The Martyrdom of the Abbé Théophane Vénard

[…] With this design two Bishops were, in 1658, named Vicars-Apostolic for China, and for Tonquin united. Several priests began assembling young men into a seminary. The house opened on the spot where it now exists, in 1663 — that is [...] Since its foundation, the church of the Missions Etrangères began [...] and now the Congregation serves twenty-five different missions. This body itself is a branch of the Propaganda, being governed at home by six directors chosen from among those who have returned after years of foreign toil, and are incapable of any further distant labor.

The numbers are greatly increasing, and since 1840, upwards of four hundred young men have been sent abroad. The Seminary has given many martyrs to the Church, and particularly in latter years.

One spectacle more than any other attracts strangers toward the Seminaire des Missions Etrangères. It takes place in the church, throwing the Salle des Martyrs into shade for the time being. Reader, if you had looked in there one summer's evening in 1852, you would have seen it going on, and might have carried back the scene.

Evening prayer is just over at eight. Five young men, after kneeling before the altar while the morrow's meditation was being read, have just risen, and remain standing: they are preparing missionaries. In front of them are ranged their brethren, members of the Congregation, their relatives and friends, and the promiscuous public. These all sit, while one of the directors addresses a last discourse to those about to leave. He sets forth once more the perils that await them, recalls the family ties now to be broken for ever, conjures them to think well ere too late, and if weak, to draw back while there is yet time. Emotion is manifest, but no one falters. A halo of interest surrounds them all; but one in the midst has something peculiarly attractive. His figure is slight and tall, his face wears a sweet, youthful look of gentleness combined with quick, intelligent black eyes that are positively dancing with joy.

The last words have died away; the organ sounds, while from the choir is heard the chant. All present advance successively to kiss the feet of the departing missionaries. The youth in the midst trembles now and turns pale; his eyes are modestly cast down, but he dare not withdraw his feet from this last homage. Next day, Jean Théophane Vénard was on his way to China.

How long he had longed to go! Yet now at last it is a hard trial to nature. Grace gives us the courage to execute, but does not take away the stinging bitterness of a sacrifice.

Théophane Vénard was not quite twenty-three years of age when he left Paris. Born on the 21st of November, 1829, at St. Loup-sur-Thouet, in the department of Deux-Sèvres, he had spent his childhood partly as a cow-herd by the wayside, and partly in acquiring knowledge on the benches of his father's village school. The Annals of the Propagation of the Faith were among his favorite books, and one day, while reading an account of the recent martyrdom suffered by the Venerable Charles Cornay, he exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, 'And I too will go to Tonquin and be a martyr!' The little cow-herd was then only ten years old, but he never forgot that moment of grace vouchsafed, and faithfully corresponded to it. Happily, too, he had virtuous parents, good, simple people, who gratified his wish of studying for the priesthood. And so, after the necessary preparations, and with many natural shrinkings at sight of the purity requisite, Théophane received Holy Orders. Not a month had elapsed when he felt called to be a missionary likewise; and thus was he led on to where we saw him standing in the Chapel des Missions Etrangeres beside the Salle des Martyrs.

Up to this time life had been for him as a pleasant dream; now he was about to enter on its realities. God had strewn flowers on his early path; the fruits were to follow in ripe season. Of him one of his professors truly said: [...] (a French tribute, largely illegible).

It would be difficult to meet with a more attractive character, full of charming contrasts blended in one harmonious whole. He was earnest and recollected, clever, witty and gay. His sweet innocence had never been tarnished or clouded with any dark contact; by dint of usage and care his naturally strong turn of mind had mellowed itself into beautiful charity; his heart was glowing with the warmest affection; his zeal, like that of those who people heaven, knew neither sex nor age. In energy and devotion he acted like a man; in imagination, feeling and poetic taste he recalled a woman; in playfulness and buoyancy he was ever a child.

