USA > Indiana > History of the Catholic church in Indiana, Volume I > Part 19
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IN THE STATE OF INDIANA.
and housed, having such poor wells and drinkng the surface water, and there was more sickness, there was more malaria, and there were more sick calls at that time than there are now. And yet where is there any one who can say that he did not cheerfully go, however difficult it might have been? Who can tell the hardships endured during so many years? Who can tell the work that has been performed in this grand district where, under the eyes of Father Benoit, so many churches and so many congregations have sprung up? Oh, these noble apostolic men, who cast the seed of the word of God in sorrow, not only with the sweat of their brow, but often moistened by bitter tears, which weakness, fatigue and sickness would force from them. They cast the seed of the word of God in sorrow, but Father Benoit had the consolation of se ing the fruit of his labors spring up around him. The churches, the congregations, and certainly you will agree with me, the salva- tion in Israel, the growth of the church in northeastern Indiana, is attributable to a great extent-principally, I dare say, of course under the Providence of God, whose humble instruments we are-is attributable to the noble old priest to whom we show our last honors to-day.
Fort Wayne was but small at the time. It grew up under his eye, and you all know what interest he took with every one. The Indians considered him their father and friend, and he was their friend. He risked his life for them and barely escaped death on account of his true attachment and honesty towards the Indians. He was a friend of every one That is the beauty of his character. We may recall those five and forty years of Father Benoit's life; we may recall any incident; everything shines with brightness, with that halo of a true priest The worst we can say is that his frank candor, his truthfulness, sometimes hurt. But now, when we look at his remains, when we look at those cold lips, cold in death, which were ever truthful, ever honorable, lips which never spoke a dishonorable word, which had a kind word for every one, whether Catholic or not, we venerate the saintly priest. When we look at that countenance so kind to every one, that countenance which your little children loved to look upon, when you remember that it was your greatest happiness if you could even slip away from your father or mother to visit Father Benoit and to gather around him-that countenance is now cold in death. It is only by memory's efforts that we can recall the pleasure of meeting so often our dear good father. The hands that so often distributed alms, the hands that were so charitable, are now cold and stiff in death.
Father Benoit, as you well know, owing to his business capacity and judi- cious investments in real estate, had some property. Look at this noble cathe- dral; it is mostly his work; he has contributed between $50,000 and $60,000, and the congregation contributed only one-fourth. Look at the schools; look at this beautiful property. When he came here there was but a small frame church unfinished, and only half of this block. He paid that debt of nearly $5,000. He purchased the remainder of this square. Look at the schools; they are his work. The diocese contributed but a small amount to the present episcopal residence. Not only in such a manner, but in many ways, was Father Benoit royal in his charity. I know that when I was his banker, when the money passed through my hands, more than $2,000 were given within one year to poor people here in the city of Fort Wayne-poor that no one knew about. And I know this was his custom; he had the most generous, the most noble nature. Charity was a virtue that entered through every fiber of his heart, and especially the clergy will testify what
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a noble, charitable father, Father Benoit was. On that slab over his tomb, we placed the words, " A father to the clergy." He was that -- truly and nobly. How often during nearly thirteen years that I am here did he advise, counsel and help them with his means, and how often did he plead for them? But we have lost a father on earth. The poor of Fort Wayne have lost a father and generous frienel. The inhabitants of Fort Wayne have lost a friend who sympathized with them, who gave them the most prudent advice, who was ready to help any one. In fact, charity, it may be well said-charity, guided by and grounded on faith- was the predominant virtue of the great priest whose remains we lay at rest. His worth, his labors, were appreciated.
