The Secret of the
Curé de Ars


Compiled, Partially Adapted, and Arranged
by Pauly Fongemie

SOURCES USED:
Secrets of the Saints, Henri Ghéon, 1944;
From the Housetops Magazine, Vol. XXIV, No. 3, Serial No 53;
The Life of the Curé de Ars, Abbé Alfred Monnin, 1861;
and Eucharistic Meditations, Curé de Ars, Eccles. Appr. 1923


SUFFERINGS INFLICTED ON HIM BY THE DEVIL

TO the constant warfare this sainted priest waged with his own flesh through mortification and penances, a sensible persecution from Satan was at work, a rare occurrence in those days, as rare as the heroic sanctity which seems to have instigated from the powers of evil. This is how the Saint described the first of these frightful visitations of plagues:

"The first time the devil came to torment me was at about nine o'clock at night, just as I was going to bed. Three great blows sounded on the outer door, as if someone were trying to break it open with an enormous club. I immediately opened my window, and said, 'Who is there?' but I saw nothing. So I went quietly to bed, recommending myself to God, the holy Virgin, and my good Angel. I had not fallen asleep, when I was startled by three more strokes louder than the first, not on the outer door, but on that which opens upon the staircase leading to my room. I arose and called out a second time, 'Who is there?' No one answered. When the noise began, I thought it might proceed from robbers, who had been attracted by the valuable gifts ... and therefore began to take precautions. I got two courageous men to sleep in the house in order to assist me in case of necessity. They came for several successive nights, heard the noise, but could discover nothing, and remained fully convinced that it had another source than the malice of men, I was soon convinced of this myself; for one winter's night, when a quantity of snow had fallen, I heard three tremendous blows in the middle of the night. I sprang hastily from my bed, and ran downstairs into the court, thinking that this time I should catch the evildoers, intending to call for help. But to my great astonishment I saw nothing, I heard nothing, and what is more, I saw not a trace of footprints upon the snow. I had no longer a doubt that it was the devil who wanted to terrify me. I resigned myself to the will of God, beseeching Him to be my guardian and defender, and to draw near to me with His holy Angels whenever my enemy should return to torment me."

The Curé later said that when these night visitations began and the cause was still uncertain, he thought he would die of fright on his bed: his teeth chattered, his blood froze in his veins, and his whole body became rigid like a corpse; he was unable to close his eyes and his health deteriorated. His kind neighbors would take turns watching in the belfry with weapons, or in some nearby house that looked out over the entrance to the rectory, and even sleep in the room next to his. They, too, would become frightened. For instance, the local blacksmith had established himself one night with his gun in hand in the adjoining room to the Curé's; in the middle of the night he heard a noise as if it was actually in the room with him, and it was as if all the furniture was flying about and being broken by blows. When he cried for help, it was the Saint who cam to help. They search every corner of that room but could not see anything.

As soon as M. Vianney was sure that the happenings were preternatural, he dismissed is guard, and in time became accustomed to them. This persecution lasted for thirty years. The holy Curé was haunted by a continual, piercing terror of Hell. He could see it at his feet, and a voice would tell him that his place there was waiting for him.

The fear of being so lost hounded him day and night, and in comparison to all the other manifestations of the devil, this was by far the worst. One is struck by the Saint's fortitude and faith with which he held out against these terrors and strive for the salvation of souls with an unruffled brow, a calm voice, just as if only the holy Angels accompanied him in his bed.

M. Vianney was usually accosted at midnight by the same three loud knocks. The infernal enemy, after making a horrible noise on the staircase, would then enter the priest's room, take hold of the curtains and then seemed to be tearing them apart so that the Curé was amazed the next morning when they were unharmed. Sometimes the demon would move the furniture around and call out to the Saint in a mocking tone: "Vianney, Vianney, thou eater of potatoes! we shall have thee yet! we shall have thee yet! We have thee! we have thee!" At other times this demon would howl down in the courtyard and imitate the charge of a cavalry or army on the march; at other times it was as if he was hammering nails in the floor, and or sawing as like a busy carpenter at work; or he would drum on the table, the chimney piece, the water jug, whatever he could use to make the loudest noise. Sometimes M. Vianney experienced the sensation of an entire flock of sheep being driven over his head. At one point, when he was exhausted from lack of sleep, he decided to pray and offer it up: "My God, I willingly make Thee the sacrifice of of a few hours of sleep for the conversion of sinners." The infernal sheep departed at once and he slept in peace.

