"She heard a great noise one night near her. In the thick darkness which surrounded her, she imagined that she saw a viper winding itself around her feet. She was so much overcome by fright that she died from the effects of it a few months later."
Page 168:—"One of the confessors had a young penitent in the convent. Every time he was called to visit a dying sister, and on that account passed the night in the convent, this nun would climb over the partition which separated her room from his, and betake herself to the master and director of souls.
"Another, during the delirium of a typhoid fever, from which she was suffering, was constantly imitating the action of sending kisses to her confessor, who stood by the side of her bed. He, covered with blushes on account of the presence of strangers, held a crucifix before the eyes of the penitent, and in a commiserating tone exclaimed,—
"'Poor thing! kiss thy own spouse!'"
Page 168:—"Under the bonds of secrecy, an educanda, of fine form and pleasing manners, and of a noble family, confided to me the fact of her having received, from the hands of her confessor, a very interesting book (as she described it), which related to the monastic life. I expressed the wish to know the title, and she, before showing it to me, took the precaution to lock the door.
"It proved to be the Monaca, by Dalembert, a book, as all know, filled with the most disgusting obscenity."
Page 169:—"I received once from a monk, a letter in which he signified to me that he had hardly seen me, when 'he conceived the sweet hope of becoming my confessor.' An exquisite of the first water, a fop of scents and euphuism, could not have employed phrases more melodramic, to demand whether he might hope or despair."
Page 169:—"A priest who enjoyed the reputation of being an incorruptible sacerdote, when he saw me pass through the parlatorio, used to address me as follows:—
"'Ps, dear, come here! Ps, Ps, come here!'
"These words, addressed to me by a priest, were nauseous in the extreme.
"Finally, another priest, the most annoying of all for his obstinate assiduity, sought to secure my affections at all cost. There was not an image profane poetry could afford him, nor a sophism he could borrow from rhetoric, nor wily interpretation he could give to the Word of God, which he did not employ to convert me to his wishes. Here is an example of his logic:—
"'Fair daughter,' said he to me one day, 'knowest thou who God truly is?'
"'He is the Creator of the Universe,' I answered drily.
"'No,—no,—no,—no! that is not enough,' he replied, laughing at my ignorance. 'God is love, but love in the abstract, which receives its incarnation in the mutual affection of two hearts which idolize each other. You, then, must not only love God in His abstract existance, but must also love Him in His incarnation, that is, in the exclusive love of a man who adores you.Quod Deus est amor, nec colitur, nisi amando.'
"'Then,' I replied, 'a woman who adores her own lover would adore Divinity itself?'
"'Assuredly,' reiterated the priest over and over again, taking courage from my remark, and chuckling at what seemed to him to be the effect of his catechism.
"'In that case,' said I hastily, 'I should select for my lover rather a man of the world than a priest.'
"'God preserve you, my daughter! God preserve you from that sin!' added my interlocutor, apparently frightened. 'To love a man of the world, a sinner, a wretch, an unbeliever, an infidel! Why, you would go immediately to hell. The love of a priest is a sacred love, while that of a profane man is infamy; the faith of a priest emanates from that granted to the holy Church, while that of the profane is false,—false as the vanity of the world. The priest purifies his affections daily in communion with the Holy Spirit: the man of the world (if he ever knows love at all) sweeps the muddy crossings of the street with it day and night.
"'But it is the heart, as well as the conscience, which prompts me to fly from the priests,' I replied.
"'Well, if you cannot love me because I am your confessor, I will find means to assist you to get rid of your scruples. We will place the name of Jesus Christ before all our affectionate demonstration, and thus our love will be a grateful offering to the Lord, and will ascend fragrant with perfume to Heaven, like the smoke of the incense of the sanctuary. Say to me, for example, "I love you in Jesus Christ; last night I dreamed of you in Jesus Christ;" and you will have a tranquil conscience, because in doing this you will sanctify every transport of your love.'
"Several circumstances not indicated here, by the way, compelled me to come in frequent contact with this priest afterwards, and I do not therefore give his name.
"Of a very respectable monk, respectable alike for his age and his moral character, I inquired what signified the prefixing the name of Jesus Christ to amorous apostrophes.
"'It is,' he said, 'an expression used by a horrible sect, and one unfortunately only too numerous, which, thus abusing the name of our Lord, permits to its members the most unbridled licentiousness.'"
And it is my sad duty to say, before the whole world, that I know that by far the greater part of the confessors in America, Spain, France and England, reason and act just like that licentious Italian priest.
Christian nations! if you could know what will become of the virtue of your fair daughters if you allow secret or public slaves of Rome to restore the auricular confession, with what a storm of holy indignation you would defeat their plans!
the confessional is the modern sodom.
If any one wants to hear an eloquent oration, let him go when the Roman Catholic priest is preaching on the divine institution of auricular confession. There is no subject, perhaps, on which the priests display so much zeal and earnestness, and of which they speak so often. For this institution is really the corner-stone of their stupendous power; it is the secret of their almost irresistible influence. Let the people to-day open their eyes to the truth, and understand that auricular confession is one of the most stupendous impostures which Satan has invented to corrupt and enslave the world; let the people desert the confessional-box to-day, and tomorrow Romanism will fall into the dust. The priests understand this very well; hence their constant efforts to deceive the people on that question. To attain their object, they have recourse to the most egregious falsehoods; the Scriptures are misrepresented; the holy Fathers are brought to say the very contrary of what they have ever thought or written; the most extraordinary miracles and stories are invented. But two of the arguments to which they have more often recourse are the great and perpetual miracles which God makes to keep the purity of the confessional undefiled, and its secrets marvellously sealed. They make the people believe that the vow of perpetual chastity changes their nature, turns them into angels, and puts them above the common frailties of the fallen children of Adam.
Bravely and with a brazen face, when they are interrogated on that subject, they say that they have special graces to remain pure and undefiled in the midst of the greatest dangers; that the Virgin Mary, to whom they are consecrated, is their powerful advocate to obtain from her Son that superhuman virtue of chastity; that what would be a cause of sure perdition to common men is without peril and danger for a true son of Mary; and, with amazing stupidity, the people consent to be duped, blinded, and deceived by those fooleries.
But here let the world hear the truth as it is, from one who knows perfectly everything inside and outside the walls of that Modern Babylon; though many, I know, will disbelieve me and say, "We hope you are mistaken. It is impossible that the priests of Rome should turn out to be such impostors. They may be mistaken; they may believe and repeat things which are not true, but they are honest; they cannot be such impudent deceivers."
Yes! though I know that many will hardly believe me, I must say the truth.
Those very men who, when speaking to the people in such glowing terms of the marvellous way they are kept pure in the midst of the dangers which surround them, honestly blush, and often weep, when they speak to each other (when they are sure that nobody except priests hears them). They deplore their moral degradation with the utmost sincerity and honesty. They ask from God and men pardon for their unspeakable depravity.
