GOD'S MINISTRY
THROUGH HIS SON JESUS CHRIST OF NAZARETH
BY THE POWER OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

Revs. Mr. and Mrs. H. Dean Daniels

E-mail: gods-ministry@hdd-gods-ministry.com

Web-site: http://www.hdd-gods-ministry.com/

PRIEST AND WOMAN
    A BOOK FOR WIVES, MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

Compiled by
Mrs. Wm. Lloyd Clark

 

Transcribed from the Seventeenth Edition

 

[Note from Revs. Mr. & Mrs. H. Dean Daniels, possible date of publication on this pamphlet is the early 1900’s, possibly as late as 1925]

 

 

DEDICATION

 

To the mothers of America who should know more about the Papal Priesthood; To the girls of America who should be educated to shun the convent as they would a pest house; To the husbands and fathers of America, who should be the defenders of woman’s honor; and to all who love truth, virtue and purity, this book is dedicated by the author.

 

 

 

INTRODUCTION

 

This little book has already passed through seven large editions. Orders are still coming in for it from all parts of the English speaking world. Popery has become an issue in American politics. The battle of truth against error which for hundreds of years has been fought on the soil of the old world, has been transformed to the soil of the new world. The forces are arrayed, the saloon, the beer garden, the confessional and the priest on one side; the public school, the printing press and honest citizenship of this great republic on the other side.

 

In every civilized nation on earth except America, the Papal Convent has been suppressed, or restrictive laws thrown around it. Banished from Italy, France, Mexico and other countries, it comes here and takes refuge behind our laws of religious toleration. It builds its system of religious penitentiaries and denies that the public has any right to know what goes on behind its stone walls and grated windows, and received the smiles and sanction of the cowardly lackeys who make our laws. Stone walls, steel doors, and grated windows are not an essential part of religious liberty on this free land. Let the womanhood of America be valiant in the fight for human freedom.

 

                        Yours faithfully,

                                    Mrs. Wm. Lloyd Clark

 

 

 

PRIEST AND WOMAN

 

            The age has passed when women are looked upon as slaves of men. Only a savage would want a slave for the mother of his children. We are living in the morning sunlight of the twentieth century-a glorious century that will open a new era for woman in the world. Woman has made little progress in those countries struggling under the emissaries of the Pope, while in Protestant nations, such as England, Holland, Germany and America, she has been liberated from many of the old forms of slavery, and as a result her ability has been reflected in the science, art and literature of the present age. On the throne, on the battlefield and in the forum, history reveals her equality with man. The American woman should be given the ballot, and thus empowered to defend her home, the public school and the nation’s flag, and in her would be found a loyal citizen, a faithful wife, a devoted mother and a steadfast patriot.

 

            History reveals the priest and the confessional box as the enemies of virtue. It is the writer’s hope that all who read these pages will in the future avoid patronizing Roman Catholic institutions. Many parents in the past have placed their daughters in convents, believing that in so doing they were removing them from all temptations and giving them good and holy companions. A greater mistake was never made. A great many say there is nothing wrong; if that be true why not open her institutions to the sunshine of honest investigation? If everything there is all right, the greater will be their glory and honor, and all suspicion allayed. But Rome only knows too well that the lives of the dear sisters would not bear inspections, and very wisely keeps the door shut. Many a noble woman has entered the walls of Rome to escape the snares of the world, only to find that she had entered a trap to fall victim of the seducing priest. Yet Protestant people continue to send their girls to these cesspools of iniquity.

 

            The confessional is only another trap for woman. Is it elevating to have married or unmarried women subjected to the questions of a celibate, or old bachelor priest? In the confessional woman is compelled to reveal every word, thought and deed, even her very dreams, to a man, who, as a rule, is not very strong in moral character, while his brain is often fired with liquor. The character of the confessional is such that it enables the priest to understand thoroughly the weak points in a woman’s character.

 

            It is utterly impossible under the law, to translate and print in the English language the infamous questions asked women, and even little girls in the Roman confessional box by old bachelor priests.

 

            How degrading all this must be on the lives of Rome’s women. As a rule the minds of Roman Catholic are very impure, the natural result of the confessional. What a surprise to a young and innocent girl when she hears these things for the first time. Her thoughts will naturally bring back again and again those vile questions. And thus the foundation is laid for habits that are scarcely ever afterwards overcome.

