The Priest, The Woman And The Confessional

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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 a _constant_ miracle 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!

* * * * *

CHAPTER IV.

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 Vercheres,
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 a _tete-a-tete_ as 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 Tetreau, 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. Tetreau, 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 Vercheres," replied the
stranger.

At the word "Vercheres" 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 a _post-mortem_, but _ante-mortem_
inquest. 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. Tetreau, 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 L500 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 L500 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. Tetreau, 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!

* * * * *

CHAPTER V.

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 many
_ruses 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 the _only_ infallible 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.

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