As I write I call to mind another instance of his delightful manner which you will like to hear.
Young as I was when consecrated a Bishop, it was his desire that I should discharge all the duties of my holy office without leaving out any single one of them, although I was inclined to make one exception, that of hearing confessions. I considered myself too young for this most responsible work, and wanting in that prudence and wisdom which are born of experience.
Our Blessed Father, however, thought differently in the matter, and I, holding this judgment in so much higher esteem than my own, gave way, bent my neck under the yokes and took my place in the confessional. There I was besieged by penitents, who scarcely allowed me any time for rest or refreshment.
One day, worn out with this labour, I wrote to St. Francis, saying, among other things, that intending to make a Confessor he had really made a Martyr.
In answering my letter he said that he knew well that the vehemence of my spirit suffered the pangs of a woman in travail, but then I must take courage and remember that it is written, a woman when she is in labour hath sorrow because her hour is come; but when she hath brought forth the child she remembereth no more the anguish for joy that a man is born into the world.[1]
[Footnote 1: John xvi. 21.]
UPON DAILY MASS. HIS ADVICE TO A YOUNG PRIEST.[1]
To a Priest whom I know well, and whom our Blessed Father loved much in Our Lord, he gave most excellent advice, and in a very kindly manner, conveyed it to him by means of an ingenious artifice.
The Priest was young, and owing to his extreme youth, although he was a Parish Priest, he dreaded saying Mass often, contenting himself with doing so on Sundays and holidays.
Our Blessed Father, wishing to lead him to say his Mass every day, devised this plan. He presented him with a little box covered with crimson satin, embroidered in gold and silver and studded with pearls and garnets. Before he actually put it into his hands, however, he said to him, "I have a favour to ask of you which I am sure you will not refuse me, since it only concerns the glory of God, which I know you have so much at heart." "I am at your command," replied the Priest. "Oh, no," said the Bishop, "I am not speaking to you as one who commands, but as one who requests, and I make this request in the name and for the love of God, which is our common watchword." After that, what could the Priest possibly refuse him? His silence testified his readiness to obey, better than any words could have done.