Then the multitudes who were kept captive will come to the Lamb, who will make them pure with His blood and free with His word.

Then the redeemed nations will sing a song of joy: "Babylon, the great, the mother of harlots and abominations of the earth, is fallen! fallen!"

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII.

DOES AURICULAR CONFESSION BRING PEACE TO THE SOUL?

* * * * *

The connecting of Peace with Auricular Confession is surely the most cruel sarcasm ever uttered in human language.

It would be less ridiculous and false to admire the calmness of the sea, and the stillness of the atmosphere, when a furious storm raises the foaming waves to the skies, than to speak of the Peace of the soul either during or after the confession.

I know it; the confessors and their dupes chorus every tune by crying "Peace, peace"! But the God of truth and holiness answers, "There is no peace for the wicked!"

The fact is, that no human words can adequately express the anxieties of the soul before confession, its unspeakable confusion in the act of confessing, or its deadly terrors after confession.

Let those who have never drunk of the bitter waters which flow from the confessional box, read the following plain and correct recital of my own first experiences in auricular confession. They are nothing else than the history of what nine tenths of the penitents[5] of Rome old and young are subject to; and they will know what to think of that marvellous Peace about which the Romanists, and their silly copyists, the Ritualists, have written so many eloquent lies.

In the year 1819, my parents had sent me from Murray Bay (La Mal Baie) where they lived, to an excellent school, at St. Thomas. I was then, about ten years old. I boarded with an uncle, who, though a nominal Roman Catholic, did not believe a word of what his priest preached. But my Aunt had the reputation of being a very devoted woman. Our School-master, Mr. John Jones, was a well educated Englishman: and a staunch PROTESTANT. This last circumstance had excited the wrath of the Roman Catholic Priest against the teacher and his numerous pupils to such an extent, that they were often denounced from the pulpit with very hard words. But if he did not like us, I must admit that we were paying him with his own coin.

But let us come to my first lesson in Auricular Confession, No! No words can express to those who have never had any experience in the matter, the consternation, anxiety and shame of a poor Romish child, when he hears his priest saying from the pulpit, in a grave and solemn tone; "This week, you will send your children to confession. Make them understand that this action is one of the most important of their lives, that for every one of them, it will decide their eternal happiness or ruin. Fathers, Mothers and guardians of those children, if, through your fault or theirs, your children are guilty of a false confession: if they do not confess every thing to the priest who holds the place of God, Himself, this sin is often irreparable: the Devil will take possession of their hearts: they will lie to their father confessor, or rather to Jesus Christ, of whom he is the representative: Their lives will be a series of sacrileges, their death and eternity, those of reprobates. Teach them therefore to examine thoroughly all their actions, words, thoughts and desires, in order to confess every thing just as it occurred, without any disguise."

I was in the Church of St. Thomas, when these words fell upon me like a thunderbolt. I had often heard my mother say, when at home and my aunt, since I had come to St. Thomas, that upon the first confession depended my eternal happiness or misery. That week was, therefore, to decide the vital question of my eternity!

Pale and dismayed, I left the church after the service, and returned to the house of my relations. I took my place at the table, but could not eat, so much was I troubled. I went to my room for the purpose of commencing my examination of conscience, and to try to recall every one of my sinful actions, thoughts and words!

Although scarcely over ten years of age, this task was really overwhelming to me. I knelt down to pray to the Virgin Mary for help, but I was so much taken up with the fear of forgetting something or making a bad confession, that I muttered my prayers without the least attention to what I said. It became still worse, when I commenced counting my sins, my memory, though very good, became confused: my head grew dizzy: my heart beat with a rapidity which exhausted me, and my brow was covered with perspiration. After a considerable length of time, spent in those painful efforts, I felt bordering on despair from the fear that it was impossible for me to remember exactly every thing, and to confess each sin as it occurred. The night following was almost a sleepless one: and when sleep did come, it could hardly be called sleep, but a suffocating delirium. In a frightful dream, I felt as if I had been cast into hell, for not having confessed all my sins to the priest. In the morning, I awoke fatigued, and prostrate by the phantoms and emotions of that terrible night. In similar troubles of mind were passed the three days which preceeded my first confession.

I had constantly before me the countenance of that stern priest who had never smiled upon me. He was present to my thoughts during the days, and in my dreams during the nights, as the minister of an angry God, justly irritated against me, on account of my sins. Forgiveness had indeed been promised to me, on condition of a good confession; but my place had also been shown to me in hell, if my confession was not as near perfection as possible.

Now, my troubled conscience told me that there were ninety chances against one that my confession would be bad, either if by my own fault, I forget some sins, or if I was without that contrition of which I had heard so much, but the nature and effects of which were a perfect chaos in my mind.

At length came the day of confession, or rather of judgment and condemnation. I presented myself to the priest, the Rev. Mr. Beaubien.

He had then, the defects of lisping and stammering which we, often turned into ridicule. And as nature had unfortunately endowed me with admirable powers as a mimic, the infirmities of this poor priest afforded only too good an opportunity for the exercise of my talent. Not only was it one of my favorite amusements to imitate him before the pupils amidst roars of laughter but also, I preached portions of his sermons before his parishioners of villages, with similar results. Indeed, many of them came from considerable distances to enjoy the amusement of listening to me, and they rewarded me, more than once, with cakes of maple sugar, for my performances.

These acts of mimicry were, of course, among my sins; and it became necessary for me to examine myself upon the number of times I had mocked the priests. This circumstance was not calculated to make my confession easier or more agreeable.

At last, the dread moment arrived, I knelt for the first time, at the side of my confessor, my whole frame trembled: I repeated the prayer preparatory to confession, scarcely knowing what I said, so much was I troubled by fears.

By the instructions which had been given us before confession, we had been made to believe that the priest was the true representative, yea, almost the personification of Jesus Christ. The consequence was that I believed my greatest sin was that of mocking the priest—and I, as I had been told that it was proper first to confess the greatest sins, I commenced thus: "Father I accuse myself of having mocked a priest!"

Hardly had I uttered these words, "mocked a priest", when this pretended representative of the humble Jesus, turning towards me, and looking in my face, in order to know me, better, asked abruptly; "what priest did you mock, my boy?"

I would have rather chosen to cut my own tongue than to tell him to his face who it was. I, therefore, kept silent for a while, but my silence made him very nervous, and almost angry. With a haughty tone of voice, he said: "what priest did you take the liberty of thus mocking, my boy?" I saw that I had to answer. Happily his haughtiness had made me bolder and firmer; I said: "sir, you are the priest whom I mocked!"

"But how many times did you take upon you to mock me, my boy?" asked he angrily.

"I tried to find out the number of times, but I never could."

"You must tell me how many times, for to mock one's own priest is a great sin."

"It is impossible for me to give you the number of times," I answered.

"Well, my child, I will help your memory by asking you questions. Tell me the truth. Do you think you mocked me ten times?"

"A great many times more," I answered.

"Have you mocked me fifty times?"

"Oh! many more still!"

"A hundred times?"

"Say, five hundred, and perhaps more;" I answered.

"Well, my boy, do you spend all your time in mocking me?"

"Not all my time: but unfortunately, I have done it very often."

"Yes may you say: "unfortunately!" for to mock, your priest, who holds the place of our Lord Jesus Christ, is a great sin and a great misfortune for you. But tell me, my little boy, what reason have you for mocking me, thus?"

In my examination of conscience, I had not forseen that I should be obliged to give the reasons for mocking the priest, and I was thunderstruck by his questions. I dared not answer, and I remained for a long time dumb, from the shame that overpowered me. But, with a harassing perseverance, the priest insisted upon my telling why I had mocked him: assuring me that I would be damned if I did not speak the whole truth. So, I decided to speak, and I said: "I mocked you for several things."

"What made you, first mock me?" asked the priest.

"I laughed at you, because you lisp: among the pupils of the school, and other people, it often happens that we imitate your preaching to laugh at you," I answered.

"For what other reasons did you laugh at me, my little boy!"

For a long time I was silent. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, my courage failed me. But the priest continued to urge me, I said at last; "It is rumoured in town, that you love girls: that you visit the Misses R's——almost every night; and this, often made us laugh."

The poor priest was evidently overwhelmed by my answer, and ceased questioning me on that subject. Changing the conversation, he said: "what are your other sins?"

I began to confess them according to the order in which they came to my memory. But the feeling of shame which overpowered me, in repeating all my sins to that man, was a thousand times greater than that of having offended God. In reality, this feeling of human shame, which absorbed my thoughts, nay, my whole being, left no room for any religious feeling at all.

When I had confessed all the sins I could remember, the priest began to put to me the strangest questions about matters on which my pen must be silent.... I replied "Father, I do not understand what you ask me."

"I question you," he answered, "on the the sins of the sixth commandment of God, (the seventh in the Bible) Do confess all, my little boy, for you will go to hell if, through your fault you omit any thing."

And thereupon he dragged my thoughts into regions of iniquity which, thanks be to God, had been hitherto quite unknown to me.

I answered him again, "I do not understand you," or "I have never done those wicked things."

