ "M. le Curé," said a priest, "when I leave the place, I wish to make a retreat at the Novitiate of Flavigny." "You will do well, my friend; you will do very well. Would that I could go with you!" "M. le Curé, suppose our Lord were to bid me remain there, and take the habit of St. Dominic?" "No, my friend, no; this desire does not come from Him. Stay where you are."   "Do not you think that our Lord may ask an account of me of a good desire, which may have come from Him, and which I shall have stifled?" "No!" very decidedly; "you are where He would have you to be. You will always have more good to do there than you will be able to accomplish." "M. le Curé, give me your blessing, that I may always know and do the will of God."   "May that blessing, my friend, urge you on and restrain you." A parish-priest of the diocese of Autun came to him with a very complicated case, upon which no one whom he had hitherto consulted had been able to throw any light. M. Vianney replied in one word; but that word threw so vivid and instantaneous a light upon the most obscure point of the question, that the priest could not help saying to himself, "Well you have certainly some one who counsels you!" adding aloud, "M. le Curé, where did you study theology?" M. Vianney pointed to his prie-Dieu. So great was the estimation in which the holy cure's judgment was held, that there was scarcely a work of charity or a religious congregation, among the many which have sprung up ... within the last half-century in France, which was not brought in its infancy to Ars, to be submitted to the ordeal of his spiritual sagacity and marvellous common sense. THE POWER OF READING HEARTS To render this discernment of spirits so sure and so intuitive as it was with the Curé of Ars, we have unquestionable evidence that he was endowed with a gift of reading the hearts of his penitents, not only supernatural, as are all gifts of the Spirit, but, strictly speaking, miraculous. "To our certain knowledge," says M. Monnin, "he made known to many that they were making false Confessions. It was a matter of daily occurrence for him to tell those who came to him, at first sight, what was their attraction, or their vocation, and by what ways God purposed to lead them." An old sinner was sent to him from a distance. No one in the parish where he lived knew how long it was since he had been to the Sacraments. M. le Curé besought him, with tears, to return to his duty; and as he still resisted, laid his hand on his heart, saying, "There is something wrong there. How long is it since you made your last Confession?" "Forty years." "It is more than that, my friend; it is forty-four." A miserable man, who had signalized himself by highway robberies and every kind of evil deed, having ruined his health by his excesses, came to Ars in hope of obtaining a bodily cure. He presented himself to the curé, who at first refused to receive him. He was going away in a very bad humour, when he bethought him to go into the church. M. Vianney saw and beckoned to him. He went into the sacristy, saying to himself: "M. le Curé wants me to make my Confession; but I shall confess what I like." When he had finished his pretended Confession, M. Vianney, who had listened in silence, said, "Is this all?" "Yes," replied the penitent. "But you have not told me that on such a day, in such a place, you committed such a crime." And he told the man the history of his own life better than he could have done himself. The sinner's heart was changed; he made a good Confession, obtained the cure both of body and soul, and, on his return to his home, became a model of penitence and piety. A young man, who wished to put M. Vianney's discernment to the test, came to him with an air of great apparent contrition. "I am a great sinner," said he, "and desire most earnestly to open my heart to you." M. Vianney, instead of receiving him with open arms, replied very dryly, "My friend, I have not time; you will find priests to hear you elsewhere." And he turned away from him.   The young man expressed his astonishment, and was told that M. le Curé had no doubt read his heart, and seen that there was no purpose of amendment there. He was advised to return to the church; and there he was struck by one of those sudden inspirations which sometimes bring a sinner back, spite of himself, to God. He was no sooner on his knees than he felt pierced with a sincere desire for conversion. He once more sought out the holy curé, who this time did not turn from him, but received him with all that overflowing tenderness with which he ever welcomed the returning sinner. CONVERSIONS "The justification of the sinner," says St. Thomas, "is the greatest of the works of God." And how often did He vouchsafe to work this greatest of His wonders by the means of the Curé of Ars! It was emphatically his work, his daily work, to which all the bodily cures and other miracles wrought at Ars were but secondary and subsidiary. In the sixteen hours which he spent daily in the confessional, he must, at a moderate computation, have heard no less than a hundred penitents, and that for more than thirty years. "It will never," he once said