by Nicolas Diat
The two brothers had entered Fontgombault one year apart. Dom Forgeot has forgotten nothing about that winter night. At the moment of death, he was at his bedside with the Father Abbot Edouard Roux: “He died in peace. I was twenty-three years old, and my brother was twenty-five. We were prepared. At the time, there was no possible cure. For monks, death is formidable, like a punishment, but it does not frighten us. It is natural. Hope is everything. We are confident that death will not separate the people who have loved each other on this earth.” Dom Forgeot told me about this sad event in his life with great modesty. A few months before, he had already lost his father, aged forty-nine years old.
The year 1956 was terrible. Dom Forgeot watched young Brother Philippe Vilain die. The two men had entered the abbey together and made their professions the same day. Brother Xavier and Brother Philippe died within six months of each other. At the time of his death, in a military hospital, Brother Philippe had a moment of fear. But Dom Forgeot and Dom Roux could not be at his side. The young shoots of Fontgombault were departing like summer grain fallen to the ground during a stormy night.
At the approach of death, within a monastery, problems subside and are simplified. Complicated, impetuous, our individualist monks become serene. Dom Forgeot always thought that we should pay attention to these signs because they announce the end: “It is very beautiful to see a monk who is aging well. God is faithful and helps us, on the condition that we allow it.”
Is there a special grace at Fontgombault? In 1948, Dom Édouard Roux arrived from Solesmes with twenty-four monks. The great majority of the brothers were his former novices. The community had always been brotherly. They took possession of a monastery that had long been consecrated to the Blessed Virgin: “Mary protects us”, Dom Forgeot told me. “She watches over the tranquility of the monastery with special care. In civilian life, the religious had the opportunity to choose his friends. But, inside an abbey, his brothers are given to him by God. Yet, in seventy years, the unity of Fontgombault has never failed. This peace is not unrelated to the joy of the monks at the moment of their death. It is important to say that our house possesses a statue of the Mother of God called Our Lady of a Happy Death.”
The twelfth-century, limestone Virgin, over three feet tall, is represented in majesty, holding the divine Infant on her knees, just as the Romanesque sculptors liked to depict her. Her story is remarkable. In the middle of the eighteenth century, the monks had already left the place, victims of the complex benefice system. Sold to the Revolution as national property, the church was transformed into a stone quarry. A sacrilegious hand, that of George Sand, inscribed this graffiti on columns of the shrine: “Numquam Deo!” (May it never again be God’s!)
At that time, an unfortunate man decided to attack the venerable statue to bring it down. Evil befell him: he took a serious fall, from which he died shortly after, repenting. From that day, the Virgin was henceforth invoked under the title of Our Lady of a Happy Death.
Today, the monks come every day to pray at her feet for the dying and hospitalized.
Dom Forgeot does not question the dedication of doctors. According to him, however, the latest medical advances risk leading to the theft of death. The excess of painkillers plunges the sick into nebulous states that cut them off from the moment they are going to experience: “It becomes dreadful to go to the hospital. Must one recover at all costs? The response of the monks is simple: men of God do not want to hasten death. They prayed their whole life to live this moment fully. If I were to give advice to my successor, I would tell him to be vigilant and to advance with prudence. Hospitals must remain places where we feel safe. Certainly, medicine saves lives. But we have to watch out for ideological abuses.”
Every day, the former Father Abbot recites Saint Pope Pius X’s Prayer for the Dying: “O Jesus, adoring Your last Breath, I beg You to receive mine. Not knowing at this time whether I will have command of my senses when I leave this world, I offer You even now, my last agony and all the sufferings of my death. From today on, I willingly and freely accept from Your hand whatever kind of death will please You with all its suffering, its pains, and fears. You are my Father and my Savior. I place my soul in Your hands. I desire that my last moment be united with that of Your death and that the last beat of my heart be an act of pure love for You. Amen.”