Then, skillfully shifting to some secondary matters, he would soon slyly and cunningly come back to his favorite subject, namely, sins of licentiousness.

His questions were so unclean that I blushed and felt nauseated with disgust and shame. More than once, I had been to my great regret, in the company of bad boys, but not one of them had offended my moral nature so much as this priest had done. Not one of them had ever approached the shadow of the things from which that man tore the veil, and which he placed before the eyes of my soul. In vain I told him that I was not guilty of those things; that I did not even understand what he asked me; but he would not let me off.

Like a vulture bent upon tearing the poor defenceless bird that falls into its claws, that cruel priest seemed determined to defile and ruin my heart.

At last, he asked me a question in a form of expression so bad that I was really pained and put beside myself. I felt as if I had received the shock from an electric battery: a feeling of horror made me shudder. I was filled with such indignation that speaking loud enough to be heard by many, I told him: "Sir, I am very wicked, but I was never guilty of what you mention to me: please don't ask me any more of those questions which will teach me more wickedness than I ever knew."

The remainder of my confession was short. The stern rebuke I had given him had evidently made that priest blush, if it had not frightened him. He stopped short, and gave me some very good advice which might have done me good, if the deep wounds which his questions had inflicted upon my soul, had not so absorbed my thoughts, as to prevent me from giving attention to what he said. He gave me a short penance and dismissed me.

I left the confessional irritated and confused. From the shame of what I had just heard, I dared not raise my eyes from the ground. I went into a corner of the church to do my penance, that is to recite the prayers which he had indicated to me. I remained for a long time in the church. I had need of a calm, after the terrible trial through which I had just passed. But vainly sought I for rest. The shameful questions which had just been asked from me, the new world of iniquity into which I been introduced, the impure phantoms by which my childish head had been defiled, confused and troubled my mind so strongly, that I began to weep bitterly.

I left the church only when forced to do so by the shades of night, and came back to my uncle's house, with a feeling of shame and uneasiness, as if I had done a bad action and feared lest I should be detected. My trouble was much increased when my uncle, jestingly, said: "now that you have been to confess, you will be a good boy. But if you are not a better boy, you will be a more learned one, if your confessor has taught you what mine did when I confessed for the first time."

I blushed and remained silent. My aunt said: "you must feel happy, now that you have made your confession: do you not?"

I gave an evasive answer, but could not entirely conceal the confusion which overwhelmed me. I went to bed early; but I could hardly sleep.

I thought that I was the only boy whom the priest had asked these polluting questions: but great was my confusion, the next day when on going to school, I learned that my companions had not been happier than I had been. The only difference was that, instead of being grieved as I was, they laughed at it.

"Did the priest ask you this and that," they would demand laughing boisterously; I refused to reply, and said: "are you not ashamed to speak of these things."

"Ah! Ah! how scrupulous you are:" continued they, "if it is not a sin for the priest to speak to us on these matters, how can it be a sin for us to laugh at it." I felt confounded, not knowing what to answer. But my confusion increased not a little, when soon after, I perceived that the young girls of the school had not been less polluted, or scandalized than the boys. Although keeping at a sufficient distance from us to prevent us from understanding every thing they had to say on their confessional experience, those girls were sufficiently near to let us hear many things which it would have been better for us not to know. Some of them seemed thoughtful, sad and shameful: but several laughed heartily at what they had learned in the confessional box.

I was very indignant against the priest; and thought in myself, that he was a very wicked man, for having put to us such repelling questions. But I was wrong. That priest was honest; he was only doing his duty, as I have known since, when studying the theologians of Rome. The Rev. Mr. Beaubien was a real gentleman, and if he had been free to follow the dictates of his honest conscience it is my strong conviction he would never have sullied our young hearts with such impure ideas. But what has the honest conscience of a priest to do in the confessional, except to be silent and dumb? The priest of Rome is an automaton, tied to the feet of the Pope by an iron chain. He can move, go right or left, up or down; he can think and act, but only at the bidding of the infallible god of Rome. The priest knows the will of his modern divinity only through his approved emissaries, embassadors and theologians. With shame on my brow, and bitter tears of regret flowing just now, on my cheeks, I confess that I have had myself to learn by heart those damning questions, and put them to the young and the old; who like me, were fed with the diabolical doctrines of the church of Rome, in reference to auricular confession.

Some time after, some people waylaid and whipped that very same priest, when during a very dark night he was coming back from visiting his fair young penitents the Misses Rs.... And the next day, the conspirators having met at the house of Dr. Stephen Tache, to give a report of what they had done to the half secret society to which they belonged, I was invited by my young friend Louis Casault[6] to conceal myself with him, in an adjoining room, where we could hear every thing without being seen. I find in the old manuscripts of "my young year's recollections" the following address of Mr. Dubord.

Mr. President—"I was not among those who gave to the priest the expression of the public feelings with the eloquent voice of the whip: but I wish I had been, I would heartily have co-operated to give that so well deserved lesson to the father confessors of Canada, and let me give you my reasons for that.

"My child who is hardly twelve years old, went to confess, as did the other girls of the village, some time ago. It was against my will. I know, by my own experience, that of all actions, confession is the most degrading of a person's life. I can imagine nothing so well calculated to destroy forever one's self-respect, as the modern invention of the confessional. Now, what is a person without self-respect? Especially a woman? Is not all forever lost without this?

"In the confessional every thing is corruption of the lowest grade. There, the girl's thoughts, lips, hearts and souls are forever polluted. Do I need to prove you this? No! for though you have given up, long since auricular confession, as below the dignity of man, you have not forgotten the lessons of corruption which you have received from it. Those lessons have remained on your souls as the scars left by the red hot iron upon the brow of the slave to be a perpetual witness of his shame and servitude.

"The confessional box is the place where our wives and daughters learn things which would make the most degraded woman of our cities blush!

"Why are all Roman Catholic nations inferior to nations belonging to Protestanism? only in the confessional can the solution of that problem be found. And why are Roman Catholic nations degraded in proportion to their submission to their priests? It is because the more often the individuals composing those nations go to confess, the more rapidly they sink in the sphere of intelligence and morality. A terrible example of the auricular confession depravity has just occurred in my own family.

"As I have said a moment ago, I was against my own daughter going to confession, but her poor mother, who is under the control of the priest, earnestly wanted her to go. Not to have a disagreeable scene in my house, I had to yield to the tears of my wife.

"On the following day of the confession, they believed I was absent, but I was in my office, with the door sufficiently opened to hear every thing which could be said by my wife and the child. And the following conversation took place:

"What makes you so thoughtful and sad my dear Lucy, since you went to confess? It seems to me you should feel happier since you had the privilege of confessing your sins."

My child answered not a word, she remained absolutely silent.

After two or three minutes of silence, I heard the mother saying: "Why do you weep, my dear Lucy? are you sick?"

But no answer yet from the child!

"You may well suppose that I was all attention, I had my secret suspicions about the dreadful mystery which had taken place. My heart throbbed with uneasiness and anger.

"After a short silence, my wife spoke again to her child, but with sufficient firmness to decide her to answer at last. In a trembling voice, she said:

"Oh I dear Mamma, if you knew what the priest has asked me and what he said to me when I confessed, you would perhaps be sad as I am."

"But what can he have said to you? He is a holy man, you must have misunderstood him, if you think that he has said anything wrong."

"My child threw herself in her mother's arms, and answered with a voice half suffocated with her sobs: "Do not ask me to tell you what the priest has said—it is so shameful that I can not repeat it—His words have stuck to my heart as the leech put upon the arm of my little friend, the other day."

"What does that priest think of me, for having put to me such questions?"

My wife answered: "I will go to the priest and will teach him a lesson. I have noticed myself that he goes too far when questioning old people, but I had the hope he was more prudent with children. I ask of you, however, never to speak of this to anybody, especially; let not your poor father know anything about it; for he has little enough of religion already, and this would leave him without any at all."

"I could not refrain myself any longer: I abruptly entered the parlor. My daughter threw herself into my arms: my wife screamed with terror, and almost fell into a swoon. I said to my child: If you love me, put your hand on my heart, and promise never to go again to confess. Fear God, my child, love Him and walk in his presence. For his eyes see you everywhere. Remember that He is always ready to forgive and bless you every time you turn your heart to him. Never place yourself again at the feet of a priest to be defiled and degraded."

"This my daughter promised to me.

"When my wife had recovered from her surprise, I told her.

"Madame, it is long since the priest is everything, and your husband nothing to you! There is a hidden and terrible power which governs you, it is the power of the priest: this you have often denied, but it can not be denied any longer, the Providence of God has decided, to day, that this power should forever be destroyed in my house, I want to be the only ruler of my family: from this moment the power of the priest over you is forever abolished. Whenever you go and take your heart and your secrets to the feet of the priest, be so kind as not to come back any more into my house as my wife."

This is one of the thousand and thousand specimens of the peace of conscience brought to the soul through auricular confession. I could give many similar instances, if it were my intention to publish a treatise on this subject, but as I only desire to write a short chapter, I will adduce but one other fact to show the awful deception practised by the Church of Rome when she invites persons to come to confession under the pretext that peace to the soul will be the reward of their obedience. Let us hear the testimony of another living and unimpeachable witness about this peace of the soul, before, during, and after auricular confession. In her remarkable book "Personal experience of Roman Catholicism" Miss Eliza Richardson, writes, (Page 34 and 35.)

