I find this desert deeply soothing… to be alone in the presence of eternal things; one feels overwhelmed, filled with the truth.
(Letter to Marie de Bondy, 1906)

Charles de Foucauld (1858-1916)
Military officer, hermit

“Let us look at him a little more closely. By this time Father de Foucauld’s countenance had taken on the appearance it would have until his final days, though each year it became a little more pronounced, chiseled by fatigue, privation, and the extreme climate. At forty-three, his thin face, covered by an unkempt, patchy beard seemed ageless. He was too short, too thin, and stood too poorly for his gandoura (even if by chance it were not torn and stained) to give him the impressive or majestic appearance it lends to men who are more concerned about their appearance. On the upper left of his tunic Father de Foucould had sewn a heart and cross that he had cut out of a red troop blanket. Hanging from his belt was a large-beaded rosary with an ebony Christ on the crucifix. On his head, he wore a funny hat that looked like a pot without a handle – a simple visorless kepi, something very useful and economic, especially if paired with a neckerchief. Yes, a poor man; yet, by his movement and his words, whether explicit or no, even by the tone of his voice, so much love and respect for others (all others) flowed out of him, and such a gentle flame of goodness shone in his black, lively eyes, that twenty Moroccan Cavalrymen from Susbielle did more than just salute him upon crossing his path. They dismounted, bowed before him, their hands on their heart, and asked for his blessing. And then, God be praised, he gave it to them. This is how Father de Foucauld was welcomed by the soldiers of a country that was to be forever his: he was hailed as a noble, courteous lord who had become a modest, humble man of God.”

Pierre Nord (1900-1985)
Military Officer, novelist