As early as 1852 he was appointed vicar-general of the diocese of Vin- cennes. And when northern Indiana was erected into a diocese at the close of 1857, the bishops of the province thought so much of him that they placed him at the head of the list to be first bishop of Fort Wayne. God ordained otherwise, and when, fourteen years afterwards, the see was again vacant, I was in hopes the good and venerable priest, so worthy, would be appointed. I did not desire the appoint- ment for myself; I thought he ought to have the honor of the position; but he felt that his health was very poor, and he himself wrote to Rome that under no circum- stances would he accept the office. When I was appointed, and when from the highest authorities I received the emphatic intimation that if I was not a coward I ought to accept, that it was simply a duty, I then wrote to our dear old father that I had been in hopes he would receive the honor, but circumstances were such that I was forced to accept. I acknowledged to him that I appreciated his worth and his learning; that in age he was my father, that as a father I would love and honor him, and that it would be the aim of my life to have his old days pass in peace and happiness. I meant every word I wrote, and to-day it is my joy that before these remains I can say I have kept it; that I can say that for nearly thirteen years there has been no grief, not a minute of grief, caused by me. His days were happy and contented, and he was a true father, a true friend and a prudent adviser.
It was this last summer that his health gave way. He had long ago, as you well know, lost the acuteness of his hearing, and last summer a cataract was form- ing on his eye. Unable to take the exercise he wished, unable to spend his time in reading and occupying his mind to prevent loneliness, he keenly felt that his facul- ties were on the decline. When the clergy of the diocese gathered here to cele- brate my silver jubilee with me, we all expressed the hope that he would live to celebrate his golden jubilee. He told us, "No, I will be under the ground then." He constantly said, for the last year especially, that he would not live very long. He feared he would die of apoplexy, and for the last two years told me, " I fear that I will die a sudden death. But I am prepared .. I trust in the mercy of God." During the time of the council he received permission from the holy father to say the mass of the Blessed Virgin every day, a mass that he could learn by heart. It was during the council that his malady developed itself. He thought at first that
it was but a pain in the ear. None of us had any idea of his real affliction, and it was only after a little while that we could induce him tocall a physician, who to our sorrow announced to us that it was a cancer of the throat. And in regard to this, I was told, but a few days ago, by one of the priests of the house, that when, during our retreat, Father Benoit buried an old pious lady of this congregation -whom he visited often, whom he assisted and supported-the priests returned and said to
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him, " Father Benoit, you have buried Mrs. ." " Yes." "Well, wasn't it a terrible thing to die of cancer?" " No," said Father Benoit, "I don't think so. I have prayed for it. One then knows that death is nigh, and he has time to pre- pare, though it is painful enough to do penance."
When Father Benoit turned to me and asked, " Bishop, is it not cancer that I have ? " I told him, " Father Benoit, yes. We are no children, and it is best that you know the truth." "Certainly," said he. "Well," he added, in his humble way, " for several years I have prayed that God would send me penance. I felt that I was such a poor sinner "-these were his words-" such a coward in doing penance, that I begged God to send me penance, and now I have it." Perfectly cheerful, perfectly contented. I told him, " Father Benoit, you know well enough that I sympathize with you, but I would a great deal sooner see you suffer, and even for a long time, than have the message brought to me in the morning, 'Father Benoit was found dead.'" "That is so," said he. He would not beg God to relieve him of it. He was as cheerful, even more cheerful, when he knew the sen- tence of death was upon him, when he knew that death was inevitable. When he must have suffered intense agony it was impossible to perceive it-he concealed his pain. With death before his eyes, he was more cheerful than ever, and repeat- edly he said to me, " I trust indeed in the infinite mercy of God; He is so good and so merciful; He is our only consolation." And, contrary to our expectation, from the very first he said, " It will not last long." And this was the case. Last week he broke down for the second time. As soon as he knew that he was fatally sick he received the last sacraments. He had said mass in his room for quite a number of days, and when he grew too weak I said mass there. Sunday a week and dur- ing the week I said mass in his room; he would be there almost dying, yet he would kneel to receive holy communion every day until last Friday, when coma set in and it was impossible for him to do so. Signs of blood poisoning were easily perceptible. His lungs became congested owing to the blood poisoning, the poisons being absorbed by that circulation that is so great in the throat and neck . 