Among the deaths that have impressed him, Dom Forgeot remembers that of his first Father Abbot. Father Edouard Roux died in 1962. He was sixty-six years old. Influenza was raging in the region. Several monks were bedridden. The Father Abbot had contracted the disease, but he seemed to be resisting the epidemic better than others. One night, the infirmarian noticed with concern that he had a very high fever. The village doctor did not see the tragedy coming. Dom Roux died the following day, as the Angelus was ringing on the feast of Saint Joseph. He had had time to receive Extreme Unction.
The death of Dom Jean Roy was more tragic. In 1977, at the age of fifty-six, he died suddenly from a heart attack. He was in Rome for the Congresso of Benedictine abbots. One morning, he collapsed in front of the door to his room. An infirmarian tried to resuscitate him, but he departed a few moments later.
The community was saddened and disoriented. To return to Fontgombault, the convoy that was transporting the body stopped at the two abbeys that he had founded, at Gricigliano, in Tuscany, and at Randol, near the Auvergne mountains. Dom Forgeot is convinced that Dom Roy felt his last hour approaching: among his things, the monks found a prayer about death that he had just copied. In 1976, the Father Abbot had wanted an architect to come prepare his tomb. The private secretary had written a letter to carry out his request, in which he indicated that nothing was urgent. In rereading the text, Dom Roy had written in the margin: “What does he know about it?” One evening, he had confided to Dom Forgeot that his days on this earth were numbered. Yet he had just had a heart exam that did not show anything in particular. Dom Forgeot has not forgotten him: “He was wonderful, courageous, honest. We owe what we are to him.”
Fontgombault is fortunate to have a doctor among its monks. Since 1984, Dom Damien Thevenin has been responsible for Fontgombault’s infirmary. Trained as a radiologist, he entered the monastery in December 1977, two days after defending his thesis. The young medical doctor did not live long in the world, and he regrets nothing about his former life.
Dom Thevenin is amazed to see how little modern deaths resemble those of the past: “The monks are men of their times, and they are better cared for than their predecessors. Diseases that once rapidly led to death in our time willingly take on a chronic guise. What is especially new is the refusal to look death in the face. We would like to forget it and avoid all the sufferings and anxieties that go with it.”
For a monk, death must be available. It is the last act of life and the first step in the adventure of eternity. The offering can only be conscious. From this point of view, Fontgombault considers heavy and continuous sedation, as proposed by the Claeys-Leonetti Law, unacceptable and immoral. For the community, if brief sedation given to terminally ill people to help them through a difficult stage and to calm almost unbearable anxieties, like those of a patient with difficulty breathing, is legitimate, a deep and continuous sedation associated with the withholding of food and water, as the law advocates, is not: it is a form of euthanasia that the artifice of wording cannot conceal.
In 2000, an eighty-four-year-old brother had stomach cancer. After an operation to remove the cancerous tumor, he fell into a coma. The monk was on an artificial respirator, but he responded to certain requests from his brothers. He perfectly recognized his visitors. An anesthesiologist, however, decided to turn off the machine without telling Dom Thevenin. The religious died. The monks had made clear that they wanted to be present at the moment of his death. Obviously, it was a matter of getting rid of a case that was already lost and was overburdening the service. The surgeon had not been informed of the decision, either. Fontgombault expressed its anger and sadness. From that
point forward, the monks have been vigilant. They pay special attention to the drafting of “advanced directives” that the hospitals offer to carry out.
Dom Thevenin has accompanied some twenty monks to their death. He has never witnessed any spectacular death agonies. The monks were serene and peaceful. One might speak of progressive stages. They let go little by little, in increments, supported by the prayer of their brothers. In a situation of dependence, the threshold for tolerance changes. The monk accepts things that seemed impossible a few weeks before.
If immediate consciousness can weaken, Dom Forgeot is convinced conversely that “the meaning of prayer remains until the final moment. Prayer is a surrender into the hands of God. How could it stop at the very moment when the encounter approaches? A patient with a brain tumor can no longer say the rosary. But the intention of the act, which consists in wanting to be with Mary, cannot change. The forms of meditation and contemplation change, the essence remains the same. The comatose monk still lives with God. The mystery of death and resurrection is at the center of his life.”
