Was the heart of David pained and horror-struck at the sight of the fair Bath-sheba, when imprudently and too freely exposed in her bath? Was not that holy prophet smitten and brought down to the dust by that guilty look?

Was not the mighty giant, Samson, undone by the charms of Delilah? Was not the wise Solomon ensnared and befooled in the midst of the women by whom he was surrounded?

Who will believe that the bachelors of the Pope are made of stronger metal than the Davids, the Samsons, and the Solomons? Where is the man who has so completely lost his common sense as to believe that the priests of Rome are stronger than Samson, holier than David, wiser than Solomon? Who will believe that confessors will stand up on their feet amidst the storms which prostrate in the dust those giants of the armies of the Lord? To suppose that, in the generality of cases the confessor can resist the temptations by which he is daily surrounded in the confessional, that he will constantly refuse the golden opportunities which offer themselves to him, to satisfy the almost irresistible propensities of his fallen human nature, is neither wisdom nor charity; it is simply folly.

I do not say that all the confessors and their female penitents fall into the same degree of abject degradation; thanks be to G.o.d, I have known several who n.o.bly fought their battles and conquered on that field of so many shameful defeats. But these are the exceptions. It is just as when the fire has ravaged one of our grand forests of America--how sad it is to see the numberless n.o.ble trees fallen under the devouring element! But, here and there the traveller is not a little amazed and pleased to find some which have proudly stood the fiery trial without being consumed.

Has not the world at large been struck with terror when they heard of the fire which a few years ago had reduced the great city of Chicago to ashes?

But those who have visited that doomed city, and seen the desolating ruins of her 16,000 houses, had to stand in silent admiration before a few which, in the very midst of an ocean of fire, had escaped untouched by the destructive element.

It is so that, owing to a most marvellous protection of G.o.d, some privileged souls do escape, here and there, the fatal destruction which overtakes so many others in the confessional.

The confessional is just as the spider's web. How many too unsuspecting flies find death when seeking rest on the beautiful framework of their deceitful enemy! How few escape! and this only after a most desperate struggle. See how the perfidious spider looks harmless in his retired, dark corner; how motionless he is; how patiently he waits for his opportunity!

But look how quickly he surrounds his victim with his silky, delicate, and imperceptible links! how mercilessly he sucks its blood and destroys its life!

What does remain of the imprudent fly, after she has been entrapped into the nets of her foe? Nothing but a skeleton. So it is with your fair wife, your precious daughter; nine times in ten nothing but a moral skeleton returns to you, after the Pope's black spider has been allowed to suck the very blood of her heart and soul. Let those who would be tempted to think that I do exaggerate read the following extracts from the memoirs of the Venerable Scipio de Ricci, Roman Catholic Bishop of Pistoia and Prato, in Italy. They were published by the Italian Government, to show to the world that some measures ought to be taken by the civil and ecclesiastical authorities to prevent the nation from being entirely swept away by the deluge of corruption flowing from the confessional, even among the most perfect of Rome's followers, the monks and the nuns. The priests have never dared to deny a single iota of those terrible revelations. In page 115 we read the following letter from Sister Flavia Peraccini, Prioress of St Catherine, to Dr. Thomas Comparini, Rector of the Episcopal Seminary of Pistoia:--

"_January 22, 1775._--In compliance with the request which you made me this day, I hasten to say something, but I know not how.

"Of those who are gone out of the world I shall say nothing. Of those who are still alive and have very little decency of conduct there are many, among whom there is an ex-provincial named Father Dr. Ballendi, Calvi, Zoratti, Bigliaci, Guidi, Miglieti, Verde, Bianchi, Ducci, Seraphini, Bolla, Nera di Luca, Quaretti, &c. But wherefore any more? With the exception of three or four, all those whom I have ever known, alive or dead, are of the same character; they have all the same maxims and the same conduct.

"They are on more intimate terms with the nuns than if they were married to them! I repeat it, it would require a great deal of time to tell half of what I know. It is the custom now, when they come to visit and hear the confession of a sick sister, to sup with the nuns, sing, dance, play, and sleep in the convent. It is a maxim of theirs that G.o.d has forbidden hatred, but _not love_, and that man is made for woman and woman for man.

"I say that they can deceive the innocent and the most prudent and circ.u.mspect, and that it would be a miracle to converse with them and not fall!"

Page 117.--"The priests are the husbands of the nuns, and the lay brothers of the lay sisters. In the chamber of one of the nuns I have mentioned, one day, a man was found; he fled away, but, soon after, they gave him to us as our confessor extraordinary.

"How many bishops are there in the Papal States, who have come to the knowledge of those disorders, have held examinations and visitations, and yet never could remedy; it, because the monks, our confessors, tell us that those are excommunicated who reveal what pa.s.ses in the Order!