'Still he was perfectly cheerful, though sometimes he would be a little flighty, especially Saturday and Sunday night. Yet he would know everybody and would have perfect sense. He asked again to go to confession and received again the plenary indulgence. During Saturday night, when I was up with him the whole night, he repeated, " I will go home to my Father and die to-day." He did not go home that day but rallied, and Sunday afternoon and Monday the whole day he appeared more cheerful, more lively, fully as strong, even though contrary to all rules of nature. The physicians said they never saw a person whose vitality was so great. When the right reverend bishop of Nashville, formerly one of our priests and an intimate friend of Father Benoit, hurried here on Monday, Father Benoit knew him at once, smiled and spoke most cheerfully. We left him after a short time, because we knew that speaking was so painful to him. He would rather rest; he would rather be saying some prayers. And a greater part of Sunday and Monday he was saying his prayers, if he was not dozing. We knew death had to come very soon. Exhausted nature could not support him any longer. After supper, the bishop of Nashville and myself and some priests called upon him; he spoke again cheerfully and kindly. The physician visited him and he said to him and also to the sister, after we had left the room, " I am going home to my Father. I thank you for your kindness to me, and for your services, and when I am in
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heaven I will pray for you." He was led to the bed. He had been sitting on the chair, and immediately the sister came to me. Death had set in. He was quietly breathing. We had time to say the prayers for the dying, when, quietly, without any spasm, without any effort, he slept away. His course was run. He could look back at the long period of years, and he could make use of the words of St. Paul, " I have fought the good fight, I have preserved the faith, and now I hope for the crown of immortal glory which God, the just judge, will give me." His course was run; he was anxious to die, as he had told me for the last two years, and I have no doubt that he has gained the crown of immortal glory. Looking back over all these sacrifices, these years of labor, it was only that noble faith that could have upheld him in times of trials and difficulties, such days, for instance, as the times of the cholera in Fort Wayne. It was only that faith that could strengthen him to endure so much. It is only that great mission that is given to the Catholic church- that grand commission of the risen God, "As the Father sent me, so do I send you " -- that could uphold him during the many years of trials and labors, and that could give him that grace to act as the true, noble priest, as he has done. When, two years ago, I was in Rome, speaking to the Holy Father about my diocese, I mentioned the name of the venerable Father Benoit, and said that it would be a great pleasure if the Holy See would deign to honor such an old and worthy man. The Holy Father said to me, " Certainly, with the greatest of pleasure; and I do blame you bishops that you do not notify the Holy See to honor such men who are so deserving," he told me. "Tell Monsignor Jacobini to remind me of this and make out the papers."
We have lost Father Benoit, and yet I should say we have not lost hint. That is the beauty of the Catholic faith, my dear brethren. It is only the Catholic church that fully appreciates what we say in the Apostles' creed, "I believe in the communion of saints." The cold hand of death does not sever the tender ties of charity that unite and bind us to our dear departed. In heaven above our dear Father will be as kind a father, as kind a friend as on earth, and more so because charity is more perfect in heaven. On earth our charity is covered with the dross of human weakness. In heaven it is beautified, perfected ; it is the reigning virtue in heaven. Our faith will pass into visiòn, our hope will become possession, but charity will remain forever. Not one of the tender ties that bound our good old Father Benoit to Fort Wayne and to every citizen has been snapped or rent asunder. His love in heaven will be more intense, and of course the only way that charity can be practiced in heaven towards us poor pilgrims on earth is by uttering the prayer of charity for us. We pray for one another on earth. We ask the intercession of the Blessed Virgin with God, from whom all good comes. There is no doubt of the promise of Father Benoit that he could pray for us. And we should pray for him. We believe in the communion of saints. In heaven they pray for us, in heaven they intercede for us, and we should also intercede and pray for our dear departed, who may yet have some imperfection, who may yet have something to atone for ; for who is perfectly spotless and pure in the sight of God ? We pray for our departed, even if we do not expect it necessary, because we know that the prayer of charity on earth is never lost, and it is therefore that I beg of you to pray for your dear old Father and pastor. He wished no flowers, but he wished rather that we should pray for him. He wished rather that something should be given to the poor or to the orphans.