"Thus I silenced my foolish quibbling, and went on to the test of a convert's fervour and sincerity in confession. And here was assuredly a fresh source of pain and disquiet, and one not so easily vanquished. "The theory had appeared, as a whole, fair and rational, but the reality, in some of its details, was terrible!"

"Divested, for the public gaze, of its darkest ingredients, and dressed up, in their theological works, in false and meretricious pretentions to truth and purity, it exhibited a dogma only calculated to exert a beneficial influence on mankind, and to prove a source of morality and usefulness. But oh, as with all ideals, how unlike was the actual!"

"Here, however, I may remark, in passing, the effect produced upon my mind by the first sight of the older editions of "the Garden of the Soul". I remember the stumbling-block it was to me, my sense of womanly delicacy was shocked. It was a dark page in my experience, when first I knelt at the feet of a mortal man to confess what should have been poured into the ear of God alone. I cannot dwell upon this...."

"Though I believe my Confessor was, on the whole, as guarded as his manners were kind; at some things I was strangely startled, utterly confounded."

"The purity of mind and delicacy in which I had been nurtured, had not prepared me for such an ordeal; and my own sincerity, and dread of committing a sacrilege, tended to augment the painfulness of the occasion. One circumstance especially I will recall, which my fettered conscience persuaded me I was obliged to name. My distress and terror, doubtless, made me less explicit than I otherwise might have been. The questioning, however, it elicited, and the ideas supplied by it, outraged my feelings to such an extent, that, forgetting all respect for my Confessor, and careless, even, at the moment, whether I received absolution or not, I hastily exclaimed, "I cannot say a word more," while the thought rushed into my mind, "all is true that their enemies say of them." Here, however prudence dictated to my questioner to put the matter no further; and the kind and almost respectful tone he immediately assumed, went far towards effacing an impression so injurious. On rising from my knees, when I should have gladly fled to any distance rather than have encountered his gaze, he addressed me in the most familiar manner on different subjects, and detained me some time in talking. What share I took in the conversation, I never knew and all that I remember, was my burning cheek, and inability to raise my eyes from the ground.

"Here I would not be supposed to be intentionally casting a stigma upon an individual. Nor am I throwing unqualified blame upon the priesthood. It is the system which is at fault, a system which teaches that things, even at the remembrance of which degraded humanity must blush in the presence of heaven and its angels, should be laid open, dwelt upon, and exposed in detail, to the sullied ears of a corrupt and fallen fellow-mortal who of like passions with the penitent at his feet, is thereby exposed to temptations the most dark and dangerous. But what shall we say of woman? Draw a veil! Oh purity, modesty! and every womanly feeling! a veil as oblivion, over the fearfully, dangerous experience thou art called to pass through! (page 37, and 38.")

"Ah! there are things that cannot be recorded! facts too startling, and at the same time, too delicately intricate, to admit a public portrayal, or meet the public gaze; But the cheek can blush in secret at the true images which memory evokes, and the oppressed mind shrinks back, in horror, from the dark shadows which have saddened and overwhelmed it. I appeal to converts, to converts of the gentler sex, and ask them, fearlessly ask them, what was the first impression made on your minds and feelings by the confessional? I do not ask how subsequent familiarization has weakened the effects: but when acquaintance was first made with it, how were you affected by it? I ask not the impure, the already defiled, for to such, it is sadly susceptible of being made a darker source of guilt and shame;—but I appeal to the pure minded and delicate, the pure in heart and sentiment. Was not your first impression one of inexpressible dread and bewilderment, followed by a sense of humiliation and degradation, not easily to be defined or supported? (page 39.) "The memory of that time (first auricular confession) will ever be painful and abhorent to me; though subsequent experience has thrown, even that, far into the back ground. It was my initiatory lesson upon subjects which ought never to enter the imagination of girlhood: my introduction into a region which should never be approached by the guileless and the pure." (page 61) One or two individuals (Roman Catholic) soon formed a close intimacy with me, and discoursed with a freedom and plainness I had never, before encountered. My acquaintances, however, had been brought up in convents, or familiar with them for years, and I could not gainsay their statement.

"I was reluctant to believe more than I had experienced the proof, however, was destined to come in no dubious shape at a no distant day.... A dark and sullied page of experience was fast opening upon me; but so unaccustomed was the eye which scanned it, that I could not at all, at once, believe in its truth! And it was of hypocrisy so hateful, of sacrilege so terrible, and abuse so gross of all things pure and holy, and in the person of one bound by his vows, his position, and every law of his church, as well as of God, to set a high example, that, for a time, all confidence in the very existence of sincerity and goodness was in danger of being shaken, sacraments, deemed the most sacred, were profaned; vows disregarded, vaunted secrecy of the confessional covertly infringed, and its sanctity abused to an unhallowed purpose; while even private visitation was converted into a channel for temptation, and made the occasion of unholy freedom of words and manner. So ran the account of evil and a dire account it was. By it, all serious thoughts of religion were well nigh extinguished. The influence was fearful and polluting, the whirl of excitement inexpressible: I cannot enter into minute particulars here, every sense of feminine delicacy and womanly feeling shrink from such a task. This much, however, I can say that I, in conjunction with two other young friends, took a journey to a confessor, an inmate of a religious house, who lived at some distance, to lay the affair before him; thinking that he would take some remedial measures adequate to the urgency of the case. He heard our united statements, expressed great indignation, and, at once, commended us each to write and detail the circumstances of the case to the Bishop of the district. This we did; but of course, never heard the result. The reminiscences of these dreary and wretched months seem now like some hideous and guilty dream. It was actual familiarization with unholiest things! (page 63.)

"The romish religion teaches that if you omit to name anything in confession, however repugnant or revolting to purity, which you even doubt having committed, your subsequent confessions are thus rendered null and sacrilegious; while it also inculcates that sins of thought should be confessed in order that the confessor may judge of their mortal or venial character. What sort of a chain this links around the strictly conscientious I would attempt to portray, if I could. But it must have been worn to understand its torturing character! Suffice it to say that, for months past, according to this standard, I had not made a good confession at all! And now, filled with remorse for my past sacrilegious sinfulness, I resolved on making a new general confession to the religieux alluded to. But this confessor's scrupulosity exceeded everything I had, hitherto, encountered. He told me some things were mortal sins, which I had never before imagined could be such: and thus threw so many fetters around my conscience, that a host of anxieties for my first general confession was awakened within me. I had no resource then, but to re-make that, and thus I afresh entered on the bitter path I had deemed I should never have occasion again to tread. But if my first confession had lacerated my feelings, what was it to this one? Words have no power, language has no expression to characterise the emotion that marked it!

"The difficulty I felt in making a full and explicit avowal all that distressed me, furnished my confessor with a plea for his assistance in the questioning department, and fain would I conceal much of what passed then, as a foul blot on my memory. I soon found that he made mortal sins of what my first confessor had professed to treat but lightly, and he did not scruple to say that I had never yet made a good confession at all. My ideas therefore became more complicated and confused as I proceeded, until, at length, I began to feel doubtful of ever accomplishing my task in any degree satisfactorily: and my mind and memory were positively racked to recall every iota of every kind, real or imaginary, that might, if omitted, hereafter be occasion of uneasiness. Things heretofore held comparatively trifling were recounted, and pronounced damnable sins: and as, day after day, I knelt at the feet of that man, answering questions and listening to admonitions calculated to bow my very soul to the dust, I felt as though I should hardly be able to raise my head again!" (page 63.)

This is the peace which flows from auricular confession. I solemnly declare that except in a few cases, in which the confidence of the penitents is bordering on idiocy, or in which they have been transformed into immoral brutes, nine-tenths of the multitudes who go to confess, are obliged to recount some such desolate narrative as that of Miss Richardson, when they are sufficiently honest to say the truth.

The most fanatical apostles of auricular confession cannot deny that the examination of conscience, which must precede confession, is a most difficult task; a task which, instead of filling the mind with peace, fills it with anxiety and serious fears. Is it then only after confession that they promise such peace? But they know very well that this promise is also a cruel deception ... for to make a good confession, the penitent has to relate not only all his bad actions, but all his bad thoughts and desires, their number, and various aggravating circumstances. But have they found a single one of their penitents who was certain to have remembered all the thoughts, the desires, all the criminal aspirations of the poor sinful heart? They are well aware that to count the thoughts of the mind for days and weeks gone by, and to narrate those thoughts accurately at a subsequent period, are just as easy as to weigh and count the clouds which have passed over the sun, in a three days storm, a month after that storm is over. It is simply impossible, absurd! This has never been, this will never be done. But there is no possible peace so long as the penitent is not sure that he has remembered, counted and confessed every past sinful thought, word and deed. It is then impossible, yes! it is morally and physically impossible for a soul to find peace through auricular confession. If the law which says to every sinner: "You are bound, under pain of eternal damnation, to remember all your bad thoughts and confess them to the best of your memory", were not so evidently a satanic invention, it ought to be put among the most infamous ideas which have ever come out from the brain of fallen man. For, who can remember and count the thoughts of a week, of a day, nay, of an hour of his sinful life?