I have here in my hands, and under my eyes, one of their most remarkable secret books, written, or at least approved, by one of their greatest and best bishops and cardinals, the Cardinal De Bonald, Archbishop of Lyons.
The book is written for the use of the priests alone. Its title is in French, "Examen de Conscience des Prêtres." At page 34 we read:—
"Have I left certain persons to make the declarations of their sins in such a way that the imagination, once taken and impressed by pictures and representations, could be dragged into a long course of temptations and grievous sins? The priests do not pay sufficient attention to the continual temptations caused by the hearing of confessions. The soul is gradually enfeebled in such a way that, at the end, the virtue of chastity is for ever lost."
Here is the address of a priest to other priests when he suspects that nobody but his co-sinnerbrethrenhear him. Here is the honest language of truth.
In the presence of God, those priests acknowledge that they have not a sufficient fear of thoseconstant(what a word—what an acknowledgment—constant!) temptations, and they honestly confess that those temptations come from the hearing of the confessions of so many scandalous sins. Here the priests honestly acknowledge that those constant temptations, at the end, destroyfor everin them the holy virtue of purity![3]
Ah! would to God that all the honest girls and women whom the devil entraps into the snares of auricular confession could hear the cries of distress of those poor priests whom they have tempted—for ever destroyed!Would to God that they could see the torrents of tears shed by so many priests because, from the hearing of confessions, they hadfor everlost the virtue of purity! They would understand that the confessional is a snare, a pit of perdition, a Sodom for the priest; and they would be struck with horror and shame at the idea of thecontinual, shameful, dishonest, degrading temptations by which their confessor is tormented day and night—they would blush on account of the shameful sins which their confessors have committed—they would weep over the irreparable loss of their purity—they would promise before God and men that the confessional-box should never see them any more—they would prefer to be burned alive, if any sentiment of honesty and charity remained in them, rather than consent to be a cause ofconstanttemptation and damnable sin to that man.
Would that respectable lady go any more to confess to that man if, after her confession, she could hear him lamenting the continual, shameful temptations which assail him day and night, and the damning sins which he has committed on account of what she has confessed to him? No—a thousand times no!
Would that honest father allow his beloved daughter to go any more to that man to confess if he could hear his cries of distress, and see his tears flowing because the hearing of those confessions is the source of constant, shameful temptations and degrading iniquities?
Oh! would to God that the honest Romanists all over the world—for there are millions who, though deluded, are honest—could see what is going on in the heart, the imagination of the poor confessor when he is, there, surrounded by attractive women, and tempting girls, speaking to him from morning to night on things which a man cannot hear without falling! Then that modern but grand imposture called the Sacrament of Penance would soon be ended.
But here, again, who will not lament the consequence of the total perversity of our human nature? Those very same priests who, when alone in the presence of God, speak so plainly of the constant temptations by which they are assailed, and who so sincerely weep over the irreparable loss of their virtue of purity, when they think that nobody hears them, will yet in public deny with a brazen face those temptations. They will indignantly rebuke you as a slanderer if you say anything to lead them to suppose that you fear for their purity when they hear the confessions of girls or married women. There is not a single one of the Roman Catholic authors who have written on that subject for the priests, who has not deplored their innumerable and degrading sins against purity on account of the auricular confession; but those very men will be the first to try to prove the very contrary when they write books for the people. I have no words to say what was my surprise when, for the first time, I saw that this strange duplicity seemed to be one of the fundamental stones of my Church.
It was not very long after my ordination, when a priest came to me to confess the most deplorable things. He honestly told me that there was not a single one of the girls or married women whom he had confessed who had not been a secret cause of the most shameful sins in thoughts, desires, or actions; but he wept so bitterly over his degradation, his heart seemed so sincerely broken on account of his own iniquities, that I could not refrain from mixing my tears with his. I wept with him, and I gave him the pardon of all his sins, as I thought, then, I had the power and right to give it.
Two hours afterwards, that same priest, who was a good speaker, was in the pulpit. His sermon was on "The Divinity of Auricular Confession;" and, to prove that it was an institution coming directly from Christ, he said that the Son of God was making aconstantmiracle to strengthen His priests, and prevent them from falling into sins, on account of what they might have heard in the confessional!
The daily abominations, which are the result of auricular confession, are so horrible and so well known by the popes, the bishops, and the priests, that several times, public attempts have been made to diminish them by punishing the guilty priests; but all these have failed.
One of the most remarkable of those efforts was made by Pius IV. about the year 1500. A Bull was published by him, by which all the girls and the married women who had been seduced into sins by their confessors were ordered to denounce them; and a certain number of high church officers of the Holy Inquisition were authorized to take the depositions of the fallen penitents. The thing was at first tried at Seville, one of the principal cities of Spain. When the edict was first published the number of women who felt bound in conscience to go and depose against their father confessors was so great that, though there were thirty notaries and as many inquisitors to take the depositions, they were unable to do the work in the appointed time. Thirty days more were given, but the inquisitors were so overwhelmed with the numberless depositions that another period of time of the same length was given. But this, again, was found insufficient. At the end, it was found that the number of priests who had destroyed the purity of their penitents was so great that it was impossible to punish them all. The inquest was given up, and the guilty confessors remained unpunished. Several attempts of the same nature have been tried by other popes, but with about the same success.
But if those honest attempts, on the part of some well-meaning popes, to punish the confessors who destroy the purity of their penitents, have failed to touch the guilty parties, they are, in the good providence of God, infallible witnesses to tell to the world that auricular confession is nothing else than a snare to the confessor and his dupes. Yes, those Bulls of the popes are an irrefragable testimony that auricular confession is the most powerful invention of the devil to corrupt the heart, pollute the body, and damn the soul of the priest and his female penitent!
how the vow of celibacy of the priests is made easy by auricular confession.
Are not facts the best arguments? Well, here is an undeniable, a public fact, which is connected with a thousand collateral ones to prove that auricular confession is the most powerful engine of demoralization which the world has ever seen.
About the year 183—, there was in Quebec a fine-looking young priest; he had a magnificent voice, and was a pretty good speaker.[4]Through regard for his family, which is still numerous and respectable, I will not give his name, I will call him Rev. Mr. D——. Having been invited to preach in a parish of Canada, about 100 miles distant from Quebec, called Verchères, he was also requested to hear the confessions during a few days of a kind of Novena (nine days of prayer), which was going on in that place. Among his penitents was a beautiful young girl, about nineteen years old. She wanted to make a general confession of all her sins from the first age of reason, and the confessor granted her request. Twice every day she was there, at the feet of her handsome young spiritual physician, telling all her thoughts, her deeds, her desires. Sometimes she was remarked to have remained a whole hour in the confessional-box, in accusing herself of all her human frailties. What did she say? God only knows; but what became hereafter known by the entire of Canada is that the confessor fell in love with his fair penitent, and that she burned with the same irresistible fires for her confessor, as it so often happens.