 

            The girls of today are to be the mothers of tomorrow. Girl labor and long hours of standing in factories is one of the greatest curses of the day. It is the opinion of our leading lady physicians that our girls are worked too hard. The hours that they are compelled to stand causes disease and unfits them to become mothers. We have laws for the protection of our animals, but none for the protection of our working girls. The horse, after his day’s labor, is taken to his stall and well cared for. The girl, paid starvation wages, is then turned to the street, and is often exposed to the monied ruffians who crowd our large towns. There should be legislation giving the working girls shorter hours with better wages. Another fact links closely with the present chain of thought-the world will cast off with scorn the fallen girl, and receive with open arms the scoundrel that caused her ruin. Instead of dealing thus with the girl, bring up the villain who accomplished her ruin to the bar of public opinion and make him feel that he has committed and unpardonable sin against society. If one of the fallen waifs of the street desires to mend her ways and live a better life, humbug Christianity and a false public opinion will keep her down. There should be legislation for the protection of tender girlhood. The statutes made and provided for the protection of young girls are, in many states, a very grim and ghostly commentary upon the traditional respect of the Americans for their women. In states, it is true, the law has been amended, largely under the influence of the same cyclone of moral incignation which raised the age of consent in England in 1855, from 13 to 16, but in many others the law is still in a condition to be a disgrace to heathendom. The legislatures of Delaware, of Wisconsin and other states in the following list would seem to be composed of yahoos rather than of Christian citizens of a republic founded by the descendants of the Puritans. The age of consent-the technical term used to denote the number of years that a girl must have lived before she is regarded by law as competent to consent to her own seduction-varies all over the Union. I quote here the black list of dishonor from a table compiled by the Philanthropist from official returns:

 

 

Age of Consent

[Note by Revs. Mr. & Mrs. H. Dean Daniels - the below is what the age of consent was at the time that this pamphlet was written, approximately early 1900’s.]

 

                                   

 

 

 

            These are the worst states in the Union from this point of view. There are others nearly as bad. Seventeen states fix the age of consent at 14, and two at 15; six follow the English rule and place the age of consent at 16. Florida, the most southern of all the states, raises it to 17, while Kansas and Wyoming place it at 18. The time is coming when such laws as these which practically hand over innocent and unsuspecting girl children of 7 and 10 and 12 to be the lawful prey of brutes in human shape, if they can but get their consent, forsooth, to something of which they know nothing, until it is too late, will be regarded with as much shame and indignation as the fugitive slave. Certainly as long as these states persist in leaving defenseless maidenhood without the protection of law, the taunts about American chivalry and high regard for women and children sound as hollow as did the Declaration of Independence in the old slave states.

 

            The following extract is from the writings of Maria Monk. Is sheds much light on the character of Rome’s infant murder factories:

 

            “I went into the Mother Superior’s parlor one day for something and found Jane Ray there alone, looking for a book. Some time after this occasion I was sent into the Superior’s room with Jane to arrange it, and as the same book lying out of the case, she said: ‘Come and let us look into it.’ I immediately consented, when she said: ‘There, you have looked into it, and if you tell on me, I will tell on you.’

 

            The thought of being subjected to a severe penance, which I had reason to apprehend, fluttered on me very much, and although I tried to overcome my fears, I did not succeed very well. I reflected, however, that the sin was already committed, and that it would not be increased if I examined the book. I therefore looked a little at several pages, though I still felt a great deal of agitation. I saw at once that the volume was a record of nuns and novices into the convent, and the births that had taken place in the convent. Entries of the last description were made in a brief manner on the following plan:

 

                                    St. Mary, delivered of a son, March 16, 1834.

                                    St. Clarice, delivered of a daughter, April 2, 1834.

                                    St. Matilda, delivered of a daughter, April 30, 1834.

 

            “Now I presume, as several names near the beginning I knew; but I can form only a rough conjecture of the number of infants born, and murdered, of course, record of which it contained. I suppose the book contained as least one hundred pages, and that one-fourth were written upon, and that each page contained fifteen distinct records. Several pages were devoted to the list or births. On this supposition there must have been a large number which I can easily to have been born there in the course of two years.”

