One summer evening, some years ago, I was sitting under an old oak tree with a dear old friend. He had been for many years a minister of the gospel, but before that he had been in the army, and had had many strange adventures. He had been with the great Duke of Wellington in Spain, and he had been afterward at the battle of Waterloo. He was a beautiful old man with snow-white hair which was to him a crown of glory, for he had long been walking in the ways of righteousness. Had you only seen his bright and happy face you would have known he must be a very pleasant companion. And could you have heard the stories he had to tell of the wonderful ways in which God had led him, you would understand why I was so glad to spend the evening listening to him. So, I began by saying, “Do tell me a story.” And he said, “I will tell you the story of Cécile.” He thought for a few moments, as though his memory had to travel back to a time very long ago, and then he began his story as you shall now hear it.
“After the battle of Waterloo,” he said, “the English and Prussians marched, as you know, to Paris. We English were in great spirits, and we expected we were to enter Paris in triumph the moment we arrived there. But this was not to be. It seems that a good many of Napoleon’s old officers were still in Paris, and it was feared that they would raise riots to insult the British soldiers on their entrance. So, it was thought necessary first to get them all cleared out of the way, and for this reason we had to wait outside Paris for several days. We knew that there were a great many Parisians who would be only too glad to welcome us, for there were still very many who were warmly attached to the family of the old Bourbon Kings and who were delighted that we had beaten Napoleon. They looked upon us as their deliverers, for they quite understood we were willing that the princes of the old family should be restored. There was one part of Paris which was chiefly inhabited by the families of the old noblesse, who were rejoicing in the thought of seeing us march in.
“I was a harum-scarum young fellow in those days, and it was a great trial to my patience to have to wait outside Paris when I longed for a merry life amongst the friendly Parisians. So, one day I said to a friend of mine, ‘Suppose you and I put on plain clothes and ride off into Paris as soon as it gets dark. We could stay all night and get back tomorrow morning before we are found out.’ My friend was quite ready for this little expedition, so we started off without being seen, saw all sorts of sights, and had plenty of fun, and went to sleep at an hotel. But next morning, just as we were at breakfast, the news came that Paris was all astir, for the British army was to march in that very day. We sprang upon our horses, hoping to get back in time. We saw the tricolor flag already hauled down from the Tuileries, and the old white standard flying. And as we came to the Porte S. Denis, there we saw the English troops already marching in. Of course, we had no desire to meet them, so we turned round and took another road, which would lead us to the camp by making a longer round. We had to ride all the length of a long and narrow street in which several of the old noble families had their houses. We found a carriage standing in this street before the door of a large house, and, as the street was so narrow, we had to wait behind it till it had driven off before we could go further. The party from the house were just taking their places in the carriage.
“How little I knew that our arriving just at that moment was part of a great plan which God had made for the glory of His beloved Son! But so it was to turn out in the end. In those days I had no thoughts of God and cared only to live a merry life, without looking forward to the end of it.
“As we waited behind the carriage, we saw the family get in; three ladies first—plainly a mother and two daughters—and then a gentleman. I pulled up my horse, of course, and lifted my hat as the ladies passed. The last one who got in was the youngest.