One of Satan's customary attacks involved soiling images of the Virgin Mary and St. Philomena with mud and slime in order to annoy the Saint. Towards the end of his life, M. Vianney was left comparatively free of this harassment, and for the last six months before his death they did not bother him at all, as if the enemy of Christ had withdrawn his minions in despair. We will present but one more example of this baffling malice from Hell, in the words of M. Monnin, who was an eyewitness of the scene he describes, which took place about three years before the death of the holy priest: "It was one morning during the first celebration of the Quarant' Ore at Ars. The crowd was immense; the work of God in the souls of the worshipers was deeper and more striking than ever. As I was setting out early to go to the church, I was struck on the threshold by a smell of burning, so stifling and penetrating that I could hardly stand. I hastily crossed the marketplace. Holy Mass, catechizing, and some few confessions kept me engaged till seven o'clock. When I had finished, I found the whole village gathered round the presbytery. I should have imagined that some misfortune had happened, had I not observed the general expression on the faces around me to be that of mirth. They were laughing, joking, and calling to each other from one end of the square to the other; and the words bed and grappin were all that I could distinguish amid the clamour. 'What's the matter?' said I, approaching one of the groups. 'What! don't you know that the devil set fire last night to M. le Curé's bed? Come and see, come and see?' And I saw in fact some men carrying the half-burnt remains across the court. I entered the house, and went straight to M. Vianney's room, where I found everything in disorder, and all the traces of a fire hardly yet extinguished. The bed, the curtains, and all around it,---a few pictures which owed their only value to the devotion of M. Vianney, and of which he had said a few days before that his good Saints were the only things in the world to which he felt a little attachment, and that he would not consent to sell them, because he wished to leave them to the missionaries,---all had been consumed. The fire had stopped only at the casket which contained the relic of St. Philomena; and its progress was arrested there as if by a line drawn with geometrical precision, burning all which was on one side of the holy relic, and sparing all on the other. It went out as it had been kindled without any apparent cause; and what is most remarkable, and even it may be said miraculous, it was not communicated by the heavy serge curtains to the flooring, which, being black with age and smoke, would naturally have taken fire like so much dry straw. Another remarkable circumstance was, that M. le Curé, who came in in the midst of all this disturbance and confusion, did not seem so much as to perceive it. He met several persons carrying the remains of his furniture, without asking them a single question. I found him in the sacristy; but when I addressed a few words to him on the event which had set the whole country in commotion, he shrugged his shoulders, and answered only by a gesture of indifference. It was not till after holy Mass, when he was writing on the pictures for distribution, that he suddenly interrupted his employment. I can see him now with his pen raised, his eyes, with their deep and sweet expression, fixed full on me. 'For a long time past,' said he, 'have I been asking this grace of the good God, and He has heard me at last, today I think I am really the poorest man in the parish. They all have their beds,---and now, thank God, I have none.' And without another word he went on signing the pictures presented to him. 'Poor M. le Curé!' said I, in a tone which he took for pity, but which expressed only admiration. 'Oh,' replied he, 'there is less evil in this than in the slightest venial sin.'
 
"At midday, when he came to see me, we discussed the matter a little more at length. I told him that it was generally considered to have been a malicious trick of the devil, and asked him if such was his own opinion. He answered me very decidedly, and with the greatest possible composure. 'Certainly, my dear friend; it is very manifest. As he could not burn the man, he wished to console himself by burning his bed. He is very angry, added he; 'which is a good sign; we shall soon have a great deal of money, and a great many sinners. The devil is never more provoked than when he sees us use the same money which corrupts and ruins souls, to promote their salvation.' And, in fact, during the course of that week there was a most extraordinary movement at Ars, and M. Vianney received several important sums for the support of the missions.

"He spoke to me also of the Quarant' Ore; of the benefits of that holy institution, and the joy which the visible presence of the Blessed Sacrament added to the ordinary blessings of the pilgrimage. His eyes were filled with tears, and his soul seemed to flow forth in each word he uttered. 'This is another kind of flame,' said he, 'another kind of fire,---it is a fire of love.' " [Monnin]


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