Saint Andrew Kim
the first Korean Priest, Martyr
(1822-1846)

His apostolic journeys to introduce missionaries into Korea – His martyrdom

If one day some fine Korean decides to sing of the Christian glories of his country, he will not be lacking in noble persons – children and virgins, men, women and elders – who died in the simplicity of their Faith. And if he were obliged to choose among this incomparable legion of witnesses of Jesus Christ, we may imagine that the features of Andrew Kim would capture his attention and that the brief and triumphant epic of the first Korean priest would give rise to inspiration in his soul.

Indeed, this young man is exceptionally captivating. Everything is to his honor: the profound faith which inspired his thoughts and deeds, a resolute spirit and composure, prematurely sound judgment, courage that would not back away from any danger, and a constancy that no surprise could disconcert. The icy steppes of China, Manchuria, Tartary and Korea, tempests on the Yellow Sea, henchmen, pirates, traitors and ferocious beasts: he faced them all to enter into his country priests capable of instructing and saving his persecuted brethren. At the time of his martyrdom, the simple narration of his apostolic journeys elicited a cry of admiration from the judges, who nonetheless thirsted for his blood. "Poor young man," they said, "he has been in such terrible labors since his childhood!"

While still very young, Andrew Kim showed promise of becoming an elite among Christian youth in Korea. Father Maubant of the Foreign Missions received his parents' consent to send him to Macao (China) with a fellow-Korean of his own age, Thomas T'soi, to pursue his studies for the priesthood. The two youngsters remained totally unaware of events in Korea for several years. A new missionary, Father Maître, decided to go to Korea in 1842, to join Msgr. Imbert, thinking him still alive although he had been martyred on September 21, 1839, near Seoul. Andrew Kim was given to him as his guide while Thomas T'soi accompanied another missionary, Fr. De la Brugnière, in his bold dash through Tartary.

Andrew Kim set off alone to reconnoiter when they reached the Korean border, for he did not want to expose the missionary to the surprises and dangers of passing through customs. While walking across the snow-covered steppe, he suddenly noticed a large convoy of travelers wending its way across the endless plain. It was the embassy mission that went annually from Korea to China.

Andrew approached the group and spoke to one of those walking in the rear guard. The man replied summarily and continued on his way. Hesitating, the youth followed him with his eyes. "He has a kind face," he thought, "and perhaps this is my only chance to learn what is going on in my country." While still making these reflections, he returned to the man and asked him forthright: "Are you of the religion of Jesus?"

"Yes, I am a Christian," the traveler replied.

"I am too," said Andrew Kim, as he joined him.

Then Francis Kim (that was the Korean's name) quickly told his young countryman the bloody story of the still-ongoing persecution, the martyrdom of Bishop Imbert, two missionaries and several hundred Christians. Even Andrew's father had been beheaded and his mother reduced to misery. Thomas T'soi's parents were among the number of glorious victims.

This sad news was like a saber blow to the young man – but he had been raised with the prospect of martyrdom. The thought that the very blood which flowed in his own veins had been shed for the honor of Jesus Christ exalted and strengthened his soul.

Francis Kim promised to send some Christians to meet Fr. Maître upon his return. Then, fearful that too long a conversation with a stranger might arouse suspicion, he bid a speedy farewell to Andrew and returned to his group.

Andrew remained pensive for a few moments, then reflected and prayed after the caravan had disappeared in the distance. He was decided: he would cross the border, come what may. He wanted to see if it would be possible for him to bring the missionary immediately into Korea. Wasn't the presence of a priest indispensable for the poor Korean Christendom which had remained without a shepherd for the last three years?

As prudent as he was bold, the young man approached the customs post, looking for his chance. It came at evening time. Some Koreans arrived at dusk with a herd of cattle. Andrew slid in among the animals, whose numbers should have concealed him, but the officer in charge of the post was on the look-out and spotted him and cried out to the youth to show him his passport.

"The passports have already been verified!" replied Andrew. Staying with the herd, he crossed the danger zone rapidly and turned sharply off the beaten path.