 

            The following is from a Roman Catholic book called “Child’s Daily Devotions,” published by Benzinger Bros., printers to the Apostolic See, New York, Cincinnati and St. Louis, copyright 1881 by Benzinger Bros., and bearing the imprimatur, John Cardinal McCloskey, Archbishop of New York. On pages 138 and 139, under the “Devoti

on for Confession, Examination,” etc., you will find the following:

 

                        Have I read any immodest books, knowing them to be such? Have I wished to do so? Have I kept bad company, or sought the society of bad companions? Have I been curious or anxious to know about such things about which it was wrong or improper to enquire? Have I willingly listened to improper discourse? If at school, have I misbehaved in the dormitory, by playing about when undressed, etc.? Have I been immodest or indecent in the presence of others? Have I heard improper or immodest language, or witnessed any indecent conduct, without telling my instructors? Have I joined in such behavior? Have I said words of a DOUBLE MEANING-that is, have I said that which in one way might be taken in a bad sense? Have I been immodest in dressing or undressing myself? Have I written anything in books or elsewhere, that was wrong or indecent? Have I said or done anything indecent, and taken pleasure in so doing? Have I ever willingly thought of anything improper or indecent, or wished to speak of such when an opportunity might offer itself? If you find and difficulty in acknowledging any of these sins or any similar fault, tell your confessor that you feel this difficulty, and ask him to assist you, then answer his questions with candor and simplicity.

 

            Hear what Ex-Priest Wm. Hogan says on the subject: “The following is as fair a sketch as I can, with due regard to decency, give of the questions which a Romish priest puts to a young female who goes to confession to him. It is, however, but a very brief synopsis. But first let the reader figure to himself, or herself, a young lady, between the ages of 12 and 20, on her knees, with lips nearly close-pressed to the cheeks of the priest, who in all probability, is not over 25 or 30 years old-for here it is worthy of remark that these young priests are extremely zealous in discharge of their sacerdotal duties, especially in hearing confession, which all Roman Catholics are bound to make under pain of eternal damnation. When priest and penitent are placed in the above attitude, let us suppose the following conversation taking place between them, and unless my readers are more dull of apprehension than I am willing to believe, they will have some idea of ‘beauties of popery’:

 

            Confessor         What sins have you committed?

            Penitent            I don’t know of any, sir.

            Confessor         Are you sure you did nothing wrong? Examine yourself well.

            Penitent            Yes, I do recollect that I did wrong. I made faces as school at Lucy A.

            Confessor         Nothing else?

            Penitent            Yes; I told another that I hated Lucy A., and that she was an ugly thing.

            Confessor         (Scarcely able to suppress a smile in finding the girl perfectly innocent)

Have you had any immodest thoughts?

            Penitent            What is that, sir?

            Confessor         Have you been thinking about men?

            Penitent            Why yes, sir.

            Confessor         Are you fond of any of them?

            Penitent            Why, yes sir. I like Cousin A. or R. greatly

            Confessor         Did you ever like to sleep with him?

            Penitent            Oh, no.

            Confessor         How long did these thoughts about men continue?

            Penitent            Not very long.

            Confessor         Have you had these thoughts by day, or by night?

            Penitent            By _______

 

            “In this strain does this reptile confessor proceed, till his now half-gained prey is filled with ideas and thoughts to which she has hitherto been a stranger. He tells her that she must come again tomorrow. She accordingly comes, and he gives another twist to the screw which he has now firmly fixed upon the soul and body of his penitent. Day after day, week after week, and month after month, does this hapless girl come to confession, until this wretch has worked up her passions to a tension almost snapping, and then becomes his easy prey. I cannot, as I before stated, detail the whole process by which a Romish confessor debauches his victims in the confessional, but if curiosity or any other motive creates in the public mind a desire to know all particulars about it, I refer them to Antoine’s Moral Theology, which I have read in the College of Maynooth; or to Den’s treatise, ‘De Pecatti’s,’ which I have read in the same college, and in the same class with some of the Romish priests now in the country hearing confessions and debauching their penitents, aye, even in New England, the land of the Pilgrims! In those books I have mentioned, they will find the obscene questions which are put by the priests and bishops of the Romish church to all women, young and old, married or single; and if any married man or father, or brother, will, after the perusal of these questions, allow his wife, his daughter, or his sister, ever again to go to confession, I will only say that his ideas of morality are more vague and loose than those of the heathen or the Turk. Christian he should not be called who permits these deeds in our midst.”