"Poor creatures! they think they are leaving the world to escape dangers, and they only meet with greater ones. Our fathers and mothers have given us a good education, and here we have to unlearn and forget what they have taught us."

Page 118.--"Do not suppose that this is the case in our convent alone. It is just the same at St. Lucia, Prato, Pisa, Perugia, &c. I have known things that would astonish you. Everywhere it is the same. Yes, everywhere the same disorders, the same abuses prevail. I say, and I repeat it, let the superiors suspect as they may, they do not know the smallest part of the enormous wickedness that goes on between the monks and the nuns whom they confess. Every monk who pa.s.sed by on his way to the chapter entreated a sick sister to confess to him, and...!"

Page 119.--"With respect to Father Buzachini I say that he acted just as the others, sitting up late in the nunnery, diverting himself, and letting the usual disorders go on. There were several nuns who had love affairs on his account. His own princ.i.p.al mistress was Odaldi, of St. Lucia, who used to send him continual treats. He was also in love with the daughter of our factor, of whom they were very jealous here. He ruined also poor Cancellieri, who was s.e.xtoness. The monks are all alike with their penitents.

"Some years ago, the nuns of St. Vincent, in consequence of the extraordinary pa.s.sion they had for their father confessors Lupi and Borghiani, were divided into two parties, one calling themselves Le Lupe, the other Le Borghieni.

"He who made the greatest noise was Donati. I believe he is now at Rome.

Father Brandi, too, was also in great vogue. I think he is now prior of St.

Gemignani. At St. Vincent, which pa.s.ses for a very holy retreat, they have also their lovers...."

My pen refuses to reproduce several things which the nuns of Italy have published against their father confessors. But this is enough to show to the most incredulous that the confession is nothing else but a school of perdition, even among those who make a profession to live in the highest regions of Roman Catholic holiness--the monks and the nuns.

Now, from Italy let us go to America and see again the working of auricular confession, not between the holy (?) nuns and monks of Rome, but among the humblest cla.s.ses of country women and priests. Great is the number of parishes where women have been destroyed by their confessors, but I will speak only of one.

When curate of Beauport, I was called by the Rev. Mr. Proulx, curate of St.

Antoine, to preach a retreat (a revival) with the Rev. Mr. Aubry, to his parishioners, and eight or ten other priests were also invited to come and help us to hear the confessions.

The very first day after preaching and pa.s.sing five or six hours in the confessional, the hospitable curate gave us a supper before going to bed.

But it was evident that a kind of uneasiness pervaded the whole company of the father confessors. For my own part, I could hardly raise my eyes to look at my neighbour, and when I wanted to speak a word it seemed that my tongue was not free as usual; even my throat was as if it were choked; the articulation of the sounds was imperfect. It was evidently the same with the rest of the priests. Instead, then, of the noisy and cheerful conversation of the other meals, there were only a few insignificant words exchanged with a half-supressed tone.

The Rev. Mr. Proulx (the curate) at first looked as if he were partaking also of that singular though general despondent feeling. During the first part of the lunch he hardly said a word; but at last, raising his head and turning his honest face towards us, in his usual gentlemanly and cheerful manner, he said:--

"Dear friends, I see that you are all under the influence of the most painful feelings. There is a burden on you that you can neither shake off nor bear as you wish. I know the cause of your trouble, and I hope you will not find fault with me if I help you to recover from that disagreeable mental condition. You have heard in the confessional the history of many great sins, but I know that this is not what troubles you. You are all old enough in the confessional to know the miseries of poor human nature.

Without any more preliminaries I will come to the subject. It is no more a secret in this place that one of the priests who has preceded me has been very unfortunate, weak, and guilty with the greatest part of the married women whom he has confessed. Not more than one in ten have escaped him. I would not mention this fact had I got it only from the confessional, but I know it well from other sources, and I can speak of it freely without breaking the secret seal of the confessional. Now what troubles you is that, probably, when a good number of those women have confessed to you what they had done with their confessor, you have not asked them how long it was since they had sinned with him, and in spite of yourselves you think that I am the guilty man. This does, naturally, embarra.s.s you when you are in my presence and at my table. But please ask them, when they come again to confess, how many months or years have pa.s.sed away since their last love affair with a confessor, and you will see that you may suppose that you are in the house of an honest man. You may look me in the face and have no fear to address me as if I were still worthy of your esteem; for, thanks be to G.o.d, I am not the guilty priest who has ruined and destroyed so many souls here."

The curate had hardly p.r.o.nounced the last word when a general "We thank you; for you have taken away a mountain from our shoulders," fell from almost every lip. "It is a fact that, notwithstanding the good opinion we had of you," said several, "we were in fear that you had missed the right track, and fallen down with your fair penitents into the ditch."