Where is the traveller who has crossed the swampy forests of America, in the three months of a warm summer, who could tell the number of musquitoes which have bitten him and drawn the blood from the veins?

What should that traveller think of the man who, seriously, would tell him: "You must prepare yourself to die, if you do not tell me, to the best of your memory, how many times you have been bitten by the musquitoes, the last three summer months, when you crossed the swampy lands along the shores of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers?

Would he not suspect that his merciless inquirer had just escaped from a lunatic asylum?

But it would be much more easy for that traveller to say how many times he has suffered from the bitings of the musquitoes, than for the poor sinner to count the bad thoughts which have passed through his sinful heart, through any period of his life.

Though the penitent is told that he must confess his thoughts only according to his best recollection,—he will never, never know if he has done his best efforts to remember everything: he will constantly fear lest he has not done his best to count and confess them correctly.

Every honest priest will at once admit that his most intelligent and pious penitents, particularly among women, are constantly tortured by the fear of having omitted to disclose some sinful deeds or thoughts. Many of them, after having already made several general confessions, are constantly urged by the pricking of their conscience, to begin afresh, in the fear that their first confessions had some serious defects. Those past confessions, instead of being a source of spiritual joy and peace, are, on the contrary, like, so many Damocles' swords, day and night suspended over their heads, filling their souls with the terrors of an eternal death! Sometimes the terror-stricken consciences of those honest and pious women tell them that they were not sufficiently contrite; at another time, they reproach them for not having spoken sufficiently plain on some things fitter to make them blush.

On many occasions, too, it has happened that sins which one confessor had declared to as venial, and which had long ceased to be confessed, another more scrupulous than the first would declare to be damnable. Every confessor thus knows perfectly well that he proffers what is flagrantly false every time he dismisses his penitents, after confession, with the salutation:—"Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven thee."

But it is a mistake to say that the soul does not find peace in auricular confession: in many cases, peace is found. And if the reader desires to learn something of that peace, let him go to the grave-yard, open the tombs, and peep into the sepulchres. What awful silence! What profound quiet! What terrible and frightful peace! You hear not even the motion of the worms that creep in, and the worms that creep out, as they feast upon the dead carcase! Such is the peace of the confessional! The soul, the intelligence, the honor, the self-respect, the conscience, are there sacrificed. There they must die! Yes, the confessional is a veritable tomb of human conscience, a sepulchre of human honesty, dignity and liberty; the grave-yard of human soul! By its means, man, whom God hath made in his own image, is converted into the likeness of the beast that perishes; woman, created by God to be the glory and help-mate of man, is transformed into the vile and trembling slave of the priest. In the confessional, man and woman attain to the highest degree of popish perfection: they become as dry sticks, as dead branches, as silent corpses, in the hands of their confessors. Their spirits are destroyed, their consciences are stiff, their souls are ruined.

This is the supreme and perfect result achieved, in its highest victories, by the Church of Rome.

There is, verily, peace to be found in auricular confession—yes, but it is the peace of the grave!

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CHAPTER IX.

THE DOGMA OF AURICULAR CONFESSION A SACRILEGIOUS IMPOSTURE.

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Both Roman Catholics and Protestants have fallen into very strange errors in reference to the words of Christ: "Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained." (St. John xx. 23.)

The first have seen in this text the inalienable attributes of God of forgiving and retaining sins transferred to sinful men; the second have most unwisely granted their position, even while attempting to refute their errors.

A little more attention to the translation of the 3rd and 6th verses of chapter xiii. of Leviticus by the Septuagint would have prevented the former from falling into their sacrilegious errors, and would have saved the latter from wasting so much time in refuting errors which refute themselves.

Every one knows that the Septuagint Bible was the Bible that was generally read and used by Jesus Christ and the Hebrew people, in our Saviour's days. Its language was evidently the one spoken by Christ and understood by his hearers. When addressing his apostles and disciples on their duties towards the spiritual lepers to whom they were to preach the ways of salvation, Christ constantly followed the very expression of the Septuagint. It was the foundation of his doctrine and the testimonial of his divine mission to which he constantly appealed: the book which was the greatest treasure of the nation.

From the beginning to the end of the Old and the New Testament, the bodily leprosy, with which the Jewish priest had to deal, is presented as the figure of the spiritual leprosy, sin, the penalty of which our Saviour had taken upon himself, that we might be saved by his death. That spiritual leprosy was the very thing for the cleansing of which he had come to this world—for which he lived, suffered and died. Yes! the bodily leprosy with which the priests of the Jews had to deal, was the figure of the sins which Christ was to take away by shedding his blood, and with which his apostles were to deal till the end of the world.

When speaking of the duties of the Hebrew priests towards the leper, our modern translations say: (Lev. xiii. v. 6.) "They will pronounce him clean" or (v. 3d.) "They will pronounce him unclean."

But this action of the priests was expressed in a very different way by the Septuagint Bible, used by Christ and the people of his time. Instead of saying, "The priest shall pronounce the leper clean," as we read in our Bible, the Septuagint version says, "The priest shall clean (katharei,) or shall unclean (mianei,) the leper.

No one had ever been so foolish, among the Jews, as to believe that because their Bible said clean, (katharei) their priests had the miraculous and supernatural power of taking away and curing the leprosy: and we nowhere see that the Jewish priests ever had the audacity to try to persuade the people that they had ever received any supernatural and divine power to "cleanse" the leprosy, because their God through the Bible, had said of them: "They will cleanse the leper." Both priest and people were sufficiently intelligent and honest to understand and acknowledge that by that expression, if was only meant that the priests had the legal right to see if the leprosy was gone or not, they had only to look at certain marks indicated by God Himself, through Moses, to know whether, or not, God had cured the leper before he presented himself to his priest. The leper, cured by the mercy and power of God alone, before presenting himself to the priest, was only declared to be clean by that priest. Thus the priest was said, by the Bible, to "clean" the leper, or the leprosy;—and, in the opposite case, to "unclean." (Septuagint, Leviticus xiii. v. 3. 6.)

Now, let us put what God has said, through Moses, to the priests of the old law, in reference to the bodily leprosy, face to face with what God has said, through his Son Jesus, to his apostles and his whole church, in reference to the spiritual leprosy from which Christ has delivered us on the cross.

Septuagint Bible, Levit. xiii. New Testament, John xx., 23. "And the Priest shall look on the "Whose soever sins ye remit, they plague, in the skin of the flesh, are remitted unto them; and whose and when the hair in the plague is soever sins ye retain, they are turned white, and the plague in retained." sight be deeper than the skin of his flesh, it is a plague of leprosy: and the priest shall look on him and UNCLEAN HIM (mianei). "And the Priest shall look on him again the seventh day, and if the plague is somewhat dark and does not spread on the skin, the Priest shall CLEAN HIM (katharei): and he shall wash his clothes and BE CLEAN," (katharos.)

The analogy of the diseases with which the Hebrew priests and the disciples of Christ had to deal, is striking: so the analogy of the expressions prescribing their respective duties is also striking.

When God said to the priests of the Old Law, "You shall clean the leper," and he shall be "cleaned," or, "you shall unclean the leper," and he shall be "uncleaned," He only gave the legal power to see if there were any signs or indications by which they could say that God had cured the leper before he presented himself to the priest. So, when Christ said to his apostles and his whole church, "Whose soever sins ye shall forgive, shall be forgiven unto them," He only repeated what Moses had said in an analagous case: He only gave them the authority to say when the spiritual lepers, the sinners, had reconciled themselves to God, and received their pardon from Him and Him alone, previous to their coming to the apostles.

It is true that the priests of the Old Law had regulations from God, through Moses, which they had to follow, by which they could see and say whether, or not, the leprosy was gone.

"If the plague spread not on the skin ... the priest shall clean him ... but if the priest see that the scab spread on the skin, it is leprosy: he shall "unclean" him. (Septuagint, Levit. xiii. 3. 6.)

So Christ had given to his apostles and his whole church equally, infallible rules and marks to determine whether, or not, the spiritual leprosy was gone, that they might clean the leper and tell him,

I clean thee, I forgive thy sins, or or I unclean thee. I retain thy sins.

I would have, indeed, many passages of the Old and New Testaments to copy, were it my intention to reproduce all the marks given by God Himself, through his prophets, or by Christ and apostles, that His ambassadors might know when they should say to the sinner that he was delivered from his iniquities. I will give only a few.

First: "And he said unto them, go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature:

"He that believeth and is baptised, shall be saved: but he that believeth not shall be damned." (Mark xvi. 15, 16.)

What a strange want of memory in the Saviour of the world! He has entirely forgotten that "Auricular Confession," besides Faith and Baptism are necessary to be saved! To those who believe and are baptised, the apostles and the church are authorised by Christ to say: "You are saved! your sins are forgiven! I clean you!"

Second: "And when ye come into an house, salute it.