He was in Korea but did not know the region, and wandered about at random. Tired and worn with hunger, Andrew entered an isolated inn. The five or six men within were badly impressed by his strange appearance and miserable clothing. They looked at him oddly and began to mutter threats, and then one of them stated that he was a foreigner and should be handed over to the authorities. Andrew protested, declaring that he was a Korean on his way to Seoul. Judging that a lengthier stay in this hostile environment would be dangerous, he slipped out the door. The man who had threatened him followed him outdoors, but when he observed that the young man was really taking the road toward the capital, he returned to his companions.

Andrew walked straight ahead at a brisk pace. When he was far enough away from the inn, he turned off the main road and entered the steppe. Alone, without friend or guide in an unknown region, the young man was risking his life and had no serious chance of returning to China. He was exhausted by his forced march and had not eaten for two days, so he collapsed on the snow and fell asleep. Suddenly, it seemed to him that a living being passed before his eyes and showed him the border. Rising quickly and shaking himself, he understood that if his sleep had continued any longer under such conditions, it would have been his last. Thanking Heaven for Its visible intervention, he stepped out courageously. Andrew succeeded in crossing back over the border and obtaining a little bit of food at an inn where his appearance still made him look suspicious. He finally returned to Fr. Maître, to whom he recounted his fruitless efforts to reach Seoul. The expedition had failed.

"But I will try again," declared the intrepid young man.

He did start over again the following year, 1843. Some Korean couriers had promised to go to a fair located on the border. The suspicious police of the Empire of the Morning Calm (the name Koreans gave their country) tempered their habitual exigency in this circumstance, authorizing the Chinese in the neighborhood to frequent the fairgrounds. Faithful to his appointment, Andrew entered Korea once more, openly this time. But he walked through the various groups of this busy, motley throng in vain, for no one seemed to notice the white handkerchief he carried ostensibly in his hand in order to be recognized by the Korean Christians. Thus, his first day was lost in aimless wandering.

The second day seemed to be going no better and he had left the town to give his horse something to drink, when he realized that several of his countrymen were observing him attentively. Renewing the tactic that had succeeded in his encounter with the Korean embassy guard, Andrew returned and quickly asked one of those who were observing him, "Are you a Christian?" The answer filled him with joy. He had finally found the Korean couriers sent by Francis Kim: they had been awaiting him for several days. The conversation should not last very long because there were henchmen dispersed everywhere, looking and listening. They would need to take quick leave of the stranger who spoke with them mysteriously, away from the crowd. Happy for having encountered their intrepid countryman and happier still to hear that a second, newly-arrived bishop (Msgr. Ferréol) impatiently awaited the occasion to enter their country with two missionaries, the Korean Christians wept for joy. Andrew answered their questions, inquired about the situation and, ever prudent, tossed information about his horse into the conversation while crying out its price, as if it were only a matter of horse-dealing between him and the others.

They had to separate as the fair drew to a close, but they had already arranged all the details of the entry plan: the Koreans were to draw up an itinerary and prepare each step, along with access to safe houses, then return the following year at the time of the departure of the embassy mission in order to take the bishop and his priests. The soldiers were already crying out, pushing the Chinese merchants outside the town with their lance butts. Andrew withdrew with his companion. Moved more deeply than the rest by the devotedness of the young man, one of the Korean couriers could not hold himself back and ran after him. He wanted the consolation of exchanging a few final words with the one who was sacrificing his youth and was ready to sacrifice his life in order to provide his countrymen with the inestimable benefit of the presence of a few priests. They embraced as brothers. "And then," adds Andrew in his account, "after greeting the Angel who presides over the destiny of the Church of Korea and placing ourselves beneath the protection of its venerated martyrs, we re-entered Tartary."

Msgr. Ferréol was not long in appreciating the eminent qualities of venerable Father Maubant's two disciples. The calm intrepidity and untiring devotedness of Andrew Kim in the interests of the dear Church of Korea opened up a heroic, though in all likelihood brief, career for the young man. The thoroughly evangelical meekness of Thomas T'soi, along with his acquired knowledge and fine intelligence, promised him a fruitful ministry. The bishop hastened to confer minor orders, the sub-deaconate and even the deaconate upon the two young men.