It was not an easy matter for the priest and the young girl to meet each other in as complete atête-à-têteas they both wished, for there were too many eyes upon them. But the confessor was a man of resources. The last day of the Novena he said to his beloved penitent, "I am going to Montreal, but three days after I will take the steamer back to Quebec. That steamer is accustomed to stop here. At about twelve a.m., be on the wharf, dressed as a young man. Let no one know your secret. You will embark in the steamboat, where you will not be known, if you have any prudence. You will come to Quebec, where you will be engaged as a servant-boy by the curate, of whom I am the vicar. Nobody will know your sex except myself, and we will there be happy together."
The fifth day after this there was a great desolation in the family of the girl, for she had suddenly disappeared and her robes had been found on the shores of the St. Lawrence river. There was not the least doubt in the minds of all relations and friends, that the general confession she had made had entirely upset her mind, and, in an excess of craziness, she had thrown herself into the deep and rapid waters of the St. Lawrence. Many searches were made to find her body, but all in vain; many public and private prayers were offered to God to help her to escape from the flames of Purgatory, where she might be condemned to suffer for many years, and much money was given to the priest to sing high masses, in order to extinguish the fires of that burning prison, where every Roman Catholic believes he must go to be purified before entering the regions of eternal happiness.
I will not give the name of the girl, though I have it, through compassion for her family; I will call her Geneva.
Well, when father and mother, brothers, sisters, and friends were shedding tears on the sad end of Geneva, she was in the rich parsonage of the Curate of Quebec, well paid, well fed and dressed; happy and cheerful with her beloved confessor. She was exceedingly neat in her person, always obliging, ready to run and do what you wanted at the very twinkling of your eye. Her new name was Joseph, by which I will now call her.
Many times I have seen the smart Joseph at the parsonage of Quebec, and admired his politeness and good manners; though it seemed to me sometimes that he looked too much like a girl, and that he was a little too much at ease with Rev. Mr. D——, and also with the Right Rev. M——. But every time the idea came to me that Joseph was a girl, I felt indignant with myself. The high respect I had for the Coadjutor Bishop made it impossible to think that he would ever allow a beautiful girl to sleep in the adjoining room to his own, and to serve him day and night; for Joseph's sleeping-room was just by the one of the Coadjutor, who, for several bodily infirmities, which were not a secret to every one, wanted the help of his servant several times at night, as well as during the day.
Things went on very smoothly with Joseph during two or three years in the Coadjutor Bishop's house; but at the end it seemed to many people outside that Joseph was taking too great airs of familiarity with the young vicars, and even with the venerable Coadjutor. Several of the citizens of Quebec, who were going more often than others to the parsonage, were surprised and shocked at the familiarity of that servant-boy with his masters; he really seemed sometimes to be on equal terms with, if not somewhat above them.
An intimate friend of the Bishop, a most devoted Roman Catholic, who was my near relative, took one day upon himself to respectfully say to the Right Rev. Bishop that it would be prudent to turn out that impudent young man from his palace; that he was the object of strong and deplorable suspicions.
The position of the Right Rev. Bishop and his vicars was not a very agreeable one. Their barque had evidently drifted among dangerous rocks. To keep Joseph among them was impossible, after the friendly advice which had come from such a high quarter, and to dismiss him was not less dangerous; he knew too much of the interior and secret lives of all those holy (?) celibates to deal with him as with another common servant-man. With a single word of his lips he could destroy them; they were as if tied to his feet by ropes, which at first seemed made with sweet cakes and ice-cream, but had suddenly turned into burning steel chains. Several days of anxiety passed away; many sleepless nights succeeded the too-happy ones of better times. But what to do? There were breakers ahead; breakers on the right, on the left, and on every side. But when every one, particularly the venerable (?) Coadjutor, felt as criminals who expect their sentence, and that their horizon seemed surrounded absolutely by only dark and stormy clouds, on a sudden, a happy opening presented itself to the anxious sailors.
The curate of "Les Eboulements," the Rev. Mr. ——, had just come to Quebec on some private business, and had taken his quarters in the hospitable house of his old friend, the Right Rev. ——, Bishop Coadjutor. Both had been on very intimate terms for many years, and, in many instances, they had been of great service to each other. The Pontiff of the Church of Canada, hoping that his tried friend would perhaps help him out of the terrible difficulty of the moment, frankly told him all about Joseph, and asked him what he ought to do under such difficult circumstances.
"My Lord," said the curate of the Eboulements, "Joseph is just the servant I want. Pay him well, that he may remain your friend, and that his lips may be sealed, and allow me to take him with me. My housekeeper left me a few weeks ago; I am alone in my parsonage with my old servant-man. Joseph is just the person I want."
It would be difficult to tell the joy of the poor Bishop and his vicars, when they saw that heavy stone they had on their neck removed.
Joseph, once installed into the parsonage of the pious (?) parish priest of the Eboulements, soon gained the favour of the whole people by his good and winning manners, and every parishioner complimented his curate on the smartness of his new servant. But the priest, of course, knew a little more of that smartness than the rest of the people. Three years passed on very smoothly. The priest and his servant seemed to be on the most perfect terms. The only thing which marred the happiness of that lucky couple was that, now and then, some of the farmers, whose eyes were sharper than those of their neighbours, seemed to think that the intimacy between the two was going a little too far, and that Joseph, was really keeping in his hands the sceptre of the little priestly kingdom. Nothing could be done without his advice; he was meddling in all the small and big affairs of the parish, and the curate seemed sometimes to be rather the servant than the master in his own house and parish. Those who had at first made those remarks privately began little by little to convey their views to the next neighbour, and this one to the next. In that way, at the end of the third year, grave and serious suspicions began to spread from one to the other in such a way that the Marguilliers (a kind of Elders) thought proper to say to the priest that it would be better for him to turn Joseph out than to keep him any longer. But the old curate had passed so many happy hours with his faithful Joseph that it was as hard as death to give him up.
He knew, by confession, that a girl in the vicinity was given to an unmentionable abomination, to which Joseph was also addicted. He went to her and proposed that she should marry Joseph, and that he (the priest) would help them to live comfortably. Joseph, in order to continue to live near his good master, consented also to marry that girl. Both knew very well what the other was. The banns were published during three Sabbaths, after which the old curate, blessed the marriage of Joseph with the girl his parishioner.
They lived together as husband and wife in such harmony that nobody could suspect the horrible depravity which was concealed behind that union. Joseph continued with his wife to work often for his priest, till after sometime that priest was removed, and another curate, called Tétreau, was sent in his place.
