O God, who dost
judge justice itself, in what venom of the spirit, in what
bitterness of mind, did I blame even Thee for my shame, accusing
Thee in my madness! Full often did I repeat the lament of St.
Anthony: "Kindly Jesus, where wert Thou?" The sorrow that tortured
me, the shame that overwhelmed me, the desperation that wracked my
mind, all these I could then feel, but even now I can find no words
to express them. Comparing these new sufferings of my soul with
those I had formerly endured in my body, it seemed that I was in
very truth the most miserable among men. Indeed that earlier
betrayal had become a little thing in comparison with this later
evil, and I lamented the hurt to my fair name far more than the one
to my body. The latter, indeed, I had brought upon myself through
my own wrongdoing, but this other violence had come upon me solely
by reason of the honesty of my purpose and my love of our faith,
which had compelled me to write that which I believed.
The very cruelty and heartlessness of my punishment, however, made
every one who heard the story vehement in censuring it, so that
those who had a hand therein were soon eager to disclaim all
responsibility, shouldering the blame on others.
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