"And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it: but if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you.

"And whose soever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.

"Verily, verily I say unto you, it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrha, in the day of Judgment, than for that city." (Math x. 12-15.)

Here again the Great Physician tells his disciples when the leprosy will be gone, the sins forgiven, the soul purified. It is when the lepers, the sinners, will have welcomed his messengers, heard and received their message. Not a word about auricular confession: this great panacea of the Pope's was evidently ignored by Christ.

Third: "If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you—But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." (Math vi. 14, 15.)

Was it possible to give a more striking and simple rule to the Apostles and the Disciples that they might know when they could say to a sinner: "Thy sins are forgiven!" or, "Thy sins are retained?" Here the double keys of heaven are most solemnly and publicly given to every child of Adam! As sure as there is a God in heaven and that Jesus died to save sinners, so it is sure that if one forgives the trespasses of his neighbor for the dear Saviour's sake, his own sins have been forgiven! To the end of the world, then, let the disciples of Christ say to the sinner, "Thy sins are forgiven," not because you have confessed your sins to me, but for Christ's sake; the evidence of which is that you have forgiven those who had offended you.

Fourth: "And behold, a certain one stood up and tempted him, saying: Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?

"He said unto him: What is written in the law? how readest thou?

"And he, answering, said: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself.

"And He said unto him, thou hast answered right; this do and thou shalt live." (Luke x. 25-28.)

What a fine opportunity for the Saviour to speak of "auricular confession" as a means given by him to be saved! But here again, Christ forgets that marvellous medicine of the Popes. Jesus, speaking absolutely, like the Protestants, bids his messengers to proclaim pardon, forgiveness of sins, not to those who confess their sins to a man, but to those who love God and their neighbor. And so will his true disciples and messengers do to the end of the world!

Fifth: "And when he (the prodigal son) came to himself, he said: ... I will arise and go to my father and I will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before thee: and I am not worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.

"And he arose and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion and ran; and he fell on his neck and kissed him.

"And the son said, Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and am not worthy to be called thy son.

"But the father said to his servants: Bring forth his best robe, and put it on him: put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet, and bring hither the fat calf. For this my son was dead, and he is alive again, he was lost and he is found." (Luke xv, 17-24.)

Apostles and disciples of Christ, wherever you will hear, on this land of sin and misery, the cry of the Prodigal Son: "I will arise and go to my Father" every time you see him, not at your feet, but at the feet of his true Father, crying: "Father I have sinned against thee," unite your hymns of joy to the joyful songs of the angels of God; repeat into the ears of that redeemed sinner the sentence just fallen from the lips of the Lamb, whose blood cleanses us from all our sins; say to him, "Thy sins are forgiven."

Sixth: "Come unto me all ye who labour, and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls; for my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Math. xi, 28-30.)

Though these words were pronounced more than 1800 years ago, they were pronounced this very morning; they come at every hour of day and night from the lips and the heart of Christ to every one of us sinners. It is just now that Jesus says to every sinner, "Come to me and I will give ye rest." Christ has never said and he will never say to any sinner: "Go to my priests and they will give you rest!" But he has said, "Come to me and I will give you rest."

Let the apostles and disciples of the Saviour, then, proclaim peace, pardon, rest, not to the sinners who come to confess to them all their most secretly sinful thoughts, desires, or actions, but to those who go to Christ and Him alone, for peace, pardon and rest. For "Come to me," from Jesus lips, has never meant, it will never mean, "Go and confess to the priests."

Christ would never have said: "My yoke is easy and my burden light" if he had instituted auricular confession. For the world has never seen a yoke so heavy, humiliating and degrading as auricular confession.

Seventh: "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up; that who soever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life." (John iii. 14.)

Did Almighty God require any auricular confession in the wilderness, from the sinners, when He ordered Moses to lift up the serpent? No! Neither did Christ speak of auricular confession as a condition of salvation to those who look to Him when He dies on the Cross to pay their debts. A free pardon was offered to the Israelites who looked to the uplifted serpent. A free pardon is offered by Christ crucified to all those who look to Him with faith, repentance and love. To such sinners the ministers of Christ, to the end of the world, are authorised to say: "Your sins are forgiven—we "clean" your leprosy."

Eighth: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.

"For God sent not His Son to condemn the world, but that the world, through him, might be saved.

"He that believeth in him is not condemned: but he that believeth not, is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.

"And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world and man loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil, hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.

"But he that doeth truth, cometh to the light, that his deeds may be manifest, that they are wrought in God." (John iii, 16-21.)

In the religion of Rome, it is only through auricular confession that the sinner can be reconciled to God; it is only after he has heard a most detailed confession of all the thoughts, desires and actions of the guilty one that he can tell him: "Thy sins are forgiven." But in the religion of the Gospel, the reconciliation of the sinner with his God is absolutely and entirely the work of Christ. That marvellous forgiveness is a free gift offered not for any outward act of the sinner: nothing is required from him but faith, repentance and love. These are marks by which the leprosy is known to be cured and the sins forgiven. To all those who have these marks, the ambassadors of Christ are authorized to say, "Your sins are forgiven," we "clean" you.

Ninth: "The publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes to heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying: God! be merciful to me a sinner!

"I tell you, this man went down to his house, justified." (Luke xviii 13, 14.). Yes! justified! and without auricular confession!

Ministers and disciples of Christ, when you see the repenting sinner smiting his breast and crying: "Oh, God! have mercy upon me a sinner!" shut your ears to the deceptive words of Rome who tells you to force that redeemed sinner to make to you a special confession of all his sins, to get his pardon. But go to him and deliver the message of love, peace and mercy, which you received from Christ: "Thy sins are forgiven! I "clean" thee!

Tenth: "And one of the malefactors which were hanged, railed on him, saying: "If thou be Christ, save thyself and us.

"But the other, answering, rebuked him, saying: Doest not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? and we indeed justly, but this man hath done nothing amiss.

"And he said unto Jesus: Remember me, when thou art in thy Kingdom. And Jesus said unto him: Verily, I say Unto thee: to-day, shalt thou be with me in Paradise." (Luke xxii, 39-43.)

Yes, in the Paradise or Kingdom of Christ without auricular confession! From Calvary, when his hands are nailed to the cross, and his blood is poured out, Christ even then protests against the great imposture of auricular confession. Jesus will be to the end of the world what he was there on the cross: the sinner's friend; always ready to hear and pardon those who invoke his name and trust in him.

Disciples of the gospel, wherever you hear the cry of the repenting sinner to the crucified Saviour: "Remember me when thou comest to thy Kingdom," go and give the assurance to that penitent and redeemed child of Adam that "his sins are forgiven"—clean the leper.

Eleventh: "Let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return to the Lord; and he will have mercy upon him and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon." (Isa. lv. 7. 8.)

"Wash you, and make you clean, put away the evils of your doings from before mine eyes: cease to do evil, learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed; judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.

"Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they will be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." (Isa. i, 16-18.)

Here are the landmarks of the mercy of God, put by his own almighty hands! Who will dare to remove them in order to put others in their place? Has ever Christ touched those landmarks? Has he ever intimated that anything but faith, repentance and love, with their blessed fruits, were required from the sinners to secure his pardon? No—never.

Have the prophets of the Old Testament or the apostles of the New ever said a word about "auricular confession" as a condition for pardon? No—never.

What does David say? "I confess my sins unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgression unto the Lord, and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin." (Psalm xxxii, 5.)

What does the Apostle John say? "If we say that we have fellowship with Him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth.

"But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His son cleanseth us from sin;

"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to CLEANSE us from all unrighteousness." (i. John i, 6-9.)

This is the language of the prophets and apostles. This is the language of the Old and the New Testament. It is to God and Him alone that the sinner is requested to confess his sins. It is from God and Him alone that he can expect his pardon.

The apostle Paul writes fifteen epistles, in which he speaks of all the duties imposed upon human conscience by the laws of God and the prescriptions of the Gospel of Christ. A thousand times he speaks to sinners and tells them how they may be reconciled to God. But does he say a word about auricular confession? No, not one!

The apostles Peter, John, Jude address six letters to the different churches—in which they state with the greatest detail what the different classes of Christians have to do. But again, not a single word comes from them about auricular confession.

St. James says, "confess your faults one to another." But this is so evidently the repetition of what the Saviour had said about the way of reconciliation between those who had offended one another, and it is so far from the dogma of a secret confession to the priest, that the most zealous supporters of auricular confession have not dared to mention that text in favour of their modern invention.

But if we look in vain in the Old and New Testament for a word in favour of auricular confession as a dogma, will it be possible to find that dogma in the records of the first thousand years of Christianity? No! for the more one studies the records of the Christian church during the first ten centuries, the more he will be convinced that auricular confession is a miserable imposture, of the darkest days of the world and the church.

We have the life of Paul, the hermit, of the third century, by one of the early fathers of the church. But not a word is said in it of his confessing his sins to any one, though a thousand things are said of him which are of a far less interesting character.

So it is with the life of St. Mary, the Egyptian. The minute history of her life, her public scandals, her conversion, long prayers and fastings in solitude, the detailed history of her last days and of her death, all these we have; but not a single word is said of her confessing to any one. It is evident that she lived and died without ever having thought of going to confess.