[...] Letters attributed to him speak of his desire for martyrdom: 'What a share is given me here among priests with [...] converts, and nine hundred [...] women in these missions! Our Congregation is already proving a worthy [...] In enumerating the merits of this mission, I have said nothing yet of its martyrs, those immortal flowers gathered by the Lord in His favorite garden. Brother, what honor and what happiness to Théophane, if [...] going to Tonquin, where the Venerable Cornay was martyred! [...] where [others] were martyred, and a price is now set on the head of every missionary. O, dear Pere Dalles, whenever such thoughts present themselves, my whole frame thrills with desire. That is indeed the better part, not given to all. [...] I dare not ask for such a crown, but neither can I rest in my longing. Pray, O pray for your friend.'

Tonquin forms part of Anam, which empire was founded towards the close of the eighteenth century by Gra-Long, last representative of the Nguyen dynasty then reigning over Cochin China. Situated at the south-eastern extremity of Asia, Anam comprises, besides Tonquin, the ancient kingdom of Cochin China, Cambodia, Tsiampa, Laos, and several adjacent islands. Here is its capital, and the population of the whole empire is estimated at 30,000,000 souls. Christianity had been kept up in these regions since the time of missionaries sent out from the Seminaire de Bac; but it won its way through alternate persecutions. After Gra-Long's death in 1810, his natural son and successor, Minh-Menh, treated Christians, both native and foreign, with great cruelty.

Another and still more violent persecution took place under Tu-Duc; nor did it cease till 1860, when the Anamite emperor was forced to sue for peace to the French Government. Tu-Duc then promulgated an edict of religious liberty throughout his dominions, ceding to France at the same time a portion of territory in Cambodia. Saigon, which forms the headquarters of this French colony, is now a flourishing town, where Catholic institutions and religious communities are effecting a vast amount of good. An Anamite embassy visited Paris in 1864.

But these results were not achieved without their price having first been paid in Christian blood; and when Abbé Vénard reached Tonquin, persecution was raging fiercely. Often he had to seek safety in flight, or to conceal himself in strange hiding-places, with but an indifferent amount of air, light and food. Sometimes he breathed freely on the summit of a far-away mountain, or dodged about in a bark between the bushes skirting a stream; or anon passed whole weeks behind the mud wainscot of some wretched hovel, where three finger-holes afforded the sole means of communication with the outer world. Yet he preached and baptised precious souls into the Faith, and even found means to translate several books of the New Testament and other works into the Anamite language. At length he was taken prisoner on the 30th of November, 1860.

Having been put into a cage like an animal for show, he was carried on men's shoulders to Kesho, the ancient capital of Tonquin, and placed at the door of the chief mandarin's dwelling, that all might see him. Crowds did indeed gather round, for his youth and good looks excited great sympathy; besides, his fame had spread as being some wonderful personage. A very light chain was given him to lessen his suffering, and he was frequently entreated to save himself by trampling on the cross. The women, especially, exclaimed admiringly, 'How pretty that European is!' Some brought him tea by stealth, and occasionally his cage was opened that he might stretch his limbs and take a little exercise.

Abbé Vénard, always serene, seized the opportunities offered for inculcating religious truths. His only anxiety seemed to be that the sentence for execution might arrive. He feared losing his chance of martyrdom. Nature suffered, however, in various ways, and particularly when he wrote his last farewell to his father, whose previous death he knew not.

As usual, God granted many favors. A native priest came to visit the prisoner, as if attracted by curiosity, and there, with the crowd around, heard his whispered confession and gave absolution; a woman was found who conveyed the Sacred Host, concealed in a box, into his hands, and the incipient martyr enjoyed the inexpressible consolation of being able to communicate himself unobserved.

Finally, his head was cut off on the 2nd of February, 1861, and that saintly, bright spirit winged its joyous flight to heaven. No wonder the altars of his native place were decked with flowers for the Masses that celebrated the martyr's triumph; no wonder that a friendly circle gathered round the festive board to give honor and congratulate the Vénard family on their triumphant brother. Pure Christian joy is unmixed with the sadness of our lower selves passing into the calm realms on high, where blessed souls are at rest for ever in the bosom of God.

His precious remains, with the exception of the head, have been brought back to France, and now lie in the Salle des Martyrs. And now the eloquent young votary we saw depart is there again, and mutely preaches to willing souls in that humble corner of the gay capital.