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It was his desire to be buried there at the foot of the communion railing ; the very spot where we bury him he selected himself. It was his desire ; and it was his desire that a slab should be put there to remind those who go to holy com- munion that they should pray for their old pastor. You will see the slab there with the inscription, " Pray for the soul of Right Reverend Julian Benoit, Domestic Prelate of the Holy See, a true Father to the Clergy, a generous friend to the poor, the builder of this Cathedral." In his name, I ask your prayers.
And another thing I ask you to remember is his teachings, his advice. When death had its hand upon him, when he knew he had to die, he was making plans, " I wish to see such and such a one ; " not so much his personal friends, but he was saying, "There is a negligent Catholic, there is a poor man whom I received into the church, there is a poor acquaintance who does not go to church and to the sac- raments." He made arrangements to visit these, and when he was not able to go he sent a priest to say, " This is the dying request of Father Benoit ; attend to your religion and serve your God." What would the dying words of Father Benoit be to his old friends and acquaintances ? " Keep your faith, serve your God," and I have no doubt he would say to us, " In heaven I hope to meet you again." Amen.
After the sermon the last absolution was pronounced by the right reverend bishop of the diocese. During the solemn chant by the clergy of the "Libera" and "Benedictus " everybody seemed wrapped in devotion, uniting in a prayer for the venerated dead. At the conclusion of this chant, Palestrina's great Misere was rendered by the choir-consisting of Messrs. Weber, Schulte, Strack, Blaising, Mesdames Arnold and Mommer, and about fif- teen others. The requiem, Mr. E. Noll at the organ, had been given by male voices only.
Whilst the plaintive dirge of the Misere rang through the great dome, rang out as though from trembling voices, the corpse was slowly and reverently borne into the sanctuary, lowered through the floor and placed in a vault outside the communion railing to await the final call on the day of resurrection.
By way of digression, it may be remarked here that the last conversation of our venerated Father when with us for the last time in the bishop's rooms, was-" Well, bishop, I came into the world with nothing, and I want to go out of it with nothing. I have about disposed of all I had, and you will likely find that you will be obliged to pay my funeral expenses." To which he added in broken words, with a deep sigh, "Bury me in the cathedral, outside the sanctuary railing, that in death, as I was in life, I may be among the people whom I loved."
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Amid that great concourse of people, crowded into pews, packed into every aisle, a gathering such as is seldom seen within those cathedral walls, a great; congregation, sighing and sobbing, weeping and lamenting, Father Benoit was laid to rest. The peo- *ple wept, the clergy mourned and the city was in sorrow and grief. May God grant him eternal rest in heaven.
Over the remains, framed into the floor, is a inarble slab four inches thick, two feet eight inches in width, and four feet ten inches in length, bearing the following inscription:
Pray for the Soul of Rt. Rev. Julian Benoit, Domestic Prelate of the Holy See, and Vicar General of the Diocese: To the Clergy a Devoted Father, to the Poor a Generous Friend: the Builder of this Cathedral. Born October 17, 1808; Died January 26, 1885. May he rest in Peace!
The Very Rev. Joseph Henry Brammer, Vicar-General, was born in Hanover, Germany, in October, 1839. He was reared in the Lutheran faith, the religion of his parents. In early life he was apprenticed to a carpenter, mastered the trade and followed it for a number of years. In 1854 he came to America and settled in St. Louis, working there at his trade. He was of a studious turn and of a deeply religious nature. This led him to the study of religion. After listening to the lectures of Father Weber, S. J., and a sincere inquiry into Catholic doctrines, he determined to embrace the faith, and was received into the Catholic church in 1859.
With the ardor of a sincere convert, he determined to give his life to the propagation of the true faith and to the conversion of souls to it. He longed to impart to others what he himself had learned, and, accordingly, a year later, began his collegiate studies in the famous Benedictine college, of St. Vincent, Pennsylvania. There and at St. Michael's college, Pittsburg, he completed the classical course and then entered on the study of philosophy and theology in Mt. St. Mary's seminary, Cincinnati, Ohio.