This new curate, knowing absolutely nothing of that mystery of iniquity, employed also Joseph and his wife several times. One day when Joseph was working at the door of the parsonage, in the presence of several people, a stranger arrived, and inquired of him if the Rev. Mr. Tétreau, the curate, was there.
Joseph answered, "Yes, sir. But as you seem to be a stranger, would you allow me to ask you whence you come?"
"It is very easy, sir, to satisfy you. I come from Verchères," replied the stranger.
At the word "Verchères" Joseph turned so pale that the stranger could not be but struck with his sudden change of colour.
Then, fixing his eyes on Joseph, he cried out, "Oh, my God! what do I see here? Geneva! Geneva! I recognize you, and here you are in the disguise of a man!"
"Dear uncle (for it was her uncle), for God's sake," she cried, "do not say a word more!"
But it was too late. The people who were there had heard the uncle and niece. Their long secret suspicions were well-founded—one of their former priests had kept a girl under the disguise of a man in his house! and, to blind his people more thoroughly, he had married that girl to another one, in order to have them both in his house, when he pleased, without awakening any suspicion!!
The news went almost as quick as lightning from one end to the other of the parish, and spread all over the northern country watered by the St Lawrence river.
It is more easy to imagine than express the sentiments of surprise and horror which filled every one. The justices of the peace took up the matter; Joseph was brought before the civil tribunal, which decided that a physician should be charged to make, not apost-mortem, butante-morteminquest. The Honourable L——, who was called and made the proper inquiry, declared upon oath that Joseph was a girl! and the bonds of marriage were legally dissolved.
During that time the honest Rev. Mr. Tétreau, struck with horror, had sent an express to the Right Reverend Bishop Coadjutor of Quebec, informing him that the young man whom he had kept in his house several years, under the name of Joseph, was a girl.
Now, what were they to do with the girl, after all was discovered? Her presence in Canada would for ever compromise the holy (?) Church of Rome. She knew too well how the priests, through the confessional, select their victims, and help themselves, in their company, in keeping their solemn vows of celibacy! What would have become of the respect paid to the priest, if she had been taken by the hand and invited to speak, bravely, boldly, before the people of Canada?
The holy (?) Bishop and his vicars understood these things very well.
They immediately sent a trustworthy man with £500 to say to the girl that, if she remained in Canada, she could be prosecuted and severely punished; that it was her interest to leave the country, and emigrate to the United States. They offered her the £500 if she would promise to go and never return.
She accepted the offer, crossed the lines, and we have never since heard anything of her.
In the providence of God, I was invited to preach in that parish soon after, and I learned these facts accurately.
The Rev. Mr. Tétreau, under whose pastorate this great iniquity was detected, began from that time to have his eyes opened to the awful depravity of the priests of Rome through the confessional. He wept and cried over his own degradation in the midst of that modern Sodom. Our merciful God looked down with compassion upon him, and sent him His saving grace. Not long after, he sent to the Bishop his renunciation of the errors and abominations of Romanism.
To-day he is working in the vineyard of the Lord with the Methodists in the city of Montreal, where he is ready to prove the correctness of what we say.
Let those who have ears to hear, and eyes to see, understand, by this fact, that Pagan nations have not known any institution so depraving as Auricular Confession!
the highly educated and refined woman in the confessional.—what becomes of her after her unconditional surrender.—her irreparable ruin.
The most skilful warrior has never had to display so much skill and so manyruses de guerre; he has never had to use more tremendous efforts to reduce and storm an impregnable citadel, as the confessor who wants to reduce and storm the citadel of self-respect and honesty which God Himself has built around the soul and the heart of every daughter of Eve.
But, as it is through woman that the Pope wants to conquer the world, it is supremely important that he should enslave and degrade her by keeping her at his feet as his footstool, that she may become a passive instrument in the accomplishment of his vast and profound scheme.
In order perfectly to master women in the higher circles of society, every confessor is ordered by the Pope to learn the most complicated and perfect strategy. He has to study a great number of treatises on the art of persuading the fair sex to confess to him plainly, clearly, and in detail, every thought, every secret desire, word, and deed, just as they occurred.
And that art is considered so important and so difficult that all the theologians of Rome call it "the art of arts."
Dens, St. Liguori, Chevassu, the author of the "Mirror of the Clergy," Debreyne, and a multitude of authors too numerous to mention, have given the curious and scientific rules of that secret art.
They all agree in declaring that it is a most difficult and dangerous art; they all confess that the least error of judgment, the least imprudence or temerity, when storming the impregnable citadel, is sure death (spiritual, of course) to the confessor and the penitent.
The confessor is taught to make the first steps towards the citadel with the utmost caution, in order that his female penitent may not suspect at first what he wants her to reveal; for this would generally induce her to shut for ever the door of the fortress against him. After the first steps of advance, he is advised to make several steps back, and to put himself in a kind of spiritual ambuscade, to see the effect of his first advance. If there is any prospect of success, then the word "March on!" is given, and a more advanced post of the citadel must be tried and stormed if possible. In that way, little by little, the whole place is so well surrounded, so well crippled, denuded, and dismantled, that any more resistance seems impossible on the part of the rebellious soul.
Then the last charge is ordered, the final assault is given; and if God does not perform a real miracle to save that soul, the last walls crumble, the doors are beaten down! Then the confessor makes a triumphant entry into the place; the very heart, soul, conscience, and intelligence, are conquered.
When once master of the place, the priest visits all its most secret recesses and corners; he pries into its most sacred chambers. The conquered place is entirely, absolutely in his hands; he does what he pleases within its precincts; he is the supreme master, for the surrender has been unconditional. The confessor has become theonlyinfallible ruler in the conquered place—nay, he has become its only God—for it is in the name of God that he has besieged, stormed, and conquered it, it is in the name of God that, hereafter, he will speak and be obeyed.
No human words can adequately give an idea of the irreparable ruin which follows the successful storming and unconditional surrender of the once so noble fortress. The longer the resistance has been, the more terrible and complete is the destruction of its beauty and strength; the nobler the struggle has been the more irretrievable are the ruin and loss. Just as the higher and stronger the dam is built to stem the current of the rapid and deep waters of the river, the more awful the disasters which follow its destruction, so it is with that noble soul. A mighty dam has been built by the very hand of God, called self-respect and womanly modesty, to guard her against the pollutions of this sinful world; but the day that the priest of Rome succeeds, after long efforts, in destroying it, the soul is carried by an irresistible power into unfathomable abysses of iniquity. Then it is that the once most respectable lady will consent to hear, without a blush, things against which the most degraded woman would indignantly shut her ears. Then it is that she freely speaks on matters for repeating which a printer in England has lately been sent to jail.