himself, "be known' in this world how many sinners have found their salvation at Ars. The good God, Who has need of no man, has been pleased to make use of me for this great work, though I am a very ignorant priest. If He could have laid His hand upon another, who had greater cause to humble himself than I, He would have made choice of him, and have done a hundred fold more good by his means." It was not by his words only that M. Vianney made his way to the hearts of sinners; he moved by his tears those whose own eyes were dry. "Father," said a hardened sinner, who had long knelt unmoved at his feet, "why do you weep so bitterly?" "Alas, my friend," replied he, "I weep because you do not weep." The following narrative of a conversion effected by a look of the holy curé is given by the subject of it, M. Maissiat, who, after trying every phase of unbelief and misbelief, from Mahometanisn to Mesmerism, died two years after his conversion a sincere and fervent Catholic. "A week ago," said M. Maissiat to a priest who met him at Ars, "I left Lyons to make a month's botanical excursion across the mountains of the Beaujolais and Maconnais. In the carriage which brought me from Villefranche, I met by accident an old gentleman of my acquaintance, who was on his way to Ars. He begged me to accompany him. 'Come with me,' he said; 'you shall see a curé who works miracles.' "Miracles!" replied I, laughing; "I have never believed in miracles." 'Come, I say; you will see, and you will believe.' "Oh, if you make a believer of me, you may indeed cry out a miracle." 'Well, come for a walk to Ars.' "I don't mind if I do; I have plenty of time before me. Ars is not far from the country I want to explore. I will come with you."   "On our arrival, my friend took me to the house of the widow Gaillard, where we shared the same room. He woke me very early, and said: 'Maissiat, will you do me a favour? Come with me to Mass.' "To Mass? I have not been at Mass since the day of my first Communion; could not you ask something else?" 'You will come to please me. There you will be able to see and judge of the Curé of Ars. I only ask one thing of you---to look at him well. I will find you a place whence you can observe him at leisure.' "Oh, as to that, I care very little about it; but I care very much about obliging you. You wish to take me to Mass? Be it so; I am at your disposal."   "We entered the church. My old friend placed me on the seat opposite the sacristy. Presently the door opened, and the Curé of Ars came out, vested for Mass. His eyes met mine; it was but one glance, but it pierced to the bottom of my heart. I felt as if crushed beneath that look. I bowed down low, and hid my face between my hands. I remained motionless during the whole of the Mass; then I tried to raise my head, and would have gone out; but as I passed the sacristy, I heard these words: 'Go out, all of you!' At the same moment a hand was laid upon mine, and I felt attracted as by some invisible force, The door was closed upon me, and I found myself face to face with that glance which had struck me to the earth. "M. le Curé," stammered I, "I have a crushing burden on my shoulders." "A voice of angelic sweetness, which seemed not like any human utterance, replied: 'My friend, you must get rid of it immediately. Kneel down and tell me all your poor life; and our Lord will take up your burden; for He has said: Come to Me, all you who are heavy-laden, and I will refresh you.' My trouble began to disappear; and without thinking that I was making my Confession, I began to tell the holy man all the history of my life, since the day of my first Communion. During the whole time he wept over me, exclaiming from time to time, 'Oh, how good God is! how He has loved you!' I did not weep; but my heavy burden seemed gradually to be lifted off me, and at last I felt as if it were altogether gone. 'My friend,' said the curé, 'you will return tomorrow. Go to the altar of St. Philomena, and beg her to ask your conversion of our Lord.' I had not wept in the sacristy, but I wept plentifully at the feet of St. Philomena. Tomorrow I am to receive absolution, and after it the Body of our Lord: have the charity to say Mass for me, that I may not be wholly unworthy of so great a grace." The Mass was said for M. Maissiat's intention; "And," says the priest who offered it, "I saw him afterwards receive Holy Communion from the hand of the venerable M. Vianney, peace and joy being depicted on the countenances of both." In the course of the year 1842, a man advanced in years came to Ars with his niece, who wished to consult the curé upon the choice of a state of life. "My friend," said the holy curé, "you are come for Confession?" "No, Monsieur," replied he, somewhat disconcerted at the directness of the attack; "I have no such intention. I came simply to accompany my niece; and as soon as she has received your advice, I purpose returning home again." "No, no, my friend; you must seize the opportunity; it may not return. I am old, and you are not young. In our long life we have witnessed the death of many of our fellows. There are men who reject mercy, and whom mercy in return rejects. Come, my