She seemed about sixteen or seventeen years old. She sat with her back to the horses, so she had her face towards me. She was very lovely, with a sweet, bright expression that charmed me at once. All the ladies were dressed in white, and each had a white rosette fastened on her dress. As the carriage drove off, I cantered by the side of it and said, ‘May I ask if you are going to meet our British soldiers?’ ‘Indeed we are,’ said the elder lady, ‘and gladly too.’ Then I said, ‘I would like to show my loyalty to the Bourbon King, but I have no white rosette. Might I ask if the young lady would give me hers?’ The young lady at once unpinned it, but her mother stopped her. I saw that I had asked too much, and I cantered on after my friend, covering my disappointment with a joke. At the end of the street we found we had to wait again, for the way was blocked with wagons. The carriage stopped too. I saw the gentleman get out and beckon to me. I rode up to him and he told me politely that the lady in the carriage was the Marquise de Ste. L., and that she begged me to accept the rosette from herself. She did not wish her young daughter to give it to me, but at the same time she wished to show her good feeling towards an Englishman. I was of course much pleased, and I asked whether the marquise lived in the house at the door of which the carriage had been standing, for I hoped to call one day to thank her. A day or two later my friend and I went to call there. The marquise received us very kindly. She told us she was a widow with two daughters and a young son. She wished to know a little more about us, as of course we were perfect strangers to her. She seemed quite satisfied with the account we gave of ourselves. Soon the two daughters came in. Laure, the eldest, was handsome and pleasant looking, but Cécile, the youngest, was more beautiful than anyone I had ever seen. She was very graceful, and her sweet and pleasant manners very soon won my heart completely. She was very simple and child-like, but at the same time she was clever and intelligent and very modest and gentle. I found all this out from many visits which I paid to the family. She was allowed to take walks with me, and her mother seemed fully to understand that I had become very fond of her daughter, and to be pleased that so it was.
“It grieved me very much that I had suddenly to leave Paris a few weeks later. Business called me to London, where I had to spend some time. I had not asked leave to write to Cécile, and I often longed to hear something about her. One day I did hear something, and terrible news it was. I received from Cécile’s mother a printed paper, such as the French usually send to their friends to give notice of a death or a marriage in a family. This notice was of a marriage. Cécile was engaged to a German nobleman, to whom she was to be married immediately. I heard afterward how it had come about. Just after I left Paris, a concert was given in honor of the King of Prussia, who had arrived there with his army. The concert room was crowded; the heat was very great, and Cécile fainted away. There was a moment of confusion; it was difficult to make a way to take Cécile out of the room. The king sent his aide-de-camp, a tall Prussian officer, to see what was the matter. The officer at once took Cécile in his arms and carried her out into a private room. The king ordered his carriage to take home the marquise and her daughters. Next day the aide-de-camp called to ask after Cécile. After this he called again and again; and before a month was over the marquise had gladly allowed him to consider Cécile as engaged to him. French girls were not supposed to have any will of their own in these matters. It was settled for them by fathers or mothers, and as a matter of course they were to obey. So Cécile married Baron von L. and returned with him to Berlin. The news reached me that she was much admired there. And then I heard no more. I was very unhappy. If I could but have seen her to say good-bye, I thought it would have comforted me. But now she was gone forever, and I said to myself, ‘I shall never see her again, or know anything about her!’
“So, the years passed by. I tried to forget her, and so I gave myself up to a life of pleasure. I had many friends who were fond of my company. I could sing and dance well, and play on the guitar, and tell them of strange places and strange things which I had seen in foreign countries. English people did not travel about the world in those days as they do now, and many things were new to them which everybody now knows all about.
“So, the time went on. Visiting in the morning; balls, music, theaters at night. If I had any spare time, I wrote poetry, and plays, and novels. It never struck me that all these precious years were wasted and lost, or worse than lost, for if we are not gathering with Christ, we are scattering abroad. That is to say, we are either doing Christ’s work or Satan’s. But at last a time came when God opened my blind eyes, and I saw myself to be a lost, guilty sinner, walking in the broad road which has only one ending—everlasting destruction. And, thanks be to God, I saw also that there is a Savior, one only Savior for lost sinners.
“How true it is that no one can teach this to our hearts but God Himself, God the Holy Spirit. How good He was to teach it me! I had been living without Him and had not gone to Him for comfort and happiness, but to the foolish, useless pleasures which, after all, had never satisfied me. And now I saw it all clearly—that Christ Jesus on the cross had won for me a happiness that could never be taken away from me. He had given me life, and peace, and rest that were all new to me, and everything round me seemed changed. I could now thank Him that He had not allowed me to have Cécile for my wife. At the time when I had known her, it mattered nothing to me whether people trusted in Jesus, or in saints and angels. Now I saw what the difference is between those who own the Lord Jesus as the one only Savior and those who think that it needs also their works and prayers and the help of saints and angels to open to them the door of heaven. I saw that the door had been opened by the Lord Himself when He died upon the cross, and I knew that I had entered in, and that I was saved.