At first, in spite of herself, but soon with a real sensual pleasure, that fallen angel will think, when alone, on what she has heard and what she has said in the confessional-box. In spite of herself, the vilest thoughts will at first irresistibly fill her mind; and soon the thoughts will engender temptations and sins. But those vile temptations and sins, which would have filled her with horror and regret before her entire surrender into the hands of the foe, beget very different sentiments now that she is no more her own self-possessor and guide, under the eyes of God. The conviction of her sins is no more connected with the thought of a God, infinitely holy and just, whom she must serve and fear. The conviction of her sins is now immediately connected with the thought of the man with whom she will have to speak, and who will easily make everything right and pure in her soul by his absolution.
When the day of going to confess comes, instead of being sad and uneasy and bashful, as she used to be formerly, she feels pleased and delighted to have a new opportunity of conversing on those matters, without impropriety and sin to herself; for she is now fully persuaded that there is no impropriety, no shame, no sin, nay, she believes, or tries to believe, that it is a good, honest,Christian, and godly thing to converse with her priest on those matters.
Her most happy hours are when she is at the feet of that spiritual physician showing him all the newly made wounds of her soul; explaining all her constant temptations, her bad thoughts, her most intimate secret desires and sins.
Then it is that the most sacred mysteries of the married life are revealed; then it is that the mysterious and precious pearls which God has given as a crown of mercy to those whom He has made one body, one heart, one soul, by the blessed ties of a christian union, are lavishly thrown before swine.
Whole hours are thus passed by the fair penitent in speaking to her Father Confessor with the utmost freedom on matters which would rank her among the most profligate and lost women, if it were only suspected by her friends and relatives. A single word of those intimate conversations would be followed by an act of divorce on the part of the husband, if it were known by him.
But the betrayed husband knows nothing of the dark mysteries of auricular confession; the duped father suspects nothing; a cloud from hell has obscured the intelligence of both, and made them blind. It is just the contrary: husbands and fathers, friends and relations, feel edified and pleased with the touching spectacle of the piety of Madam and Miss ——. In the village, as well as in the city, every one has a word to speak in their praise. Mrs. —— is so often seen humbly prostrated at the feet, or by the side, of her confessor! Miss —— remains so long in the confessional-box! they receive the holy communion so frequently; they both speak so eloquently and so often of the admirable piety, modesty, holiness, patience, charity, of their incomparable spiritual Father!
Every one congratulates them on their new and exemplary life; and they accept the compliment with the utmost humility, attributing their rapid progress in Christian virtues to the holiness of their confessor. He is such a spiritual man! who could not make rapid strides under such a holy guide?
The more constant the temptations are, the more the secret sins overwhelm the soul, and the more airs of peace and holiness are put on. The more foul the secret emanations of the heart, the more the fair and refined penitent surrounds herself by an atmosphere of the sweetest perfumes of a sham piety. The more polluted the inside of the sepulchre is, the more shining and white the outside will be kept.
Then it is that, unless God performs a miracle to prevent it, the ruin of that soul is sealed. She has drunk in the poisonous cup filled by "the mother of harlots," and she has found the wine of her prostitution sweet. She will henceforth delight in her spiritual and secret orgies.
Her holy (?) confessor has told her that there is no impropriety, no shame, no sin, in that cup. The Pope has sacrilegiously written the word "Life" on that cup of "Death." She has believed the Pope: the terrible mystery of iniquity is accomplished!
"The mystery of iniquity doth already work ... whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, and with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish, because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved. And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: that they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness" (2 Thess. ii. 7-12).
Yes: the day that the rich, well-educated lady gives up her self-respect, and unconditionally surrenders the citadel of womanly modesty into the hands of a man, whatever be his name or titles, that he may freely put to her questions of the vilest character which she must answer, she is lost and degraded, just as if she were the humblest and poorest servant-girl.
I purposely say "the rich and well-educated woman," for I know that there is a prevalent opinion that the social position of her class places her above the corrupting influences of the confessional, as if she were out of reach of the common miseries of our poor fallen and sinful nature.
So long as the well-educated lady makes use of her accomplishments to defend the citadel of her womanly self-respect against the foe—so long as she sternly keeps the door of her heart shut against her deadly enemy—she is safe. But let no one forget this: she is safe only so long as she doesnotsurrender. When the enemy is once master of the place, I emphatically repeat, the ruinous consequences are as great, if not greater, and more irreparable than in the lowest classes of society. Throw a piece of precious gold into the mud, and tell me if it will not plunge deeper than the piece of rotten wood.
What woman could be nobler, purer, and stronger than Eve when she came from the hands of her Divine Creator? But how quickly she fell when she gave ear to the seducing voice of the tempter! How irreparable was her ruin when she complacently looked on the forbidden fruit, and believed the lying voice which told her there was "no sin" in eating of it!
I solemnly, in the presence of the great God who ere long will judge me, give my testimony on this grave subject. After 25 years' experience in the confessional, I declare that the confessor himself encounters more terrible dangers when hearing the confessions of refined and highly-educated ladies, than when listening to those of the humbler classes of his female penitents.
I solemnly testify that the well-educated lady, when she has once surrendered herself to the power of her confessor, becomes, as a general rule, at least as vulnerable to the arrows of the enemy as the poorer and less educated. Nay, I must say that, once on the down-hill road of perdition, the high-bred lady runs headlong into the pit with a more deplorable rapidity than her humbler sister.
All Canada is witness that a few years ago it was among the highest ranks of society that the Grand Vicar Superior of one of the richest and most influential colleges of Canada, was choosing his victims, when the public cry of indignation and shame forced the Bishop to send him back to Europe, where he soon after died. Was it not also among the higher classes of society that a Superior of the Seminary of Quebec was destroying souls, when he was detected, and forced, during a dark night, to fly and conceal himself behind the walls of the Trappist Monastery of Iowa?
Many would be the folio volumes which I should have to write, were I to publish all that my twenty-five years' experience in the confessional has taught me of the unspeakable secret corruption of thegreatestpart of the so-called respectable ladies who have unconditionally surrendered themselves into the hands of their holy (?) confessors. But the following fact will suffice for those who have eyes to see, ears to hear, and an intelligence to understand.
In one of the most beautiful and thriving towns along the St. Lawrence River lived a rich merchant. He was young, and his marriage with a most lovely, rich, and accomplished young lady had made him one of the happiest men in the land.
A few years after his marriage, the Bishop appointed to that town a young priest, really remarkable for his eloquence, zeal, and amiable qualities, and the merchant and the priest soon became connected by links of the most sincere friendship.
The young, accomplished wife of the merchant soon became the model woman of the place, under the direction of her new confessor.
