Chapter 23

The ministers of religion bring comfort to my woes

One evening I passed in front of the church of Saint-Roch. [1] The interior was lit up, a number of the faithful gathered, with many others among them. Curiosity drew me to ask a lady there the cause of the meeting. Apparently, it was a conference that took place there every year during Lent. I went to listen to the service, sitting as close to the minister as I could, listening to his advice to his audience, how they could chart a path to a happy life. It was an uplifting sermon, quite different from the advice I had received from false friends that had caused me so much misfortune. I resolved to take his advice, and follow his suggestions until Easter, making myself ready and worthy to take communion. A priest from my parish took my confession. I talked through the various details relating to the events in my life, asking him to show me ways to lessen my pain and deliver me from evil spirits. 

The good priest didn’t want to give me false hope, or to take more time from his duties, and introduced me to the confessor at Notre-Dame Cathedral. He heard me, and sent me to the Vicar General. I told him the events and actions, their tragic causes. He listened to me through the very end of my tale, and was sympathetic, but told me he could not ultimately help me. He advised me to seek the help of a good priest, and rely on the goodness of God for my aid. 

A good answer, but not the one I was seeking. Would I always be the victim of my enemies, never to find a way to free myself from them, abandoned by the whole of nature? These thoughts, each darker than the next, took me to a place of terrible despair. The evil spirits took advantage of me then, their torments so violent that I wanted to throw myself in the river, which they would be pleased to guide me to. But Providence did not abandon me. It gave me strength, and I came to my senses: only a diabolical voice would drive someone to suicide, by whatever means. Calm returned to my soul, but still I felt myself reliving my ills. The spirits are tenacious.

I went to the Abbey of Saint-Germain to see my confessor again, and tell him of the talks I’d  had with the Grand Vicar at Notre-Dame, little good did they do me. He seemed surprised, and asked me to talk again to the confessor there, my case seemed to fall within his jurisdiction.  I met again with the confessor and told him the history of events that had lead me there, and the torments I was still experiencing. He invited me to come and see him often and again, so that he could understand my illness more thoroughly, and work with me to find a remedy for my recovery…and in the meantime, be patient, ask the Almighty for forgiveness for what sins I may have committed, that my trials lead to my salvation, an that I have the patience to bear them. The God of goodness would not  abandon me, and that he would say a mass for me. I took leave of him, thankful for his advice, praying that they would be useful in restoring me to peace. 

The south side of Saint-Roch, by Chabe01