 

            Father Chiniquay, who for twenty-five years was a priest of such high standing and exceptionally pure character, and so fully endorsed by the dignitaries of the Church that they dare not vilify him or dispute a single statement he makes, says in his “Fifty Years in the Church of Rome,” page 584:

 

            “How many times I have wept as a child when some noble-hearted and intelligent young girl, or some respectable married woman, yielding to the sophisms which I, or some other confessor, had persuaded them to give up their self-respect and the womanly dignity to speak with me on matters on which a decent woman should never say a word with a man. They have told me of their invincible repugnance, their horror of such questions and prayers, and they have asked me to have pity on them. Yes! I have often wept bitterly on my degradation, when a priest of Rome. *  *  *  But alas! I had soon to reproach myself, and regret those short instances of my wavering faith in the infallible voice of my church.

 

            “How many times my God has spoken to me as He speaks to all the priests of Rome, and said with a thundering voice: ‘What would that young man do could he hear the questions that you put to his wife? Would he not blow out your brains?’ And that father, would he not pass his dagger through your breast if he could know what you ask from his poor, trembling daughter? Would not the brother of that young girl put an end to your miserable life if he could hear the unmentionable subjects on which you speak with her in the confessional?

 

            “I was compelled by all the popes, the moral theologians, and the Councils of Rome, to believe that this warning voice of my merciful God was the voice of Satan. I had to believe, in spite of warning voice of my merciful God was the voice of Satan. I had to believe, in spite of my own conscience and intelligence, that it was good, nay, necessary, to put those polluting, damning questions. My infallible church was mercilessly forcing me to oblige those poor, trembling, weeping, desolate girls and women to swim with me and all their priests in those waters of Sodom and Gomorrah, under the pretext that their self-will would be broken down, their fear of sin and humility increased, and that they would be purified by our absolutions.”

 

            Father Chiniquay, on page 386, and following, relates a most heart-rending confession made to him by a beautiful and accomplished young lady who was ruined by a previous confessor in the convent where she was educated, and whose sense of shame and agony of mind caused her death at an early age. These are his words:

 

            “In the beginning of my priesthood, when I was in Quebec, I was not a little surprised and embarrassed to see a very accomplished and beautiful young lady, whom I used to meet every week at her father’s house, entering the box of my confessional. She had been used to confess to another young priest of my acquaintance, and she was always looked upon as one of the most pious girls in the city. Though she had disguised herself as much as possible, in order that I might not know her, I felt sure that I was not mistaken-she was the amiable Mary ___________.

 

            “Not being absolutely certain of the correctness of my impression, I left her entirely under the hope that she was a perfect stranger to me. At the beginning she could hardly speak; her voice was suffocated by her sobs, and through the little apertures of the thin partition between her and me I saw two streams of big tears trickling down her cheeks. After much effort she said:

 

“‘Dear Father, I hope that you do not know me-I am a desperately great sinner. Oh! I fear that I am lost! But if there is still hope for me to ask you not to pollute my ears by questions which our confessors are in the habit of putting to their female penitents; I have already been destroyed by those questions. Before I was 17 years old, God knows that His angels are not more pure than I was; but the chaplain of the nunnery where my parents had sent me for my education, though approaching old age, put to me in the confessional, questions which at first, I did not understand, but unfortunately he had put the same questions to one of my young class-mates, who made fun of them in my presence, and explained them to me; for she understood them too well. This first unchaste conversation of my life plunged my thoughts into a sea of iniquity, until then absolutely unknown to me; temptation of the most humiliating character assailed me for a week, day and night; after which, sins which I would blot out with my blood, if it were possible, overwhelmed my soul as with a deluge. But the joys of the sinner are short. Struck with terror at the thought of the judgment of God, after a few weeks of the most deplorable life, I determined to give up my sins and reconcile myself to God. Covered with shame, and trembling from head to foot, I went to confess to my old confessor, whom I respected as a saint and cherished as a father, It seems to me that, with sincere tears of my repentance, I confessed to him the greatest part of my sins, though I concealed one of them, through shame and respect for my spiritual guide. But I did not conceal from him that the strange questions he had put to me at my least confession were, with the natural corruption of my heart, the principal cause of my destruction.

 

            “‘He spoke to me very kindly, encourage me to fight against my bad inclinations, and, at first, gave me very kind and good advice. But when O thought he had finished speaking, and as I was preparing to leave the confessional box, he put to me two new questions of such a polluting character that, I fear, neither the blood of Christ nor all the fires of hell will ever be able to blot them from my memory. These questions have achieved my ruin; they have struck to my mind like two deadly arrows; they are day and night before my imagination; they fill my arteries and veins with deadly poison.