Naturally, a father infirmarian gets attached to the patient. The connection can be strong. He has to know how to protect himself. Sometimes, he has to be firm, like when a sick monk refuses to take his medications: “Saint Benedict calls for caregivers with generosity and great patience. He gives the supernatural reason for this: the infirmarian must see Christ in his sick brothers and serve them accordingly. In return, the sick know they are served in honor of God. They cannot grieve the infirmarians with superficial demands. The monk in charge of caregiving is not a domestic servant. The strength of a monk’s prayer throughout his life will influence his approach to old age and death”, attests Dom Thevenin.
A bedridden monk often keeps his reflexes as a good religious. He looks for his rosary, he remembers prayers. Monastic formation endures. The monk dies as he has lived. He does not choose either his sickness or his suffering, but his death still resembles his life. Dom Forgeot thinks that “the stronger the supernatural life, the greater the familiarity with the afterlife, and the simpler the death. Though a criminal who repents at the very last minute will also depart in peace.”
Death requires preparation. In the Litany of the Saints, we find this request: “From sudden and unexpected death, deliver us, Lord.” Before the progress in medicine, death could be swift and painful. The monk had to think about and anticipate his death. “We all know that we are going to die. We should live life accordingly”, concludes Dom Forgeot.
Formerly, at the time of monastic profession, the brother, prostrate on the floor, was covered with a funeral pall, symbolizing the death of the monk to the world and the beginning of a new life. Dom Gueranger had kept this practice, although he thought it theatrical. It fell into disuse when the pall proved to be too small to cover the seven Benedictines who had made their profession on the same day!
At Fontgombault, the father infirmarian is always close to the sick who are going to depart. A doctor, he easily recognizes the signs of the death agony. The irregular breathing, weakening of the pulse, and paling of the complexion do not lie. The Father Abbot is then alerted. Sometimes it is possible to assemble the whole community, sixty monks. Together, they listen to the prayer of the dying: “Go forth, Christian soul, from this world, in the name of God the almighty Father, who created you, in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who suffered for you;. . . May you live in peace this day, may your home be with God in Zion.”
The infirmarian is in charge of preparing the dead body. It is a delicate moment. He undresses the deceased. The death agony can cause significant perspiration. In some cases, Dom Thevenin places the body on a stretcher for a quick shower. Then, sometimes it is necessary to shave the beard of the dead.
For the monks, the deceased have a right to the greatest charity. Dom Pateau agreed with this, elaborating that “care of the body of the dead is aimed not so much at a carnal shell as at the memory of the person. Respect for the monastic corpse shows that it is not a mere mass of cells. A soul has escaped; his flesh and bones have a right to the attentions of those who lived with the deceased. We keep with some emotion the objects that belonged to the deceased. A watch, a habit, a notebook will become precious. The body possesses the same singularity. But it is not a matter of disguising the dead man to make him look younger or more joyful. This practice turns into a carnival and turns the deceased into a made-up mannequin. These theatrics try to reassure the living. The departed monk, laid out on his bed, is the center of attention. It calls to mind a brother whom we love. The corpse invites an encounter with the soul.”
Dom Thevenin always allows an hour to pass before beginning the preparations. He believes this quiet time has a meaning. Then, the monk is clothed in the black robe with a stole on top of this if he was a priest. A man always has a past of shadow and light. But the peace that follows death is striking.
The monks accord importance to the vigil before the funeral. The gathering with the deceased is a spiritual farewell. For the father infirmarian, in particular, the departure resembles a small liberation. Death brings a kind of peace to the doctor. God reclaimed his rights. Joy is appropriate.