On May 11, 1868, he was ordained to the priesthood in the cathedral at Fort Wayne, and was immediately appointed assistant to Father Benoit, pastor of the cathedral congregation.
The young priest soon impressed all with his sincere piety and burning zeal for the service of God and the welfare of humanity. During the declining years of Father Benoit the duties of the vicar-
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Los. F. Krammer v. B.
IN THE STATE OF INDIANA.
general devolved upon Father Brammer, and on the death of the venerable pioneer priest, Father Braminer was appointed to suc- ceed him.
As vicar-general and pastor of the cathedral his great abilities came more and more into prominence. When Bishop Dwenger visited Rome, in 1885 and again in i888, Father Brammer was administrator of the diocese. During the last years of Bishop Dwenger's life most of the arduous duties of the diocesan adminis- tration fell on Father Brammer, and for nearly four years he worked almost night and day. These great responsibilities, spiritual and temporal, could not fail to have their effect on one who was con- scientious to the last degree.
As pastor of the cathedral Father Brammer began, in 1880, an undertaking which had been the dream of his life-the erection of Library hall, adjoining the cathedral. It was a great work, but the abilities of a financier were brought into play and he had the building almost completed before his parishioners knew how he had raised the funds. During a journey to Europe he visited Ire- land and saw the far-famed Irish marble. He at once decided to please the emigrants from the Emerald isle in Fort Wayne by hav- ing some of the stone from their native land in the building. He imported, at considerable trouble and expense, a huge block of Irish marble, and it forms the corner-stone of Library hall.
Six years after its completion St. Vincent's Orphan asylum was built, and the grand institution is the result of the disinterested labors of Father Brammer and Bishop Dwenger.
It had long been the desire of Father Brammer to subject the beautiful cathedral at Fort Wayne to a thorough restoration, and in 1896 he determined to do so. The work was estimated at about $50,000. Times were hard and the zealous pastor had a keen appreciation of the fact that few of his parishioners were abund- antly blessed with this world's goods. Nevertheless, with the sub- lime faith that was one of his distinguishing traits, he began the work and in a few months completed it.
Father Brammer was the most humble of men. The work- ingman on the street, black or white, he considered his equal. The predominating trait of his character was charity. It was literally
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unbounded. The poor he had always with him. They were his early morning callers, and his days were devoted to listening to their stories, relieving their wants, correcting their faults and always blessing them. Sometimes he was called on late at night to render aid and it was never withheld. Color, race and creed were no distinction. All differences vanished when the plaint of need was heard. He has been known to borrow money when his available funds were exhausted in almsgiving, that some poor family might have fire and food. £ His salary went to allev ate distress, to feed the hungry and to clothe the naked. He has been known to give away his own shoes to a tramp on a cold morning. On another occasion a poor woman complained in the depth of winter that her little ones suffered from cold at night. Straightway went Father Brammer to his own room and gathered his blankets and quilts into a huge bundle, giving them to the poor woman. When detected in these acts of self-denial he would modestly refuse to listen to a word of praise. Instances without number are known of his single- hearted love for the poor, but far more numerous are the stories that never were made public of his unstinted liberality. He saw in the poor the reflection of Christ's image, and, like a true apostle, was ever ready to follow in the path laid down for him. He loved everyone and in return was beloved by everyone who knew him. He knew no distinction of creed or race, but saw in every one the image of God, a soul to be saved. It was this that, coupled with his learning, drew people not of his own faith to him and proved for many a stepping-stone to entering the Catholic church.
One of the institutions close to his heart was the St. Vincent de Paul society, whose object is the care of the poor and needy. Realizing the benefits of organized charity, Father Brammer formed this society among the members of the cathedral parish many years ago, and its record is a noble one. Hundreds of poor families have been relieved through its medium under his zealous direction.
A fervent supporter of Christian education, Father Brammer helped to bring the cathedral schools up to a high degree of excel- lence, and maintained a careful watch over their growth, evincing
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LIBRARY HALL, FT. WAYNE, IND.
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