But though my heart was comforted, and I was unspeakably happy, I had not forgotten Cécile. I longed that she too might know the Lord Jesus and be as happy as I was. I had often prayed, even before my blind eyes were opened, that God would make her happy. But it was the happiness of this world I had meant when I prayed for her in those days. Now I asked the Lord to show her Jesus and to save her soul. I felt sure He would hear me, though years upon years passed by, and I never had any tidings of her. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty years had passed at last, and still there was scarcely ever a day that I did not pray for Cécile.
“Meanwhile I had been preaching and working for my Master, and at last I became worn out, and I wanted rest. A kind friend, who was a doctor, said he would go with me to Italy. Three months’ rest were allowed me, and a sum of money was given me to pay all my expenses. At Rome my friend left me, and then I went on alone to Milan, and to beautiful, old Venice.
“I wished very much to see some of the great German cities on my way back. It seemed to me it would be a great pleasure to wander through the old towns where Luther had lived and preached. And so, I began to measure the time that was left and to count my money. I found that I would have just enough of both to last me till I got to England, if only I wasted no time on the road. I meant to allow myself one day at Leipsic, to see the place where the great battle of Leipsic had been fought, two years before Waterloo. But it is God who orders all our steps, and the smallest things that happen to us are a part of His great plan. Our plans have often to be altered or given up, that His plan may be carried out. And so, it happened that when I got to Leipsic it rained in torrents, and I had already passed over the battlefield in the train, so I determined to go on to Berlin without further delay. Many of the Lord’s servants were just at that time holding great meetings at Berlin. There were some from almost every country in Europe, and many of my English friends were amongst them. I went to one of the meetings, but all that was said was in German, and I did not understand it. So, I went out and walked down the great street called Unter den Linden. All at once the thought struck me, ‘I wonder if Cécile is still alive!’ I tried to remember the exact name of her husband, but I could not be sure of it. I went into a bookseller’s shop and asked for the Berlin directory. I looked out the names that seemed to be nearest to the name I had once known so well. There were seven names something like it. I could not be sure which it was. However, I wrote them down, and then went to three of the houses named in the directory. But I could hear of no one who could possibly be Cécile. So, I thought it was foolish of me to think more about it. Just as I left the last house, I met an English friend, who said to me, ‘Are you not going with us to the king?’ ‘What do you mean?’ I said, ‘why should I go to the king?’ My friend explained that the king had invited all the foreigners who had come over to the meetings to be received by him in his new palace at Potsdam. There was to be a special train for them from Berlin to Potsdam, which was to start at two o’clock.
“‘You have only to show your ticket,’ said my friend, for all those who had gone to Berlin for the meetings had what were called conference tickets. ‘I have no ticket,’ I said. I was sorry I had none, for I wished to go with the rest. They told me if I went to an office in the city, I might get one. I went there at once, and I met the gentleman who gave the tickets, just coming downstairs. I told him what I wanted. He said, ‘it is too late.’ But when I mentioned my name, he ran back and found a ticket for me, ‘though,’ he said, ‘most likely I shall miss the train by getting it for you.’ I drove him off to the station in my droshky, that is the German name for a cab. The whistle was sounding, the train had already moved off, but we jumped into a carriage just as the guard was shutting the door, and we arrived at Potsdam.