His heart filled with holy joy and feeling more obliged than ever to give himself entirely to God and Korea, Andrew Kim took the lead of the little caravan of apostles that wended its way to the Korean border in 1844, in order to await the passage of the embassy group. He would not be long in finding Francis Kim again when the procession arrived, but he was headed for a disappointment. Francis, ever faithful to his God and his brethren, ready to shed his blood for the Faith (as he was to prove later), told him that the moment was not yet ripe to introduce the missionaries into Korea. The persecution was still raging and, in order to prevent the entry of any foreigners into the country, the government was employing such vigilance as would almost surely lead to the capture of the bishop and his priests. Even he, Francis, felt himself the object of a suspicious surveillance on the part of embassy personnel. There was nothing to be done for the moment; they would have to wait.

Andrew's daring journeys had matured him early – but his prudence took nothing away from his boldness, as he was to prove immediately. He returned to the bishop to pass on everything that Francis had just told him, but far from abandoning himself to an overly natural sorrow, he had already formulated another plan. Msgr. Ferréol would return to China; during that time Andrew would enter Korea, get a boat and some trustworthy sailors, and go and get his bishop by sea in order to finally introduce him into his dear Church.

This new disappointment did not dishearten the bishop's courage. On the lookout for the past four years to find and seize any occasion to cross the redoubtable borderline, he had learned in his fruitless efforts to practice the fundamental virtue of the Apostle: patience. Confident in his valiant deacon and above all in the God he desired to serve, he returned to China.

Andrew lost no time on his part. Instructed by precious experience and accompanied by faithful brethren besides, he passed the dreaded customs and immediately set to the task of recruiting a crew. He knew that, in order to avoid suspicion, he would have to act quickly and not show himself. For the success of his enterprise, the generous young man had the courage to sacrifice the only earthly joy he dreamed of: that of embracing his aged mother who had become poor and was still being persecuted. He did not attempt to see her, and was satisfied with meeting the principal Christians who would be capable of helping him. His energy and perseverance triumphed over every obstacle, and soon the improvised captain was ready to go to sea. And with what a crew! He had acquired one of those heavy Korean craft whose beams were held together only by wooden pins and caulked with mud; its sails were made of woven straw. He was sure of his men from the religious standpoint: ten were Christians and the eleventh, a fervent catechumen, aspired after Baptism... but only four of them were fishermen. The others, brave peasants, were facing the well-known fury of the Yellow Sea for the first time. It was for God, for the dear Church of Korea; they all embarked courageously.

The sky seemed to smile on their meritorious daring at first. The heavy craft rapidly left the coast behind and carried them out to the open sea. But there, their trials began. Heavily shaken and thrown against one another, terrified by the waves that toyed with their miserable boat and filled it with water, the poor Koreans thought their final hour had come. Andrew encouraged them: always afoot, fighting the waves and the tempest's furious assault, he showed them a picture of the Blessed Virgin and assured them that Mary would lead them to their goal.

The craft began to heel over dangerously. They had to sacrifice their sails, take down the masts, and even throw their gear overboard into the sea. But the tempest did not subside. With neither sleep nor rest for 36 hours, Andrew suddenly collapsed from fatigue. A brief rest gave him back his strength and he arose full of courage. The wind continued to blow furiously, raising up mountains of water, and danger pressed at each instant. The holy deacon hastened to baptize his catechumen. Reassured by this, he maneuvered an approach to a large vessel they had sighted heading for China. With the promise of a great sum, the captain agreed to tow the Korean craft behind him.

The twelve Christians thought they were already in safety, but they had not foreseen the eventuality of pirates who infested these waters. Suddenly, a junk loaded with these bandits heaved into view, heading straight for them. When they were within hailing distance, the pirates cried out to the vessel's captain to cut his tow-rope, declaring they would be satisfied with the Korean craft as booty. But Andrew had seen and heard all this. Arming his men with oars and anything else that might be used as defense, he took up such a resolute position that the birds of prey, hesitating to risk their lives for such a meager prize, withdrew full sail ahead.

That was the final test. Several hours later the boat entered the Bay of Wu Song, not far from Shanghai. The "Raphael" (that was the name of the Korean craft) immediately became the object of the suspicious curiosity of the Chinese, due to the bizarre appearance of its crew. Andrew had to be quick to eliminate any danger that might arrive from that side, so he headed into the midst of the English vessels lying at anchor. Addressing the officers who were following the movements of the "Raphael" from their bridges with sympathetic surprise, he called out in French: "I am a Korean, and I request your protection!"

His appeal was heard. Moved by the tale of the young man's heroic voyages, the English immediately put him in touch with the Christians of Shanghai; and, through them, he contacted the Jesuit Fathers of the Mission.