The deacon Pontius wrote also the life St. Cyprien, who lived in the third century; but he does not say a word of his ever having gone to confession, or having heard the confession of any one. More than that, we learn from this reliable historian that Cyprien was excommunicated by the Pope of Rome, called Stephen, and that he died without having ever asked from any one absolution from that excommunication; a thing which has not seemingly prevented him from going to Heaven, since the infallible Popes of Rome, who succeeded Stephen, have assured us that he is a saint.

Gregory of Nyssa has given us the life of St. Gregory of Neo-Caesarea, of the 3rd century, and of St. Basil, of the 4th century. But neither speak of their having gone to confess, or having heard the confession of any one. It is thus evident that those two great and good men, with all the Christians of their times, lived and died without ever knowing any thing about the dogma of auricular confession.

We have the interesting life of St Ambrose, of the 4th century, by Paulinus; and from that book it is as evident as two and two make four, that St. Ambrose never went to confess.

The history of St Martin of Tours, of the 4th century by Severus Sulpicius of the 5th century, is another monument left by antiquity to prove that there was no dogma of auricular confession in those days; for St. Martin has evidently lived and died without ever going to confess.

Pallas and Theodoret have left us the history of the life, sufferings and death of St. Chrysostom, bishop of Constantinople, who died at the beginning of the 5th century, and both are absolutely mute about that dogma. No fact is more evident, by what they say, than that holy and eloquent bishop lived and died also without ever thinking of going to confess.

No man has ever more perfectly entered into the details of a Christian life, when writing on that subject, than the learned and eloquent St Jerome, of the 5th century. A great number of his admirable letters are written to the priests of his day, or to some Christian ladies and virgins, who had requested him to give them some good advices about the best way to lead a Christian life. His letters, which form five volumes, are most interesting monuments of the manners, habits, views, morality, practical and dogmatical faith of the first centuries of the church; and they are a most unanswerable evidence that auricular confession, as a dogma, had then no existence, and is quite a modern invention. Would it be possible that Jerome could have forgotten to give some advices or rules about auricular confession, to the priests of his time who asked his counsel about the best way to fulfil their ministerial duties, if it had been one of their duties to hear the confessions of the people? But we challenge the most devoted modern priest of Rome to find a single line in all the letters of St Jerome in favour of auricular confession. In his admirable letter to the priest Nepotianus, on the life of priests, vol. II, p. 203, when speaking of the relations of priests with women, he says: "Solus cum sola, secreto et absque arbitrio vel teste, non sedeas. Si familiarus est aliquid loquendum, habet nutricem majorem domus, virginem, viduam, vel maritatam; non est tam inhumana ut nullum praeter te habeat cui se audeat credere."

"Never sit in secret, alone, in a retired place, with a female who is alone with you. If she has any particular thing to tell you, let her take the female attendant of the house, a young girl, a widow, or a married woman. She can not be so ignorant of the rules of human life as to expect to have you as the only one to whom she can trust those things."

It would be easy to cite a great number of other remarkable passages where Jerome shows himself the most determined and implacable opponent of those secret "tete-a-tete" between a priest and a female, which, under the plausible pretext of mutual advice and spiritual consolation, are generally nothing but bottomless pits of infamy and perdition for both. But this is enough.

We have also the admirable life of St. Paulina, written by St. Jerome. And though in it he gives us every imaginable detail of her life when young, married and widow, though he tells us even how her bed was composed of the simplest and rudest materials, he has not a word about her ever having gone to confess. Jerome speaks of the acquaintances of St. Paulina and gives their names; he enters into the minutest details of her long voyages, her charities, her foundations of monasteries for men and women, her temptations, human frailties, heroic virtues, her macerations and her holy death: but he has not a word to say about the frequent or rare auricular confessions of St. Paulina; not a word about her wisdom in the choice of a prudent and holy (?) confessor.

He tells us that after her death, her body was carried to her grave on the shoulders of bishops and priests, as a token of their profound respect for the saint. But he never says that any of those priests sat there in a dark corner with her, and forced her to reveal to their ears the secret history of all the thoughts, desires, and human frailties of her long and eventful life. Jerome is an unimpeachable witness that his saintly and noble friend St. Paulina lived and died without having ever thought of going to confess.

Possidius has left us the interesting life of St. Augustine, of the fifth century; and again it is in vain that we look for the place or the time when that celebrated bishop of Hippo went to confess, or heard the secret confessions of his people.

More than that, St. Augustine has written a most admirable book, called: "Confessions," in which he gives us the history of his life. With that marvellous book in hand, we follow him, step by step, wherever he goes; we are the witnesses of what he does and thinks; we attend with him those celebrated schools, where his faith and morality were so sadly wrecked; he takes us with him into the garden where, wavering between heaven and hell, bathed in tears, he goes under the fig-tree and cries, "Oh Lord! how long will I remain in my iniquities!" Our soul thrills with emotions, with his soul, when we hear, with him, the sweet and mysterious voice: "Tolle! lege!" take and read. We run with him to the places where he had left his gospel book; with a trembling hand, we open it, and we read: "Let us walk honestly as in the day ... put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ..." (Rom. xiii, 13, 14.)

That incomparable book of Augustine makes us weep and shout with joy with him; it initiates us into all, his most secret actions, to all his sorrows, anxieties and joys, it reveals and unvails his whole life. It tells us where he goes, with whom he sins, and with whom he praises God; it makes us pray, sing and bless the Lord with him. Is it possible that Augustine could have been to confess without telling us when, where and to whom he made confession? Could he have received the absolution and pardon of his sins from his confessor, without making us partakers of his joys, and requesting us to bless that confessor with him.

But, it is in vain that you look in that book for a single word about auricular confession. That book is an unimpeachable witness that neither Augustine nor his saintly mother Monica, whom it mentions so often, lived and died without ever having been to confess. That book may be called the most crushing evidence to prove that, "the dogma of auricular confession" is a modern imposture.

From the beginning to the end of that book, we see that Augustine believed and said that God alone could forgive the sins of men, and that it was to Him alone that men had to confess in order to be pardoned. If he writes his confession, it is only that the world might know how God had been merciful to him, and that they might help him to praise and bless the merciful Heavenly Father. In the tenth book of his Confessions, chapter III, Augustine protests against the idea that men could do anything to cure the spiritual leper, or forgive the sins of their fellow-men; here is his eloquent protest: "Quid mihi ergo est cum hominibus ut audiant confessiones meas, quasi ipsi sanaturi sint languores meas? Curiosum genus ad cognoscendam vitam alienam; desidiosum ad corrigendam."

"What have I to do with men that I might be obliged to confess my sins to them, as if they were able to heal my infirmities? Oh Lord! that human race is very fond of knowing the sins of their neighbors; but they are very neglectful in correcting their own lies."

Before Augustine had built up that sublime and imperishable monument against auricular confession, St. John Chrysostom had raised his eloquent voice against it, in his homily on the 50th Psalm, where, speaking in the name of the Church, he said: "We do not request you to go to confess your sins to any of your fellow-men, but only to God!"

Nestorius, of the 4th century, the predecessor of John Chrysostom, had, by a public defense, which the best Roman Catholic historians have had to acknowledge, solemnly forbidden the practice of auricular confession. For, just as there has always been thieves, drunkards and malefactors in the world, so there has always been men and women who, under the pretext of opening their minds to each other for mutual comfort and edification, were giving themselves to every kind of iniquity and lust. The celebrated Chrysostom was only giving the sanction of his authority to what his predecessor had done when, thundering against the newly born monster, he said to the Christians of his time, "We do not ask you to go and confess your iniquities to a sinful man for pardon—but only to God." (Homily on 50th Psalm.)

Auricular confession originated with the early heretics, especially with Marcion. Bellarmin speaks of it as something to be practiced. But let us hear what the contemporary writers have to say on the question:

"Certain women were in the habit of going to the heretic Marcion to confess their sins to him. But, as he was smitten with their beauty, and they loved him also, they abandoned themselves to sin with him."

Listen now to what St. Basil, in his commentary on Ps. xxxvii, says of confession:

"I have not to come before the world to make a confession with my lips. But I close my eyes, and confess my sins in the secret of my heart. Before thee, O God, I pour out my sighs, and thou alone art the witness. My groans are within my soul. There is no need of many words to confess: sorrow and regret are the best confession. Yes, the lamentations of the soul, which thou art pleased to hear, are the best confession."

Chrysostom, in his homily: De paenitentia, vol. IV., col. 901, has the following: "You need no witnesses of your confession. Secretly acknowledge your sins, and let God alone hear you."

In his homily V., De incomprehensibili Dei natura, vol. I, he says: "Therefore, I beseech you, always confess your sins to God! I in no way ask you to confess them to me. To God alone should you expose the wounds of your souls, and from him alone expect the cure. Go to him, then; and you shall not be cast off, but healed. For, before you utter a single word, God knows your prayer."