Many and long were the hours she used to pass by the side of her spiritual Father, to be purified and enlightened by his godly advices. She soon was seen at the head of the few who had the privilege of receiving the holy communion once a week. The husband, who was a good Roman Catholic himself, blessed God and the Virgin Mary that he had the privilege of living with such an angel of piety.
Nobody had the least suspicion of what was going on under that holy and white mantle of the most exalted piety. Nobody, except God and His angels, could hear the questions put by the priest to his fair pentitent, and the answers made during the long hours of theirtête-à-tête, in the confessional-box. Nobody but God could see the hellish fires which were devouring the hearts of the confessor and his victim! For nearly one year, both the young priest and his spiritual patient enjoyed, in those intimate and private secret conversations, all the pleasures which lovers feel, when they can speak freely to each other of their secret thoughts and love.
But this was not enough for them. They both wanted something more real, though the difficulties were great and seemed even insurmountable. The priest had his mother and sister with him, whose eyes were too sharp to allow him to invite the lady to his own house for any criminal object, and the young husband had no business at a distance which could keep him long enough out of his happy home to allow the Pope's confessor to accomplish his diabolical designs.
But when a poor fallen daughter of Eve has a mind to do a thing, she very soon finds the means,particularlyif high education has added to her natural shrewdness.
And in this case, as in many others of a similar nature which have been revealed to me, she soon found how to attain her object without compromising herself or her holy (?) confessor. A plan was soon found, and cordially agreed to, and both patiently awaited their opportunity.
"Why have you not gone to mass to-day and received the holy communion, my dear?" said the husband: "I had ordered the servant-man to put the horse in the buggy for you as usual."
"I am not very well, my beloved; I have passed a sleepless night from head-ache."
"I will send for the physician," replied the husband.
"Yes, my dear; do send for the physician—perhaps he will do me good."
One hour after, the physician called. He found his fair patient a little feverish, pronounced that there was nothing serious, and that she would soon be well. He gave her a little powder, to be taken three times a day, and left; but at nine p.m., she complained of a great pain in the chest, and soon fainted and fell on the floor.
The doctor was again immediately sent for, but he was from home: it took nearly half an hour before he could come. When he arrived the alarming crisis was over—she was sitting in an arm-chair, with some neighbouring women, who were applying cold water and vinegar to her forehead.
The physician was really at a loss what to say of the cause of such a sudden illness. At last he said that it might be an attack of the "ver solitaire" (tape-worm). He declared that it was not dangerous; that he knew how to cure her. He ordered some new powder to be taken, and left, after having promised to return the next day. Half an hour after she began to complain of a most terrible pain in her chest, and fainted again; but before doing so she said to her husband,—
"My dear, you see that the physician understands absolutely nothing of the nature of my disease. I have not the least confidence in him, for I feel that his powders make me worse. I do not want to see him any more. I suffer more than you suspect, my beloved; and if there is not soon a change I may be dead tomorrow. The only physician I want is our holy confessor; please make haste to go and get him. I want to make a general confession, and to receive the holy viaticum (communion) and extreme unction before I grow worse."
Beside himself with anxiety, the distracted husband ordered the horse to be put in the buggy, and made his servant accompany him on horseback, to ring the bell, while his pastor carried "the good god" (Le Bon Dieu) to his dear sick wife.
He found the priest piously reading hisbreviarium(his book of daily prayers); and admired the charity and promptitude with which his good pastor, in that dark and chilly night, was ready to leave his warm and comfortable parsonage at the first appeal of the sick. In less than an hour the husband had taken the priest with "the good god" from the church to the bedroom of his wife.
All along the way the servant-man had rung a big hand-bell to awaken the sleeping farmers, who, at the noise, had to jump, half naked out of their beds and worship, on their knees, with their faces prostrate in the dust, "the good god" which was being carried to the sick.
On his arrival, the confessor, with every appearance of sincere piety, deposited "the good god" (Le Bon Dieu) on a table, richly prepared for such a solemn occasion, and, approaching the bed, leaned his head towards his penitent, and inquired how she felt.
She answered him, "I am very sick, and want to make a general confession before I die."
Speaking to her husband, she said with a fainting voice, "Please, my dear, tell my friends to withdraw from the room, that I may not be distracted when making what may be my last confession."
The husband respectfully requested the friends to leave the room with him, and shut the door, that the holy confessor might bealonewith his penitent during her general confession.
One of the most diabolical schemes under the cover of auricular confession had perfectly succeeded. The mother of harlots, that great enchantress of souls, whose seat is on the city of the "seven hills," had, there, her priest to bring shame, disgrace, and damnation, under the mask of Christianity.
The destroyer of souls, whose masterpiece is auricular confession, had there, for the millionth time, a fresh opportunity of insulting the God of purity, through one of the most criminal actions which the dark shades of night can conceal.
But let us draw the veil over the abominations of that hour of iniquity, and let us leave to hell its dark secrets.
After he had accomplished the ruin of his victim, and most cruelly and sacrilegiously abused the confidence of his friend, the young priest opened the door of the room and said, with a sanctimonious air, "You may enter to pray with me, while I give the last sacrament to our dear sick sister."
They came in; "the good god" (Le Bon Dieu) was given to the woman; and the husband, full of gratitude for the considerate attention of his priest, took him back to his parsonage, and thanked him most sincerely for having so kindly come to visit his wife in so chilly a night.
Ten years later, I was called to preach a retreat (a kind of revival) in that same parish. That lady, then an absolute stranger to me, came to my confessional-box and confessed to me those details as I now give them. She seemed to be really penitent, and I gave her absolution and the entire pardon of her sins, as my Church told me to do. On the last day of the revival, the merchant invited me to a grand dinner. Then it was that I came to know who my penitent had been. I must not forget to mention that she had confessed to me that, of her four children, the last three belonged to her confessor! He had lost his mother, and, his sister having married, his parsonage had become more accessible to his fair penitents, many of whom had availed themselves of that opportunity to practise the lessons they had learned in the confessional. The priest had been removed to a higher position, where he, more than ever, enjoyed the confidence of his superiors, the respect of the people, and the love of his female penitents.
I never felt so embarrassed in my life as when at the table of that cruelly-victimised man. We had hardly begun to take our dinner when he asked me if I had known their late pastor, the amiable Rev. Mr. ——
I answered, "Yes, sir, I know him."
"Is he not a most accomplished priest?"
"Yes, sir, he is a most accomplished man," I answered.
"Why is it," rejoined the good merchant, "that the Bishop has taken him away from us? He was doing so well here! He had so deservedly earned the confidence of all by his piety and gentlemanly manners that we made every effort to keep him with us. I drew up a petition myself, which all the people signed, to induce the Bishop to let him remain in our midst; but in vain. His lordship answered us that he wanted him for a more important place on account of his rare ability, and we had to submit. His zeal and devotedness knew no bounds. In the darkest and most stormy nights he was always ready to come to the first call of the sick. I shall never forget how quickly and cheerfully he responded to my appeal when, a few years ago, I went, in the midst of one of our most chilly nights, to request him to visit my wife, who was very sick."
