Mary's story, part 2 (Chiniquy, The priest, the woman and the confessional, 1875)

Text: "Neither shall he regard the God of his fathers, nor the desire of women..." Daniel 11:37 "Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron; Forbidding to marry..." 1 Timothy 4:1-3

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   It was some time after our Mary had been buried. The terrible and mysterious cause of her death was know only to God and to me. Though her loving mother was still weeping over her grave, she had soon been forgotten, as usual, by the greatest part of those who had known her: but she was constantly present to my mind. I never entered the confessional-box without hearing her solemn, though so mild, voice telling me, "There must be somewhere something wrong in the auricular confession. Twice I have been destroyed by my confessors; and I have known several others who have been destroyed in the same way.''

   More than once, when her voice was ringing in my ears from her tomb, I had shed bitter tears on the profound and unfathomable degradation into which I, with the other priests, had to fall in the confessional-box. For many, many times, stories as deplorable as that of this unfortunate girl were confessed to me by city as well as country females.

   One night I was awakened by the rumbling noise of thunder, when I heard some one knocking at the door. I hastened out of bed to ask who was there. The answer was that the Rev. Mr.—— was dying, and that he wanted to see me before his death. I dressed myself, and was soon on the highway. The darkness was fearful; and often, had it not been for the lightning which was almost constantly tearing the clouds, we should not have known where we were. After a long and hard journey through the darkness and the storm, we arrived at the house of the dying priest. I went directly to his room, and really found him very low; he could hardly speak. With a sign of his hand he bade his servant-girl and a young man who were there go out, and leave him alone with me.

   Then, with a low voice, he said, "Is it you who prepared poor Mary to die?"

   "Yes, sir," I answered.

   "Please tell me the truth. Is it the fact that she died the death of a reprobate, and that her last words were, 'Oh, my God! I am lost'?"

   I answered: "As I was the confessor of that girl, and we were talking together on matters which pertained to her confession, in the very moment that she was unexpectedly summoned to appear before God, I cannot answer your question in any way; please, then, excuse me if I cannot say any more on that subject: but tell me who can have assured you that she died the death of a reprobate."

   "It was her own mother," answered the dying man. "She came, last week, to visit me, and when she was alone with me, with many tears and cries, she said how her poor child had refused to receive the last sacraments, and how her last cry was, 'I am lost!" She added that that cry, 'Lost!' was pronounced with such a frightful power that it was heard through all the house."

   "If her mother has told you that," I replied, ''you may believe what you please about the way that poor child died, I cannot say a word—you know it—about that matter."

   "But if she is lost," rejoined the old, dying priest, "I am the miserable one who has destroyed her. She was an angel of purity when she came to the convent. Oh! dear Mary, if you are lost, I am a thousandfold more lost! Oh, my God, my God! what will become of me? I am dying; and I am lost!"

   It was indeed an awful thing to see that old sinner tearing his own hands, rolling on his bed as if he had been on burning coals, with all the marks of the most frightful despair on his face, crying, "I am lost! Oh, my God, I am lost!"

   I was glad that the claps of thunder, which were shaking the house and roaring without ceasing, prevented the people outside the room from hearing those cries of desolation from that priest, whom every one considered a great saint.

   When it seemed to me that his terror had somewhat subsided, and that his mind was calmed a little, I said to him, "My dear friend, you must not give yourself up to such despair. Our merciful God has promised to forgive the repenting sinner who comes to Him, even at the last hour of the day. Address yourself to the Virgin Mary, she will ask and obtain your pardon."

   "Do you not think that it is too late to ask pardon? The doctor has honestly warned me that death is very near, and I feel I am just now dying! Is it not too late to ask and obtain pardon?" asked the dying priest.

   "No, my dear sir, it is not too late, if you sincerely regret your sins. Throw yourself into the arms of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph; make your confession without any more delay, and you will be saved."

   "But I have never made a good confession. Will you help me to make a general one?"

   It was my duty to grant him his request, and the rest of the night was spent by me in hearing the confession of his whole life.

   I do not want to give many particulars of the life of that priest. I will only mention two things. First: It was then that I understood why poor young Mary was absolutely unwilling to mention the iniquities which she had done with him. They were simply surpassingly horrible—unmentionable. No human tongue can express them—few human ears would consent to hear them.

   The second thing that I am bound in conscience to reveal is almost incredible, but it is nevertheless true. The number of married and unmarried females he had heard in the confessional was about 1500, of which he said he had destroyed or scandalized at least 1000 by his questioning them on most depraving things, for the simple pleasure of gratifying his own corrupted heart, without letting them know anything of his sinful thoughts and criminal desires towards them. But he confessed that he had destroyed the purity of ninety-five of those penitents, who had consented to sin with him.

Chiniquy, Charles Paschal Telesphore, The priest, the woman and the confessional, Montreal: F. E. Grafton, bookseller, 1875, pp. 29-32.

Online Source: archive.org/details/priestwomanconfe00chin

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