I felt myself much relieved; for I was one of those who, in spite of myself, had my secret fears about the honesty of our host. When, very early the next morning, I had begun to hear the confessions, one of those unfortunate victims of the confessor's depravity came to me, and in the midst of many tears and sobs, she told me with great details what I repeat here in a few lines:--

"I was only nine years old when my first confessor began to do very criminal things with me when I was at his feet, confessing my sins. At first I was ashamed and much disgusted; but soon after I became so depraved that I was looking eagerly for every opportunity of meeting him either in his own house, or in the church, in the vestry, and many times in his own garden when it was dark at night. That priest did not remain very long; he was removed, to my great regret, to another place, where he died. He was succeeded by another one, who seemed at first to be a very holy man. I made to him a general confession with, it seems to me, a sincere desire to give up for ever that sinful life, but I fear that my confessions became a cause of sin to that good priest; for not long after my confession was finished, he declared to me in the confessional his love, with such pa.s.sionate words that he soon brought me down again into my former criminal habits with him.

This lasted six years, when my parents removed to this place. I was very glad of it, for I hoped that, being far away from him, I should not be any more a cause of sin to him, and that I might begin a better life. But the fourth time that I went to confess to my new confessor, he invited me to go to his room, where we did things so horrible together that I do not know how to confess them. It was two days before my marriage, and the only child I have had is the fruit of that sinful hour. After my marriage I continued the same criminal life with my confessor. He was the friend of my husband; we had many opportunities of meeting each other, not only when I was going to confess, but when my husband was absent and my child was at school. It was evident to me that several other women were as miserable and criminal as I was myself. This sinful intercourse with my confessor went on till G.o.d Almighty stopped it with a real thunderbolt. My dear only daughter had gone to confess and receive the holy communion. As she had come back from church much later than I expected, I inquired the reason which had kept her so long. She then threw herself into my arms, and with convulsive cries said: 'Dear mother, do not ask me any more to go to confess.... Oh! if you could know what my confessor has asked me when I was at his feet! and if you could know what he has done with me, and he has forced me to do with him when he had me alone in his parlour!'

"My poor child could not speak any longer, she fainted in my arms.

"But as soon as she recovered, without losing a minute, I dressed myself, and, full of an inexpressible rage, I directed my steps towards the parsonage. But before leaving my house, I had concealed under my shawl a sharp butcher's knife to stab and kill the villain who had destroyed my dearly beloved child. Fortunately for that priest, G.o.d changed my mind before I entered his room--my words to him were few and sharp.

'You are a monster!' I said to him. 'Not satisfied to have destroyed me, you want to destroy my own dear child, which is yours also! Shame upon you!

I had come with this knife to put an end to your infamies, but so short a punishment would be too mild a one for such a monster. I want you to live, that you may bear upon your head the curse of the too unsuspecting and unguarded friends whom you have so cruelly deceived and betrayed; I want you to live with the consciousness that you are known by me and many others, as one of the most infamous monsters who have ever defiled this world. But know that if you are not away from this place before the end of this week, I will reveal everything to my husband, and you may be sure that he will not let you live twenty-four hours longer, for he sincerely thinks that your daughter is his, and he will be the avenger of her honour! I go to denounce you this very day to the bishop, that he may take you away from this parish, which you have so shamelessly polluted.'

"The priest threw himself at my feet, and, with tears, asked my pardon, imploring me not to denounce him to the bishop, promising that he would change his life and begin to live as a good priest. But I remained inexorable. I went to the bishop, made my deposition, and warned his lordship of the sad consequences which would follow, if he kept that curate any longer in this place, as he seemed inclined to do. But before the eight days had expired, he was put at the head of another parish, not very far away from here."

The reader will, perhaps, like to know what has become of this priest.

He has remained at the head of that most beautiful parish of ----, as curate, where I know it, he continued to destroy his penitents, till a few years before he died, with the reputation of a good priest, an amiable man, and a holy confessor!"

"For the mystery of iniquity doth already work:....

"And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of His mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of His coming:

"Even Him, 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 G.o.d shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie:

"That they all might be d.a.m.ned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness." (2 Thess. ii. 7-12.)

CHAPTER VII.

SHOULD AURICULAR CONFESSION BE TOLERATED AMONG CIVILIZED NATIONS?

Let my readers who understand Latin peruse the extracts I give from Bishop Kenrick, Debreyne, Burchard, Dens or Liguori, and the most incredulous will learn for themselves that the world, even in the darkest ages of old paganism, has never seen anything so infamous and degrading as auricular confession.