“The king received us on the terrace. There were nearly 1200 people there. I saw that it would be a very long ceremony, so I made my way out of the crowd, and found myself close to a Prussian officer. I said to him, ‘Do you know General L.?’ This was one of the seven names I had seen in the directory. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you mean General von L.,’ altering the name a little. Yes, that was the name, I remembered it well now. ‘Is he alive?’ I said. ‘Yes, he is quite an old man now,’ replied the officer. ‘He married a French lady a long time ago, who is a great deal at the court.’ So Cécile was alive. ‘Where do they live?’ I asked. ‘Quite near,’ he said, ‘it is a house on that hill just outside the park; it is called Vicsberg.’
“I took leave of my Prussian friend and started at once on my way to Vicsberg. I did not stop to look at the beautiful palace gardens through which I had to pass, but I walked on quickly, praying earnestly in my heart to the Lord, that He might show me how best to speak to Cécile of the blessed work of Christ. I found some droshkies waiting outside the park, and I told the driver to take me at once to the house of Count von L. Very soon he drew up at an iron gate, which opened on a lawn in front of a large house. I asked the servant who opened the door if the lady was at home. He said she was. I bid him say that a gentleman wished to see her, but I did not give my name. The man took me into the drawing room and lighted the lamps, for it was getting dark. I stood there waiting. A door at the end of the room opened, and a lady came in, who stooped and seemed to be an invalid. She asked me politely, ‘Whom have I the honor of receiving?’ I said, ‘Do you remember the day when the British army entered Paris?’ She looked up at me, clasped her hands, and said, ‘Most certainly! you are Alexander!’ And she began at once to remind me of a thousand things which had happened in those old days, and she asked me many questions about my life since then. She told me she had five sons and two daughters; one was a widow, the other was living at home. ‘You shall see her,’ she said, and she went across the room to ring the bell.
“This was the first moment of silence, and I thought, ‘If I do not speak to her now and at once, of the Lord Jesus, I may have no other opportunity.’ I had meant to do so by degrees, but I saw that this would be impossible. So, I said at once, ‘Cécile, I used to love you very dearly in those old days, but I love you a great deal more now.’ She stopped and looked up at me. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it was my natural heart that loved you then. But now I love you for your soul’s sake. I long that you may be saved.’ ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Cécile,’ I said, ‘a great change has happened to me, since you knew me in old days.’ And I went on to tell her what great things the Lord had done for me, that He had saved me, and forgiven me; that He had given me a new life, and had put His Spirit into me, and had sent me out to tell others of His great salvation. ‘For thirty years,’ I said, ‘He has given me that glorious work to do. I know now how wrong is the teaching that you have had from your priests, and how true it is that only in God’s holy Word can we find the truth that saves us.’ As I was speaking, the door gently opened, and Cécile said, ‘Come in, Loulou, and see an old and dear friend of mine; who do you think it is?’ A nice, pleasant-looking girl came forward, saying, ‘How can I tell, mother?’ Her mother said, ‘Think, Loulou—a very dear friend.’ ‘Ah!’ Loulou said, ‘can it be Mr. D.?’ ‘Yes, you have guessed,’ said her mother.
“Then Loulou took the hand I held out to her, and kissed it, and said, ‘I am very glad indeed to see you.’ I wished to lose no more of the precious time which remained to speak of Christ. So, I again began to tell Cécile more about His love and grace. But now that Loulou was there listening, Cécile seemed unwilling to speak. I felt that I could say no more till I had a better opportunity.
“It was getting late, and I had but little time to catch the train for Berlin. Cécile begged me to come again next day. I said I had promised to spend that day with some friends but would come the day after. So, on that day I again appeared and found Cécile alone in the drawing room. She said dinner was not yet over, but that she had done and was glad to have some more talk with me. I took out my French Testament and wrote her name in it. I entreated her to promise me that she would read it carefully, and I said, ‘Remember, Cécile, it is only God the Holy Spirit who can teach you to understand it.’ I then asked her if Loulou was a Roman Catholic. ‘Of course, she is,’ she said, ‘all my children are.’ I said, ‘I hope I may be able to teach her better.’