The twelve Koreans had just risked their lives; they were exhausted and famished. And yet, before thinking of their overworked bodies, they desired to satisfy the spiritual hunger that tormented them. Andrew Kim knelt the first before Fr. Gotteland and made his confession. The eleven others waited, impatient to imitate him... but how were they to proceed? They could not speak Chinese, and the priest did not know Korean. The solution was speedily discovered: Andrew remained kneeling while he successively translated the confessions of his eleven countrymen into Chinese. Despite the priest's remarks to the penitents that the Church did not oblige them to tell everything under such conditions, Andrew was as scrupulous in translating word for word as the good Koreans were in declaring their slightest faults in all humility and candor.

The priest celebrated a touching Mass the following day aboard the poor "Raphael" transformed into a chapel, in the anchoring site of Wu Song. Andrew Kim and his eleven companions approached successively to receive their God. It was the First Communion for several, with all the joys that God (who is a Father above all and infinitely good) could reserve for these generous Christians who had come to seek Him so far away through so many perils. For all of them this was the inestimable reward of their laborious voyage, whose every danger and fatigue was forgotten in this encounter they had desired for so long and finally attained.

Msgr. Ferréol knew his valiant deacon. It was with no surprise but with great joy that he learned of his arrival in the Bay of Wu Song. He hastened to join him, taking with him a new missionary (Fr. Daveluy) who – like so many others – was to shed his blood on Korean soil one day.

The bishop wanted to give Andrew proof of his esteem and gratitude before they weighed anchor: he ordained him to the priesthood. We, miserable Christians with cold faith, are incapable of understanding or describing the spectacle of this first Mass of the first Korean priest. Everything was poor exteriorly, and all was done in secret on a land no less hostile than Korea to homage rendered to the one true God. But what a sight for those who had eyes to see! Jesus Christ was on high, the Divine Victim ready to descend upon the altar. Next to Him was the Angel of the Church of Korea, the Guiding Angel of Andrew Kim, joyfully greeting the first appearance of the true priesthood in that land bent beneath the yoke of the devil and his false priests until that time. Then came the triumphant phalanx of the Korean martyrs, the true friends of Jesus Christ who had mingled their blood with His for the salvation of their pagan brethren – and among them, soliciting the gaze of the new priest, was the venerated father to whom he owed his bodily life and the venerable priest to whom he owed the life of his soul.

The sight was no less touching on earth. At the foot of the altar, the eleven Korean Christians blessed the true God who is not a respecter of persons. With their own eyes, they saw the truth of a religion which proclaims and fulfills the equality of all men before their God. They contemplated their brother with pride: only yesterday the offspring of a semi-baric race, today he was the equal of those who had come from so far away precisely to raise him up. The European bishop and priests who were present proclaimed by their emotion and joyful features that the Koreans were not mistaken and that Andrew Kim, their brother, had truly become another Jesus Christ.

What were the thoughts of the new priest, offering for the first time the sacrifice that had redeemed the world and, consequently, his dear Korea? Only he would be able to say. However, judging from his deep recollection, contained emotion and fervent prayer, one might understand something of the sublime dialogue exchanged between the good Master and His faithful servant. "My Lord and my God," murmured the martyr's son, "until now I have shed only my sweat in Thy service; but I am ready, like my good father and venerable instructors, to give Thee the supreme proof of love by shedding all my blood for Thee!"

The pact was sealed, and Jesus accepted the generous offer of his blood. Before shedding it, however, Andrew had to accomplish the mission he had taken up, and introduce the bishop and his priest into Korea. He did not forget this. With provisions taken and the craft outfitted once again – thanks to the English officers and Chinese Christians – he told Msgr. Ferréol that he was ready to take to the sea again.

Their minds still filled with the thought of all the perils they had encountered, the Korean Christians were stupefied upon seeing the Apostolic Vicar and Fr. Daveluy taking their place among them on the poor craft. Then they understood that the Western priests truly loved them. Upheld by the presence of these visible angels, they looked with less terror upon the vast stretch of water which they had to cross once more. Besides, the "Raphael," towed by a heavy junk, broke the waves more easily; the bold passengers promised themselves a rapid crossing.