friend, let us not lose time; for time will not wait for us." "M. le Curé, this is all very true; but my Confession will not be the work of a day. I should have to stay here some time, which would cost money." The holy curé saw the kind of man he had to deal with, and said with a faint smile: "My friend, do not let this disturb you; when your money is spent, you can apply to me." "M. le Curé," said the old miser, in a tone of no slight annoyance, and at the same time taking some gold pieces out of his pocket, "I can pay my own way, thank God, and have no need of alms." "My friend," was the grave reply, "fear not to spend this money for the salvation of your soul; it is the best use you can possibly make of it. Our Lord has said 'What shall a man give in exchange for his soul?' Remain here as long as is necessary for settling the affairs of your conscience, and prepare for Confession at once." This exhortation had an immediate effect. "In the month of May 1856," says M. Monnin, "we witnessed the conversion of an old blasphemer of eighty. The mention of the name of God, or of M. Vianney, never failed to put him in a fury. He used to call the holy curé an old sorcerer or an old hypocrite. The good father, who had been told of it, had the charity to go to the hotel to see this miserable hardened old man; for it was impossible to get him to the church. He went up to his room, and threw himself on his knees before him, weeping bitterly, and crying: 'Save your poor soul! save your poor soul!' The old man was converted; he began to weep, and to recite the Ave Maria, which he continued to repeat, almost night and day, all the time he remained at Ars. M. le Curé came morning and evening to hear his Confession.   "A good and fervent Communion sealed there conciliation with God of this poor labourer of the eleventh hour." "On another occasion, the Curé of Ars saw a person come into the sacristy, whom it was easy to recognize by his appearance and manner as a man of the world. The stranger approached him respectfully; and the good curé, concluding he came for Confession, pointed to the little prie-Dieu, on which his penitents were accustomed to kneel." The fine gentleman, who perfectly understood the gesture, hastened to explain:  'M. le Curé, I am not come for Confession; I want to reason with you.' 'Oh, my friend, you have made a great mistake. I am no reasoner: but if you are in need of consolation so (his finger again pointed inflexibly to the prie-Dieu), place yourself there, and be assured that many have done so before you, and have not repented of it.' 'But, M. le Curé, I have already done myself the honour of telling you that I did not come for Confession, and that for a reason which appears to me simple and decisive,---I have no faith; I believe as little in Confession as in any thing else.' 'You have no faith, my friend! Oh, how I pity you! You are living in a mist. A little child of eight years old, who has learnt his catechism, knows more than you. I thought myself very ignorant; but you are far more so, for you are ignorant of the very first things which we ought to know. You have no faith! Well, that is a reason for me to torment you, which I should not otherwise have ventured to do. It is for your good. Place yourself there, and I will hear your Confession. When you have made it, you will have travelled a long way on the road to faith.' 'But, M. le Curé, it is neither more nor less than a comedy that you are advising me to act with you. I beg of you to believe that I have no taste for it; I am no comedian.'   'Place yourself there, I tell you!' "The man, overmastered by the tone of mingled sweetness and authority in which the words were spoken, fell upon his knees in spite of himself. He made the  long-unused Sign of the Cross, and began the humble acknowledgment of his faults. He arose, not only comforted, but fully believing, having experienced the truth which rests on the eternal word of our Divine Master: He that doth the truth cometh to the light." "As he left the little sacristy, where he had found the peace so long and vainly sought elsewhere, the infidel of but an hour ago could not restrain the expression of his joy: 'What a man,' said he,  ---'what a man this is! Nobody ever spoke to me in this way before. If he had not taken hold of me in this manner, it would have been long enough before I should have made my confession!' " "The Confessions effected by the Curé of Ars," says M. Monnin, "however sudden, were solid and durable. Men abandoned to a reprobate mind, addicted to passions which are commonly judged to be incurable, yielded to the grace which wrought and spoke in him. We know a drunkard of sixty years who has never fallen into his habitual vice since he visited Ars. The vicaire of his parish describes him as one of his most fervent penitents and most constant communicants."     