“Just then Loulou came in from the dining room. I said to her, ‘My dear child, I have been making a present to your mother, and I have got one for you.’ I put into her hand another New Testament, and I wrote her name in it, telling her it was the book of God. Two young men now came in, and I thought it might be best to leave. I said I had a droshky waiting at the gate.
“‘Oh, send it away,’ said Cécile, ‘my carriage shall take you to any train you like, later in the day.’ So I went to tell the driver not to wait, and whilst I was trying to make out what fare he asked, Loulou came to me and said, ‘My mother sent me to speak to the driver for you, as you don’t understand German.’
“The matter was soon settled, and the man drove away. Then Loulou turned to me, and said to me these words, which I shall never forget: ‘Mr. D., it was God who sent you here, just at the moment when I needed it so greatly. I have long known that the Roman Catholic teaching is false. I can no longer bear to be a hypocrite. I have gone on till now calling myself a Roman Catholic, when in my heart I am not one. But I do not know what to do. I fear it would kill my dear mother if I left the Church of Rome, and yet I cannot bear to go to mass. The day before yesterday, just before you came, I spoke to the only friend who knows my secret, and we joined together in prayer that God would make a way for me. My friend advised me to tell my mother all, and I made up my mind to do so, though it was dreadful to me to think of grieving her so deeply; it made me so ill to think about it that I had to leave dinner and go to my room. Just then a servant came to tell me that my mother wanted me to see a friend. I said, ‘I am too unwell to go down.’ And yet when I had said that, I felt that I must go. I knew not why, but I could not help it. I opened the drawing room door gently, and I heard my mother say to you, ‘I respect those people who act according to their consciences in matters of religion.’ That encouraged me. So, I went in, and I was pleased when I found that my mother’s friend was yourself, for she had so often told me about you. I imagined you were an officer in the army. But when you began to speak to my mother about the Lord Jesus, and I found you were a minister of the gospel—oh! I cannot tell you what I felt at that moment.’
“Loulou and I walked about the garden for a long time. My heart overflowed with thankfulness to find that the Lord had thus guided me and shown me His hand in the whole of this matter.
“I had but little opportunity of saying more to Cécile that evening. I was obliged to leave Berlin next day to return to England, so I saw my dear friends no more. But Loulou had promised to write to me, and she did so. She told me that her mother had shown no displeasure when she heard that Loulou was no longer a Roman Catholic. And when her brothers heard of this, two of them told Loulou that they had for years been longing to leave the Church of Rome but had not dared to do so for the sake of their mother. Now they both came forward boldly, and all three together made an open profession of the gospel.
“And the wonder was that their mother seemed also to be entirely changed. She said not a word to oppose them. She daily read the New Testament, and a strange peace and joy seemed to fill her heart. She spoke but little, for, from the time of my visit to Potsdam, she had never been well. She grew weaker each day and died two months after our last meeting. From all that Loulou told me in her letters of her mother’s last days, I feel sure that she was trusting simply and only to the Lord Jesus, and that she departed to be with Him. Loulou sent me back the Testament with the marker in it where her mother had last been reading. Soon after this the dear child married a Protestant officer, and she has now three little girls, whom she is training up for Christ.
“I have often thought over all the steps in this wonderful history. I have marked the blessed ways of God who ordered all my goings. Had I stopped a day at Leipsic as I intended, I should have been too late for the visit to Potsdam. Had I not met my friends at the street corner, just in time to tell me of the special train, or had I been a moment later at the office and missed the secretary, I should not have gone there. Had I not been led to look for Cécile’s name in the directory, I could not have found my way to Vicsberg. And on all these little circumstances, then, depended a visit which was to bring eternal life to Cécile, and blessing and peace to her children.”
This was my old friend’s story. Not long after he too departed to be with Christ, and to all eternity will he and Cécile rejoice in the answer to forty years of prayer.