In his commentary on Heb. xii., hom. xxxi., vol. xii., p. 289, he further says: "Let us not be content with calling ourselves sinners. But let us examine and number our sins. And then, I do not tell you to go and confess them, according to the caprice of some; but I will say to you, with the prophet: "Confess your sins before God, acknowledge your iniquities at the feet of your Judge; pray in your heart and your mind, if not with your tongue, and you shall be pardoned."

In his homily on Ps. I., vol. V., p. 589, the same Chrysostom says: "Confess you sins every day in prayer. Why should you hesitate to do so? I do not tell you to go and confess to a man, sinner as you are, and who might despise you if he knew your faults. But confess them to God, who can forgive them to you."

In his admirable homily IV., De Lazaro, vol. I., p. 757, he explains: "Why, tell me, should you be ashamed to confess your sins? Do we compel you to reveal them to a man, who might, one day, throw them into your face? Are you commanded to confess them to one of your equals, who could publish them and ruin you? What we ask of you, is simply to show the sores of your soul to your Lord and Master, who is also your friend, your guardian and physician."

In a small work of Chrysostom's, intitled: "Catechesis ad illuminandos," vol. II., p. 210, we read these remarkable words: "What we should most admire, is not that God forgives our sins, but that he does not disclose them to any one, nor wishes us to do so. What he demands of us, is to confess our transgressions to him alone to obtain pardon."

St. Augustine, in his beautiful homily on the 31st Ps., says: "I shall confess my sins to God, and he will pardon all my iniquities. And such confession is made not with the lips, but with the heart only. I had hardly opened my mouth to confess my sins, when they were pardoned; for God had already heard the voice of my heart."

In the edition of the Fathers by Migne, vol. 67, p. 614, 615, we read: "About the year 390, the office of penitentiary was abolished in the church, in consequence of a great scandal given by a woman who publicly accused herself of having committed a crime against chastity with a deacon."

The office of penitentiary was this: in every large city, a priest or minister was specially appointed to preside over the church meetings where the members who had committed public sins were obliged to confess them publicly before the assembly, in order to be reinstated in the privileges of their membership; and that minister had the charge of reading or pronouncing the sentence of pardon granted by the church to the guilty ones, before they could be admitted again to communion. This was perfectly in accordance with what St. Paul had done with regard to the incestuous one of Corinth, that scandalous sinner, who had cast obloquy on the Christian name; but who, after confessing and weeping over his sins, before the church, obtained his pardon—not from a priest in whose ears he had whispered all the shocking details of his incestuous intercourse, but from the whole church assembled. St. Paul gladly approves the Church of Corinth in thus receiving again in their midst a wandering but repenting brother.

There is as much difference between such public confessions and auricular confessions, as there is between heaven and hell, between God and his great enemy, Satan.

Public confession, then, dates from the time of the apostles, and is still practised in protestant churches of our day. But auricular confession was unknown by the disciples of Christ; as it is rejected, to-day, with horror by all the true followers of the Son of God.

Erasmus, one of the most learned Roman Catholics which opposed the Reformation in the 16th century, so admirably begun by Luther and Calvin, fearlessly and honestly makes the following declaration in his treaty: De Paenitantia, Dis 5. "This institution of penance began rather of some tradition of the Old or New Testament. But our divines, not advisedly considering what the old doctors do say, are deceived: that which they say of general and open confession, they wrest by and by to this secret and privy kind of confession.

It is a public fact, which no learned Roman Catholic has ever denied, that auricular confession became a dogma and obligatory practice of the church only at the council of Lateran in the year 1215, under the Pope Innocent III. Not a single trace of auricular confession, as a dogma, can be found before that year.

Thus, it has taken more than twelve hundred years of efforts for Satan to bring out that master-piece of his inventions to conquer the world and destroy the souls of men.

Little by little, that imposture had crept into the world, just as the shadows of a stormy night creep without any one being able to note the moment when the first rays of light give way before the dark clouds. We know very well when the sun was shining, we know when it was very dark all over the world, but no one can tell positively when the first ray of light faded away. So saith the Lord:

"The Kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field.

"But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat and went his way.

"But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, there appeared the tares also.

"So the servants of the house-holder came and said unto him: Sir, dist not thou sow good seed in the field? From whence then hath it tares?

"He said unto them: The enemy hath done this." (Mat. xiii, 24-28.)

Yes, the Good Master tells us that the enemy sowed those tares in his field during the night—when men were sleeping.

But he does not tell us precisely the hour of the night when the enemy cast the tares among the wheat.

If any one likes to know how fearfully dark was the night which covered the "Kingdom," and how cruel, implacable and savage was the enemy who sowed the tares, let him read the testimony of the most devoted and learned cardinal whom Rome has ever had, Baronius, Annals, Anno 900:

"It is evident that one can scarcely believe what unworthy, base, execrable and abominable things the holy Apostolical See, which is the pivot upon which the whole Catholic Church revolves, was forced to endure, when princes of the age, though Christians, arrogated to themselves the election of the Roman Pontiffs. Alas, the shame! alas, the grief! What monsters, horrible to behold, were then intruded on the Holy See! What evils ensued! What tragedies they perpatrated! With what pollutions was this See, though itself without spot, then stained! With what corruptions infected! With what filthiness defiled! And by these things blackened with perpetual infamy! (Baronius, Annals, Anno 900.)

"Est plane, ut vix aliquis credat, immo, nec vix quidem sit crediturus, nisi suis inspiciat ipse oculis, manibusque contractat, quam indigna, quamque turpia, atque deformia, execranda, insuper et abominanda sit coacta pati sacrosancta apostolica sedes, in cujus cardine universa Ecclesia catholica vertitur, cum principes saeculi hujus, quantumlibet christiani, hac tamen ex parte dicendi tyranni saevissimi, arrogaverunt sibi tirannice electionem Romanorum pontificum. Quot tunc ab eis, proh pudor! proh dolor! in eandem sedem, angelis reverandam, visu horrenda intrusa sunt monstra! Quot ex eis oborta sunt mala, consummatae tragediae! Quibus tunc ipsam sine macula et sine ruga contigit aspergi sordibus, putoribus infici, quinati spurcitiis, ex hisque perpetua infamia denigrari!"

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CHAPTER X.

GOD COMPELS THE CHURCH OF ROME TO CONFESS THE ABOMINATIONS OF AURICULAR CONFESSION.

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Romish priests will resort to various means in order to deceive the people on the immorality resulting from auricular confession. One of their favorite stratagems is to quote some disconnected passages from theologians, recommending caution on the part of the priest in questioning his penitents on delicate subjects, should he see or apprehend any danger for the latter of being shocked by his questions. True, there are such prudent theologians, who seem to realize more than others the real danger for the priest in confession. But those wise counsellors resemble very much a father who would allow his child to put his fingers in the fire while advising him to be cautious lest he should burn his fingers. There is just as much wisdom in the one case as there would be in the other. Or what would you say of a brutal parent casting a young, weak, and inexperienced boy among wild beasts, with the foolish and cruel expectation that his prudence might save him from all injury?

Such theologians may be perfectly honest in giving such advice, although it is anything but wise or reasonable. But those are far from being honest or true who contend that the Church of Rome, in commanding every one to confess all his sins to the priests, has made an exception in favor of sins against chastity. This is only so much dust thrown in the eyes of ignorant people to prevent them from seeing through the frightful mysteries of confession.

When the council of Latran decided that every adult, of either sex, should confess all their sins to a priest, at least once a year, there was no provision made for any special class of sins, not even for those committed against modesty or purity. And the council of Trent, when ratifying or renewing the previous decision, no exception was made, either, of the sins in question. They were expected and had to be confessed, as all other sins.

The law of both councils is still unrepealed and binding for all sins, without any exception. It is imperative, absolute; and every good Catholic, man or woman, must submit to it by confessing all his or her sins at least once a year.

I have in my hand Butler's Catechism, approved by several bishops of Quebec. On page 61, it reads that all penitents should examine themselves on the capital sins, and confess them "all, without exception, under penalty of eternal damnation."

Therefore, the young and timid girl, the chaste and modest woman must think of shameful deeds and fill their minds with impure ideas, in order to confess to an unmarried man whatever they may be guilty of, however repugnant may be to them such confession, or dangerous for the priest who is bound to hear, and even demand it. No one is exempt from the loathsome and often polluting task. Both priest and penitent are required and compelled to go through the fiery ordeal of contamination and shame. They are bound, on every particular, the one to ask, and the other to answer, under penalty of eternal damnation.

Such is the rigorous, inflexible law of the Church of Rome with regard to confession. It is taught not only in works on theology or from the pulpit, but in prayer-books and various other religious publications. It is so deeply impressed in the minds of Romanists as to have become a part of their religion. Such is the law which the priest himself has to obey, and which puts his penitents at his own discretion.

But there are husbands with a jealous disposition, who would little fancy the idea of bachelors confessing their wives, if they knew exactly what questions they have to answer in confession. There are fathers and mothers who don't like much to see their daughters alone with a man, behind a curtain, and who would certainly tremble for their honor and virtue if they knew all the abominable mysteries of confession. It is necessary, therefore, to keep the people, as much as possible, in ignorance, and prevent light from reaching that empire of darkness, the confessional. In that view, confessors are advised to be cautious "on those matters;" to "broach these questions in a sort of covert way, and with the greatest reserve." For it is very desirable "not to shock modesty, neither frighten the penitent nor grieve her." "Sins, however, must be confessed."