Dom Forgeot remembers little Brother François. He was the first civilian welcomed inside the walls of Fontgombault after the return of the monks. In October 1991, he had caught a bad case of flu. Before dinner, the Father Abbot went to give him the blessing of Compline. “Brother François, what are you doing?” The monk answered: “I am praying for our archbishop of Bourges. The novice master requested it.” Archbishop Pierre Plateau was in fact hospitalized at Val-de-Grâce for an infectious disease. The doctors thought he was lost. Brother François’ condition continued to decline. The ambulance arrived to take him to the hospital. He died passing through the abbey entrance at the exact hour when, for forty-three years, he had been praying on his knees before Our Lady of a Happy Death. One week later, Archbishop Plateau recovered. His doctors were never able to explain the extraordinary cause of his recovery. Two months later, filled with emotion, he came to pray at Brother François’ grave to thank him.
Are old monks afraid of death? Sometimes they are attached to a life that has become soft and languid. Fear of death is related to that of the unknown. Dom Delatte thinks that they are very rare, those who want to leave the world: generally, the web of our life is totally destroyed, and we try to hold on to the last shreds. People rarely ask God to cut the final thread.
Saint Francis de Sales spoke of the “high point of the soul”. The dialogue between each monk and God remains a mystery. It does not show on the outside. God allows monks to take multiple roads. One day, a Benedictine confided to Dom Pateau that he had had suicidal thoughts since the age of fourteen. He had entered a monastery where he still lives. The monk compared these moments to being enclosed in a box shut on all sides. The only possible way out was death.
A Father Abbot cannot force a soul. The psychological realm is not the spiritual realm. It is necessary to accompany the brothers who suffer and leave the intimacy of faith to God. Dom Pateau speaks of a dimension of service.
The Father Abbot of Fontgombault seeks to protect his own “from the disturbing aspects of our modern societies”. He takes the example of the father cellarer’s role. In an abbey, he is in charge of practical life and the material relationships with the outside world. In the Middle Ages, it was he who was responsible for supplying the storeroom, for the food, and for the expenses of the community. “Today,” he tells me, “this stewardship role is much more difficult. The complexity of the economy and data processing has changed everything.”
It makes Dom Pateau wonder if man still has time to die. The acceleration of technological life overwhelms until the final moments. God must force us to take this time: “He says: ‘That’s enough’, when modern man would readily answer: ‘I don’t have time.’ We would be quite ready to miss the high point of this life. Man has become a slave. In the same way, he no longer has time f
or himself and for God. The lack is cruel. He does not have time to die because he does not have time to live. For his part, the monk agrees to lose all his time for God. Monastic life is happy; monastic death is, also.”
Dom Pateau believes that the answer to modern egoism resides in spiritual childhood. Far from naïveté and weakness, this attitude requires a burst of strength.
The Father Abbot is struck and impressed by the simplicity of monks’ deaths. He is convinced of the unity between the Fontgombault of the earth and that of heaven. No separation exists. In his Notes sur la vie spirituelle (Notes on the spiritual life), Dom Paul Delatte wrote: “It remains, then, that to leave the religious life of time, there is only one honorable process: to enter into the religious life of eternity, to make this solemn profession that is called death and that should be called life. Only then will we truly begin to live. This is not a paradox or just a way of thinking about things.”
For the monk, after death, the essence of life continues.
The monks of Fontgombault like to speak of the acquiescence of the soul at the moment of death. It can no longer express itself in a worn-out and suffering body. A spark can no longer shine if the fire is extinguished. The journey is ended, the sick person can depart: his brothers are there.
VII
How to Say Goodbye
Mondaye Abbey
How I love being atop these mountains
That rise up to the sky,
From a gracious diadem,
Crowning this beautiful countryside.1
These verses from Racine, written while admiring the Chevreuse valley, from the Château de la Madeleine, and the grounds of his beloved Port-Royal Abbey, could easily come to mind for the canons of Mondaye when they go on walks on the heights of the Bessin, by way of Jahouet road, which opens onto a vast landscape, up to the English Channel and the spires of the Bayeux cathedral.