MIRACULOUS CURES THE life of its saintly curé was, as has been often said, the great miracle of Ars; yet our sketch of it would be incomplete were we to omit all mention of the supernatural cures, both of body and soul, of which we find so many interesting and fully attested relations in the narrative of M. Monnin. We have only space for a very few of these cases. The earliest mentioned is related in Catherine's journal of the year 1838. "One of the directresses of the Providence was dying of malignant fever, accompanied by delirium. The physicians had given her up. She had lost both sight and hearing. It was thought that she could not live out the day. This was on a Saturday. When she seemed to be actually in her agony, the prayers were read for the recommendation of the soul; she was quite unconscious of it. But suddenly she opened her eyes, and said, "'I am cured!' The blessed candle was still burning beside her. She asked, 'What is that candle for?' She was told that M. le Curé had just been saying the last prayers for her soul. She wished to rise, which she did with the help of her companion, and continued sitting up for a moment, feeling no remains of illness. The doctor was sent for, who found no vestige of fever left, and could hardly believe his eyes. He declared it to be a miracle. M. le Curé had said the evening before, 'I have almost scolded St. Philomena; I have been tempted to reproach her with the chapel built in her honour;' by which we saw that be had prayed for this cure. "One of us," continues she, "gave a poor woman an old cap of M. le Cure's. She put it upon her child, who had a wound in his head, thinking to herself as she did so, 'The Cure of Ars is a Saint; if I had faith, my child would be cured.' In the evening, when she was going to dress the abscess as usual, she found that it had disappeared, and the wound was perfectly dry." A poor man came to M. Vianney to implore the cure of his child, who was a cripple. The curé exhorted him to make his Confession, which he was unwilling to do, as he knew that he would be enjoined to give up his calling, which was that of violin-player to all the dances in the neighbourhood. However, he made his Confession and on his return home took his violin, broke it to pieces in the presence of his wife, and threw the fragments into the fire. At the same moment his child jumped with joy, and ran through the house crying, "I am cured!" A poor soldier had a child about six years uld, who was a perfect cripple. Having lost his wife, he was on the point of being obliged to leave the service, in order to look after the poor little orphan. Happily it occurred to him to make a pilgrimage to Ars. He obtained three days' leave of absence, and went to Lyons. While he was waiting for the omnibus which was to take him to Ars, some people who saw him carrying his poor little cripple in his arms, cried out, "Where are you going with that poor child? You are very simple. The Curé of Ars is not a doctor. You should take him to the incurable hospital." No way disconcerted, the honest soldier made his way to M. Vianney, and told his story. "My dear friend," was his reply, "your child will be cured." The sentence was hardly finished, when a slight crack was heard; the crippled limbs were stretched out, and the child began to walk. "In the February of 1857," says M. Monnin, "while we were preaching the Lent, a poor woman came to Ars, carrying in her arms a child of eight years old, who could not walk. For twenty-four hours did this poor creature hang upon the steps of M. le Curé, standing sentinel at the door of his confessional, rushing towards him the moment he appeared, and showing him her child with a gesture so expressive, and a countenance so moving in its suppliant energy, that we had not the heart to drive her away, as the Apostles would have done the woman of Canaan. "M. Vianney had often blessed this child, and spoken words of hope and consolation to the mother. When they returned to the place where they were to lodge for the night, 'Mother,' said the child, 'will you buy me some shoes (sabots)? for M. le Curé has told me that I shall walk tomorrow.' Whether M. Vianney had really made this promise to the poor child, or he had so interpreted the kind looks and words which he had received from him, the sabots were bought, by the advice of the people of the house where the two poor creatures lodged. "The next day, to the amazement of everyone, the child who had been seen carried in so painful a manner by its mother, ran through the church like a bare, crying out to anyone who would listen to him, 'I am cured! I am cured!' The poor mother was hiding her joy, her amazement, and her tears in one of the chapels. We saw her, questioned her, and wished to present her at once to the holy curé, who was at the moment preparing to say Mass. She wanted to see him, to speak to him, to throw herself at his feet. The gratitude was choking: her. M. Vianney listened to our petition in a cold and almost severe silence, which forbade our insisting upon it further. After Mass, we made another more successful attempt. 'M. le Curé, this woman begs that you will help her to thank St. Philomena.' He returned, and silently blessed the mother and child. Then, in a tone of the deepest annoyance and mortification, he said, 'St. Philomena really ought to have cured this little thing at home.'

Contact Us

HOME-----------PRIESTS-------------SAINTS

www.catholictradition.org/Priests/vianney9-3.htm