However, the Yellow Sea justified her old reputation one more time, and the tossing waves renewed all the dangers and anguish of the first voyage. Falling back into a trough that broke beneath her prow, the "Raphael" lost its rope. Both sides made futile efforts to approach one another. The poor Korean boat strayed about at the whim of the hurricane as the junk disappeared in the spray. Andrew's enterprise was crazy – humanly impossible – and yet it succeeded because he had attempted it for God and for his brothers' souls. They struck land on October 22, 1845, at a point far removed from the one they had proposed to reach. But it was Korean soil, and that was what mattered. After thanking Providence for having visibly made up for the insufficiency of the means they had used, the bishop and Fr. Daveluy prepared their entry into the country without delay.

In order to avoid curiosity and indiscreet questions regarding them, Andrew had them dress in the Korean costume for mourning, whose principal part consisted in an immense hat that covered head and face, and descended to the shoulders. It was in this bizarre attire, in the middle of the night, that the Apostolic Vicar of Korea made his entry into his vast diocese. This taking of possession had nothing triumphal about it, yet the bishop's heart beat with joy during his nocturnal walk toward the mysterious Seoul, (where possible tortures and death awaited him), for he was at last to fulfill the dream he had perseveringly held during his five-years' wait on the border: contacting Korean souls and liberating them from all their servitude.

The bishop headed for the capital while Fr. Daveluy went into the mountains where, among trustworthy Christians, he would have both time and means to learn the Korean language.

Andrew Kim also aspired to devoting himself for his dear countrymen... re-gathering Christians dispersed by the persecution, reconciling apostates, instructing catechumens: in a word, reconstituting the Church of Korea, deprived of priests for the previous six years. This task suited the young Apostle, who joined a precocious maturity to intrepid zeal. Andrew expected this mission and desired it, yet he said nothing when his bishop invited him to take to the sea once more in order to seek out Fr. Maître and Thomas T'soi. Msgr. Ferréol had just observed from his own experience that it was easier to enter Korea by sea than by land, and the mission's needs impelled him to assure the arrival of two new collaborators as soon as possible.

Andrew left at once. He had received orders to hug the coast, land on various islands, and enter into relations with the Chinese: in a word, contrive to find the means to bring the bishop's instructions to those concerned, along with indications of a meeting place for their embarkation. The young priest fulfilled his mission, as always, with a courage and prudence that were crowned with success.

He re-entered Korea to give an account of everything to Msgr. Ferréol and had stopped on a coastal island when some henchmen who suspected he was a Christian from his appearance and attitude cast themselves upon him. Treating him with brutality, they dragged him before the mandarin. This was the beginning of his way of sorrows. The young priest, faithful to the sacred pact, entered into that way unsurprised and fearless.

"Are you a Christian?" asked the mandarin. "Yes, I am."

"If you do not apostatize, I will have you beaten to death."

"Do as you please, for I will never abandon my God."

And the confessor added an energetic profession of faith to his reply, thanking the mandarin who threatened to punish his love for God by torture.

At another tribunal a little later, the judge began to question him regarding the Christians and the mission. Andrew maintained his prudence and either did not reply, or answered without endangering anyone.

"If you do not tell us the truth," cried out the angry mandarin, "you will be tormented with all kinds of tortures!"

"Do as you like!" replied Andrew, and taking up the instruments of torture that had been placed there, he cast them at the judge's feet, declaring, "I am ready – strike – I am not afraid of your torments."

The mandarin's servants reminded him of the customary servile formulas: "It is the custom for everyone who speaks to the governor to call himself So In (little man)."

Andrew stood up straight with all the pride of his race and replied, "What are you trying to tell me? I am noble and do not know that kind of language."

A heavy pillory was brought in. He took it up and placed it on his shoulders by himself. On the islands, on the mainland and in Seoul, before every tribunal where he appeared, Andrew always preserved the same calm, worthy, strong attitude, his prudence foiling the insidious schemes of his judges and forcing his torturers to admit the impotence of their cruelty before his intrepidity.

He was thrown into the common prison among robbers and criminals. The pillory crushed down on his shoulders while bonds paralyzed his arms and legs. His whole body was in chains, but the henchmen could not chain the Divine Word that he carried in his soul. Broken with fatigue and torture, he spent his free and nighttime hours preaching the Christian Faith to the indiscreet and curious crowd that gathered about him. After listening to him, everyone – mandarins of the tribunal and common folk alike – admitted, "What he says is very good and reasonable, but the king permits no one to become a Christian!"