At this stage of the conversation, I must confess that I nearly laughed outright. The gratitude of that poor dupe of the confessional to the priest who had come to bring shame and destruction to his house, and the idea of that very man going himself to convey to his home the corrupter of his own wife, seemed to me so ludicrous that, for a moment, I had to make a superhuman effort to control myself.
But I was soon brought to my better senses by the shame which I felt at the idea of the unspeakable degradation and secret infamy of the clergy of which I was a member. At that instant hundreds of cases of similar, if not greater, depravity, which had been revealed to me through the confessional, came to my mind and distressed and disgusted me so much that my tongue was almost paralyzed.
After dinner the merchant asked his lady to call the children, that I might see them, and I could not but admire their beauty; but I do not need to say that the pleasure of seeing those dear and lovely little ones was much marred by the secret though sure knowledge I had that the three youngest were the fruits of the unspeakable depravity of auricular confession in the higher ranks of society.
auricular confession destroys all the sacred ties of marriage and human society.
Would the banker allow his priest to open, when alone, the safe of his bank, manipulate and examine his papers, and pry into the most secret details of his banking business?
No! surely not.
How is it, then, that the same banker allows that priest to open the heart of his wife, manipulate her soul, and pry into the sacred chambers of her most intimate and secret thoughts?
Are not the heart, the soul, the purity, and the self-respect of his wife as great and precious treasures as the safe of his bank? Are not the risks and dangers of temptations, imprudences, indiscretions, much greater and more irreparable in the second than in the first case?
Would the jeweller, or goldsmith, allow his priest to come when he pleases, and handle the rich articles of his stores, ransack the desk where his money is deposited, and play with it as he pleases?
No! surely not.
But are not the heart, the soul, and the purity of his dear wife and daughter a thousandfold more valuable than his precious stones, or silver and gold wares? Are not the dangers of temptation and indiscretions, on the part of the priest, more formidable and irresistible in the second than in the first of these cases?
Would the livery-man allow his priest to take his most valuable and unmanageable horses as he wishes, and drive alone, without any other consideration and security than the discretion of his pastor?
No! surely not.
That livery-man knows that he would soon be ruined if he should do so. Whatever may be his confidence in the discretion, honesty, and prudence of his priest, he will never push his confidence so far as to give him the unreserved control of the noble and fiery animals which are the glory of his stables and the support of his family.
How, then, can the same man trust the entire, absolute management of his wife and dear daughters to the control of that one to whom he would not entrust his horses?
Are not his wife and daughters as precious to him as those horses? Is there not greater danger of indiscretions, mismanagement, irreparable and fatal errors on the part of the priest, dealing alone with the wife and daughters, than when driving the horses? No human act of folly, moral depravity, and want of common sense, can equal the permission given by a man to his wife to go and confess to the priest.
That day he abdicates the royal—I had almost said divine—dignity of husband; for it is from God that he holds it: his crown is forever lost, his sceptre broken!
What would you do to any one mean enough to peep or listen through the key-hole of your door, in order to hear or see everything that was said or done within? Would you show so little self-respect as to tolerate such indiscretion? Would you not rather take a whip or a cane, and drive away the villain? Would you not even expose your life to free yourself from impudent curiosity?
But what is the confessional, if not the key-hole of your house and of your very chamber, through which the priest can hear and see your most secret words and actions, nay, more, know your most intimate thoughts and aspirations?
Are you men to submit to such sly and insulting inquisition? Do you deserve the name of men who consent to put up with such ignoble affront and humiliation?
"The husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the Head of the Church." "Therefore, as the Church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands, in everything" (Eph. v.) If these solemn words are the true oracles of divine wisdom, is not the husband divinely appointed theonlyadviser, counsellor, help of his wife, just as Christ is theonlyadviser, counsellor, and help of His Church?
If the Apostle was not an impostor when he said that the wife is to her husband what the body is to the head, and that the husband is to his wife what the head is to the body—is not the husband appointed by God to be the light, the guide of his wife? Is it not his duty, as well as his privilege and glory, to console her in her afflictions, strengthen her in her hours of weakness, keep her up when she is in danger of fainting, and encourage her when she is on the rough and uphill ways of life?
If Christ has not come to deceive the world through His Apostle, must not the wife go to her husband for advice? Ought she not to expect from him, and him alone, after God, the light she wants and the consolation she is in need of? Is it not to her husband, and to him alone, after God, she ought to look in her days of trial for help? Is it not under his leadership alone she must fight the battle of life and conquer? Are not this mutual and daily sharing of the anxieties of life, this constant shouldering on the battle-field, and this reciprocal and mutual protection and help renewed at every hour of the day, which form, under the eyes and by the mercy of God, the holiest and the purest charms of the married life? Is it not that unreserved confidence in each other which binds together those golden links of Christian love that make them happy in the very midst of the trials of life? Is it not through this mutual confidence alone that they areoneas God wants them to beone? Is it not in this unity of thoughts, fears and hopes, joys and love, which come from God, that they can cheerfully cross the thorny valley, and safely reach the Promised Land?
The Gospel says that the husband is to his wife what Christ is to His Church! Is it not, then, a most sacrilegious iniquity for a wife to look to another rather than to her own husband for such advice, wisdom, strength, and life, as he is entitled, qualified, and ready to afford? As no other has the right to her love, so no other man has any right to her absolute confidence. As she becomes an adulteress the day that she gives her body to another man, is she any the less an adulteress, the day that she gives her confidence and trusts her soul to a stranger? The adultery of the heart and soul is not less criminal than the adultery of the body; and every time the wife goes to the feet of the priest to confess, does she not become guilty of that iniquity?
In the Church of Rome, through the confessional, the priest is much more the husband of the wife than the man to whom she was wedded at the foot of the altar. The priest has the best part of the wife. He has the marrow, when the husband has the bones. He has the juice of the orange, the husband has the rind. He has the soul and the heart; the husband has the skeleton. He has the honey; the husband has the wax cell. He has the succulent oyster; the husband has the dry shell. As much as the soul is higher than the body, so much are the power and privileges of the priest higher than the power and privileges of the husband in the mind of the penitent wife. As the husband is the lord of the body which he feeds, so the priest is the lord of the soul, which he also feeds. The wife, then, has two lords and masters, whom she must love, respect, and obey. Will she not give the best part of her love, respect, and submission to the one who is as much above the other as the heavens are above the earth? But as one cannot serve two masters together, will not the master who prepares and fits her for an eternal life of glory, certainly be the object of her constant, real, and most ardent love, gratitude, and respect, when the worldly and sinful man to whom she is married will haveonlythe appearance or the crumbs of those sentiments? Will she not, naturally, instinctively serve, love, respect, and obey, as lord and master, the godly man whose yoke is so light, so holy, so divine, rather than the carnal man whose human imperfections are to her a source of daily trial and suffering?