Such is the prudent advice given to the confessor on certain occasions. In the hands or under the command of Liguori, Father Gury, Scavani, or other casuists, the priest is a sort of general, sent, with his army, during the night, to storm a citadel or a strong position, having for order to operate cautiously and before daylight. His mission is one of darkness and cunning, violence and cruelty; for when the pope commands, the priest, as his loyal soldier, must be ready to obey. But many a time, after the place has been captured by dint of strategy and secrecy, the poor soldier is left, badly wounded and completely disabled, on the battle-field. He has paid dearly for his victory; and the conquered citadel has received an injury from which it may never recover. But the crafty priest has gained his point: he has succeeded in persuading his lady penitent that there was no impropriety, that it was even necessary for them to have a parley on things that made her blush a few moments before. She is so well convinced that she would swear that there is nothing wrong in confession. Truly this is a fulfilment of the words:

"Abyssus abyssum invocat."

Have the Romish theologians Gury, Scavani, Liguori, etc., ever been honest enough, in their works on confession, to say that the Most Holy God could never command or require woman to degrade and pollute herself and the priest in pouring in the ear of a frail and sinful mortal, words unfit even for an angel? No; they were very careful not to say so; for from that very moment, their shameless lies would have been exposed; the stupendous but weak structure of auricular confession would fall to the ground with sad havoc and ruin to its upholders. Men and women would open their eyes, and see its weakness and fallacy. "If God," they might say, "can forgive our most grievous sins, against modesty, he can and will certainly do the same with those of less gravity; therefore there is no necessity or occasion for us to confess to a priest."

But those shrewd casuists know too well that by such frank confession, they would soon lose their hold on Catholic populations, especially on women, by whom, through confession, they rule the world. They much prefer to keep their gripe on benighted minds, frightened consciences, and trembling souls. No wonder, then, that they fully endorse and confirm the decisions of the councils of Latran and Trent ordering "that all sins must be confessed such as God knows them." No wonder that they try their best or worst to overcome the natural repugnance of women for making such confessions, and to conceal the terrible dangers for the priests in hearing the same.

But God, in His infinite mercy, and for the sake of truth, has compelled, as it were, the Church of Rome to acknowledge the moral dangers and corrupting tendencies of auricular confession. In His eternal wisdom, he knew that Roman Catholics would close their ears to whatever might be said of the demoralizing influence of that institution; that they would even reply with insult and fallacy to the words of truth kindly addressed to them: as the Jews of old returned hatred and insult to the good Saviour who was bringing to them the glad tidings of a free salvation. He knew that Romish devotees, led astray by their priests, as were the poor blinded Jews, would call the apostles of truth liars, seducers, possessed of the devil, as Christ was constantly called a demoniac, an impostor, and finally put to death by his false accusers.

But God, just as compassionate now as he was then for the poor benighted and deluded souls, has wrought a real miracle to open the eyes of their minds, and compel them, as it were, to believe us, when we say, on his authority, that auricular confession was invented by Satan to ruin both the priest and his female penitents, for time and eternity. For, what we would never have dared to say of ourself to the Roman Catholics with regard to what frequently happens between their priests and their wives and daughters, either during or after confession, God has constrained the Church of Rome to acknowledge herself in revealing things that would have seemed incredible had they come simply from our mouth or our pen. In this, as in other instances, that apostate church has unwittingly been the mouth-piece of God for the accomplishment of his great and merciful ends.

Listen to the questions that the Church of Rome, through her theologians, puts to every priest after he has heard the confession of your wives or daughters:

1. "Nonne inter audiendas confessiones quasdam proposui questiones circa sextum decalogi praeceptum cum intentione lubidinosa?" (Miroir du Clerge, p. 582.)

While hearing confessions, have I not asked questions on sins against the sixth (the seventh in the Decalogue) commandment with the intention of satisfying my evil passions?

Such is the man, O mothers and daughters, to whom you dare to unbosom the most secret as well as the most shameful actions. You kneel down at his feet and whisper in his ear your most intimate thoughts and desires, and your most polluting deeds; because your church, by dint of cunning and sophistry, has succeeded in persuading you that there was no impropriety or danger in doing so; that the man whom you chose for your spiritual guide and confident could never be tempted or tainted by such foul recitals. But that same church, through some mysterious providences, is made to acknowledge, in her own books, her own lies. In spite of herself, she admits that there is real danger in confession, both for the woman and for the priest; that willingly or otherwise, and sometimes both unawares, they lay for each other dangerous snares. The Church of Rome, as if she had an evil conscience for allowing her priest to hold such close and secret converse with a woman, on such delicate subjects, keeps, as it were, a watchful eye on him while the poor misguided woman is pouring in his ear the filthy burthen of her soul; and as soon as she is off, questions the priest as to the purity of his motives, the honesty of his intentions in putting the requisite questions. Have you not, she asks him immediately, under the pretence of helping that woman in her confession, put to her certain questions simply in order to gratify your lust, and with the object of satisfying your evil propensities?

2. "Nonne munus audiendi confessione suscepi, aut peregi ex prava incontinentiae appeta?" (Idem, p. 582.)

Have I not repaired to the confessional and heard confessions with the intention of gratifying my evil passions?

O, ye women, who tremble like slaves at the feet of the priests, you sometimes admire the patience and charity of those good (?) priests, who are willing to spend so many long and tedious hours in hearing the confession of your secret sins; and you hardly know how to express your gratitude for so much kindness and charity. But hush! Listen to the voice of God speaking to the conscience of the priest, through the Church of Rome! "Have you not" she asks him, "heard the confession of women simply to foster or gratify the groveling passions of your fallen nature and corrupt heart?"

Please notice, it is not I, or the enemies of your religion, who put to your priests the above questions: it is God himself who, in his pity and compassion, compels your own church to ask such questions; that your eyes may be opened, and that you may be rescued from all the dangerous obscenities and the humiliating and degrading slavery of auricular confession. It is God's will to deliver you from such bondage and degradation. In his tender mercies, he has provided means to drag you out of that cess-pool called confession; to break the chains which bind you to the feet of a miserable and blasphemous sinner called confessor, who, under the presence of being able to pardon your sins, usurps the place of your Saviour and your God! For while you are whispering your sins in his ear, God says to him, through his church, in tones loud enough to be heard: "In hearing the confession of these women, are you not actuated by lust, spurred by evil passions?"

Is this not sufficient to warn you of the danger of auricular confession? Can you now with any sense of safety or propriety, come to that priest, for whom your very confession may be a snare, a cause of fall or fearful temptation? Can you with a particle of honor or modesty willingly expose yourself to impure desires or shameful deeds? Can you, with any sort of womanly dignity consent to entrust that man with your inmost thoughts and desires, your most humiliating and secret actions, when you know that that man may not have any higher object in listening to your confession than a lustful curiosity or a sinful desire of exciting his evil passions?

3. "Nonne ex auditis in confessiones occasionem sumpsi paenitentes utriusque sexus ad peccandam sollicitandi?" (Idem, p. 582)

Have I not availed myself of what I heard in confession to induce my penitents to commit sin?

I would run a great risk of being treated with the utmost contempt, should I dare to put to your priests such a question. You would very likely call me a scoundrel for daring to question the honesty and purity of such holy men. You would perhaps go as far as to contend that it is utterly impossible for them to be guilty of such sins as are alluded to in the above question; that never such shameful deeds have been perpetrated through confession. And you would, maybe, emphatically deny that your confessor has ever said or done anything that might lead you to sin or even commit any breach of propriety or modesty. You feel perfectly safe on that score, and see no danger to apprehend.

Let me tell you, good ladies, that you are altogether too confident and in the most fatal delusion. Your own church, through the merciful and warning voice of God speaking to the conscience of your own theologians, tells you that there is a real and eminent danger where you fancy yourself in perfect security. You may never have suspected the danger, but it is there, within the walls of the confessional; nay, more, it is lurking in your very hearts and that of your confessor. He may hitherto have refrained from temptations; he may, at least, have kept within the proper limits of outward morality or decency. But nothing warrants you that he may not be tempted; and nothing could shield you from his attempts on your virtue should he give way to temptation; as cases are not wanting to prove the truth of my assertion. You are sadly mistaken, in a false and dangerous security. You are perhaps, although unawares, on the very brink of a precipice, where so many have fallen through their blind confidence in their own strength or their confessor's prudence and sanctity. Your own church is very anxious about your safety; she trembles for your innocence and purity. In her fear, she cautions the priest to be watchful over his wicked passions and human frailty. How dare you pretend to be stronger and more holy? Why should you so wilfully imperil your chastity or modesty? Why expose yourself to danger, when it could be so easily avoided? How can you be so rash, so devoid of common prudence and modesty as to shamelessly put yourselves in a position to tempt and be tempted, and thereby incur your temporal and eternal perdition?