Meanwhile, news of his arrest had been transmitted to superior authorities and the king ordered him to be taken to Seoul. He was led there in criminal attire: his arms were bound with a red rope and black linen covered his head. Thus, the entire length of the way, he was handed over to the scorn and insults of the crowds like his Divine Master on the Way to Calvary. They thought he was Chinese. He proved that he was a Korean before the judges in the capital, telling them he had been sent as a child to Macao in order to study the true religion, and he recounted his laborious attempts to re-enter his native land. It was during this moving account that both judges and spectators cried out spontaneously, "Poor young man, he has been in such terrible labors since his childhood!"

Public opinion was transformed from that time on. The mandarins charged with the duty of pronouncing his fate were won over by the nobility of his attitude and by his eloquence. They were filled with admiration for his knowledge and above all for the heroism he had shown throughout his life. Recoiling before the thought of ending by the death sentence all that this fine youth promised to become, they requested an act of mercy from the king.

Circumstances were favorable. The Koreans had just learned that three French vessels of war had anchored off the Korean coast with the evident intention of avenging the deaths of Msgr. Imbert, Fr. Maubant and Fr. Chastan. Panic was widespread. Our confessor heard of this in his prison, where they came to consult him as to what measures to take regarding the matter. Unfortunately, the French limited themselves to a platonic demonstration whose only effect was to deeply wound Korean pride. "Cannon shots would have buried them," Andrew remarked. A letter of protest against the murder of the three Frenchmen had exasperated the king in 1839. The despot had been afraid and probably felt the need to take revenge.

The confessor of the Faith was under no illusion regarding the result of the judges' attempt to secure mercy, and he prepared to die. Andrew addressed admirable farewells to his bishop and his Christian brethren. Humility, fraternal charity and a generous emulation to suffer what Our Lord Jesus Christ Himself had suffered for us were the theme of the supreme instruction addressed by the first Korean priest to his brothers in the Faith and written, so to speak, by the reflection of his captors' sabers. To Msgr. Ferréol he recommended his venerable mother Ursula, who was doubly worthy of the respect of all: for the generously accepted sacrifices of her husband and her son, and for the personal persecutions she had endured for Jesus Christ.

Andrew Kim waged his last combat on September 16, 1846. He faced it with the same intrepid calm he had always shown in every trial of his life. Fastened to a chair with his arms in chains, he was borne to the river's edge some distance from Seoul. A company of soldiers surrounded him, followed by a large crowd. The sentence was read to the condemned man at the execution site. Andrew then protested in a loud voice that if he had communicated with the French, it had been for his religion and his God. "It is for Him that I die!" he cried out. Then, after exhorting all those who heard him to become Christians if they desired to escape a miserable eternity, he gave himself up to the executioners for the long and cruel preparatory steps that were to precede his death.

The torturers pierced both his ears with arrows and left them in the wounds, raised up the hair on his neck and covered his face with lime in order to give him a grotesque and repulsive appearance. His arms were then pulled back and bound from behind. The soldiers passed long sticks under his armpits, lifted him up and circled the attending crowd three times, each time drawing closer to the execution post.

Commanded to kneel down, he obeyed and stretched out his neck. As calm as though this were the most ordinary action of his life, he asked, "Am I well positioned like this? Can you strike easily?"

"No, not like that," the soldiers answered. "Turn to the side a little. There, that's fine!"

"Strike, then," said Andrew. "I am ready."

They began their savage dance, whirling round him and working themselves up with a sort of death chant, brandishing their large sabers and striking at will. The martyr's head fell only at the eighth blow.

Thus did Andrew Kim the first Korean priest, live and die. He was scarcely twenty-five years old. He received the finest funeral prayers: the tears of his bishop and all his brethren, who at his venerated tomb wept over so many eminent gifts, pledges of a fruitful apostolate, cut off by the saber. But he is not altogether dead. His memory lives on in every heart, and it is in the contact with his sacred bones that Korean priests come to seek the lights and generous inspirations of charity which will one day transform Korea.

Le Christianisme et l'Extrême-Orient: Missions Catholiques de l'Inde, de L'Indo-Chine, de la Chine, de la Corée, by Canon Léon Joly (P. Lethielleux: Paris, 1907).