In the Church of Rome the thoughts and desires, the secret joys and fears of the soul, the very life of the wife, are sealed things to the husband. He has no right to look into the sanctuary of her heart; he has no remedy to apply to the soul; he has no mission from God to advise her in the dark hours of her anxieties; he has no balm to apply to the bleeding wounds, so often received in the daily battles of life; he must remain a perfect stranger in his own house.
The wife, expecting nothing from her husband, has no revelation to make to him, no favour to ask, no debt of gratitude to pay. Nay, she shuts all the avenues of her soul, all the doors and windows of her heart, against her husband. The priest, and the priest alone, has a right to her entire confidence; to him, and him alone, she will go and reveal all her secrets, show all her wounds; to him, and him alone, she will turn her mind, her heart and soul, in the hour of trouble and anxiety; from him, and him alone, she will ask and expect the light and consolation she wants. Every day, more and more, her husband will become as a stranger to her, if he does not become a real nuisance, and an obstacle to her happiness and peace.
Yes, through the confessional, an unfathomable abyss has been dug, by the Church of Rome, between the heart of the wife and the heart of the husband! Their bodies may be very near each other, but their souls, their real affections and their confidence, are at greater distance than the north is from the south pole of the earth. The confessor is the master, the ruler, the king of the soul; the husband, as the grave-yard keeper, must be satisfied with the carcase!
The husband has the permission to look on the outside of the palace; he is allowed to rest his head on the cold marble, of the outdoor steps; but the confessor triumphantly walks into the mysterious starry rooms, examines at leisure their numberless and unspeakable wonders; and, alone, he is allowed to rest his head on the soft pillows of the unbounded confidence, respect, and love of the wife.
In the Church of Rome, if the husband asks a favour from his wife, nine times in ten she will inquire from her father confessor whether or not she can grant him his request, and the poor husband will have to wait patiently for the permission of the master or the rebuke of the lord, according to the answer of the oracle which had to be consulted! If he gets impatient under the yoke, and murmurs, the wife will soon go to the feet of her confessor; to tell him how she has the misfortune to be united to a most unreasonable man, and how she has to suffer from him! She reveals to her "dear father" how she is unhappy under such a yoke, and how her life would be an unsupportable burden, had she not the privilege and happiness of coming often to his feet, to lay down her sorrows, hear his sympathetic words, and get his so affectionate and paternal advice! She tells him, with tears of gratitude, that it is only when by his side, and at his feet, she finds rest to her weary soul, balm to her bleeding heart, and peace to her troubled conscience.
When she comes from the confessional, her ears are long filled as with a heavenly music, the honeyed words of her confessor ring for many days in her heart, she feels it lonesome to be separated from him, his image is constantly before her mind, and thesouvenirof his amiabilities is one of her most pleasant thoughts. There is nothing which she likes so much as to speak of his good qualities, his patience, his piety, his charity, she longs for the day when she will again go to confess, and pass a few hours by the side of that angelic man, in opening to him all the secrets of her heart, and in revealing all herennuis. She tells him how she regrets that she cannot come oftener to see him, and receive the benefit of his charitable counsels; she does not even conceal from him how often, in her dreams, she feels too happy to be with him! More and more, every day, the gap between her and her husband widens; more and more, each day, she regrets that she has not the happiness to be the wife of such a holy man as her confessor! Oh! if it were possible...! But, then, she blushes or smiles, and sings a song.
Then again, I ask it, Who is the true lord, ruler, and master in that house? For whom does that heart beat and live?
Thus it is that that stupendous imposture, the dogma of auricular confession, does completely destroy all the links, the joys, the responsibilities, and divine privileges of the married life, and transforms it into a life of perpetual, though disguised, adultery. It becomes utterly impossible, in the church of Rome, that the husband should beonewith his wife, and that the wife should beonewith her husband: a "monstrous being" has been put between them both, called the confessor! Born in the darkest ages of the world, that being has received from hell his mission to destroy and contaminate the purest joys of the married life, to enslave the wife, to outrage the husband, and to damn the world!
The more auricular confession is practised, the more the laws of public and private morality are trampled under feet. The husband wants his wife to behis—he does not, and could not, consent to share his authority over her with anybody: he wants to be theonlyman who will have her confidence and her heart, as well as her respect and love. And so, the very moment that he anticipates the dark shadow of the confessor coming between him and the woman of his choice, he prefers silently to shrink from entering into the sacred bond; the holy joys of home and family lose their divine attractions; he prefers the cold life of an ignominious celibacy to the humiliation and opprobrium of thequestionableprivileges of an uncertain paternity.
France, Spain, and many other Roman Catholic countries, thus witness the multitude of those bachelors increasing every year. The number of families and births, in consequence, is fast decreasing in their midst; and, if God does not perform a miracle to stop those nations on their downward course, it is easy to calculate the day when they will owe their existence to the tolerance and pity of the mighty Protestant nations by which they are surrounded.
Why is it that the Irish Roman Catholic people are so irremediably degraded and clothed in rags? Why is it that that people, whom God has endowed with so many noble qualities, seem to be so deprived of intelligence and self-respect that they glory in their own shame? Why is it that their land has been for centuries the land of bloody riots and cowardly murders? The principal cause is the enslaving of the Irish women, by means of the confessional. Every one knows that the spiritual slavery and degradation of the Irish woman has no bounds. After she has been enslaved and degraded, she, in turn, has enslaved and degraded her husband and her sons. Ireland will be an object of pity; she will be poor, miserable, riotous, blood-thirsty, degraded, so long as she rejects Christ, to be ruled by the father confessor planted in every parish by the Pope.
Who has not been amazed and saddened by the downfall of France? How is it that her once so mighty armies have melted away, that her brave sons have so easily been conquered and disarmed? How is it that France, fallen powerless at the feet of her enemies, has frightened the world by the spectacle of the incredible, bloody, and savage follies of the Commune? Do not look for the causes of the downfall, humiliation, and untold miseries of France anywhere else than in the confessional. For centuries has not that great country obstinately rejected Christ? Has she not slaughtered or sent into exile her noblest children, who wanted to follow the Gospel? Has she not given her fair daughters into the hands of the confessors, who have defiled and degraded them? How could women, in France, teach her husbands and sons to love liberty, and die for it, when she was herself a miserable, an abject slave? How could she form her husbands and sons to the manly virtues of heroes, when her own mind was defiled and her heart corrupted?