 

            “‘It is true that, at first, they filled me with horror and disgust; but alas! I soon got so accustomed to them that they seemed to be incorporated with me, and as if coming a second nature. Those thoughts have become a new source in innumerable criminal thoughts, desires and actions.

 

            “‘A month later we were obliged by the rules of our convent to go and confess; but by this time I was so completely lost, that I no longer blushed at the idea of confessing my shameful sins to a man; it was the contrary. I had a real diabolical pleasure in the thought that I should have a long conversation with my confessor on those questions. In fact, when I had told him everything without a blush, he began to interrogate me, and God knows what corrupting things fell from his lips into my poor, criminal heart! Every one of his questions was thrilling my nerves and filling me with the most shameful sensations! After an hour of this criminal tête-à-tête with my old confessor (for it was nothing but a criminal tête-à-tête) I perceived that he was as depraved as I was myself. With some half-covered words also; and during more than a year we have lived through the most sinful intimacy. Though he was much older than I, I loved him in the most foolish way. When the course of my convent instruction was finished, my parents called me back to their home. I was really glad of that change of residence, for I was beginning to be tired of my criminal life. My hope was that, under the directions of a better confessor, I should reconcile myself to God and begin a Christian life.

 

            “‘Unfortunately for me, my new confessor, who was very young, began also his interrogations. He soon fell in love with me, and I loved him in the most criminal way. I have done with him things which I hope you will never request me to reveal to you, for they are too monstrous to be repeated, even in the confessional, by a woman to a man.

 

            “‘I do not say these things to take away the responsibility of my iniquities with my young confessor from my shoulders, for I think I have been more criminal that he was. It is my firm conviction that he was a good and holy priest before he know me; but the questions he had put to me, and the answers I had to give him, melted his heart-I know it-just as boiling lead would melt the ice on which it flows.

 

            “‘I know this is not such a detailed confession as our holy church requires me to make, but I have thought it necessary for me to give you this short history of the life of the greatest and most miserable sinner who ever asked you to help her to come out from the tomb of her iniquities, This is the way I have lived these last few years. But last Sabbath, God, in His infinite mercy, looked down upon me. He inspired you to give us the Prodigal Son as a model of true conversion, and as the most marvelous proof of the infinite compassion of the dear Saviour for the sinner. I have wept day and night since that happy day when I threw myself into the arms of my loving, merciful father. Even now, I can hardly speak, because my regret for my past iniquities, and my joy that I am allowed to bathe the feet of my Saviour with my tears, are so great that my voice is choked.

 

            “‘You understand that I have forever given up my last confessor. I come to ask you to do me the favor to receive me among your penitents. Oh! Do not reject nor rebuke me, for the dear Saviour’s sake! Be not afraid to have at your side such a monster of iniquity! But before going further, I have two favors to ask from you: The first is, that you will never do anything to ascertain my name; the second is, that you will never put me to any of those questions by which so many penitents are lost, and so many priests forever destroyed. Twice I have been lost by those questions. We come to our confessors that we may throw upon our guilty souls the pure waters which flow from heaven to purify us; but instead of that, with their unmentionable questions, they pour oil in the burning fires, which are already raging in our poor, sinful hearts. Oh! Dear father, let me become your penitent, that you may help me to go and weep with Magdalene at the Saviour’s feet! Do respect me, as He respected that true model of all the sinful, but repenting women! Did our Saviour put to her any question? Did he extort from her the history of things which a sinful woman cannot say without forgetting the respect she owes herself and to God? No! You told us not long ago that the only thing our Saviour did was to look as her tears and her love. Well, please do that, and you will save me!”

 

            “I was then a very young priest, and never had words so sublime come to my ears in the confessional box. Her tears and her sobs, mingled with the frank declaration of the most humiliating actions, had made such a profound impression upon me that I was for some time unable to speak. It had come to my mind also that I might be mistaken about her identity, and that perhaps she was not the young lady that I had imagined. I could, then, easily grant her first request, which was to do nothing by which I could know her. The second part of her prayer was more embarrassing; for the theologians are very positive in ordering the confessors to question their penitents, particularly those of the female sex, in many circumstances.

 

            “I encouraged her in the best way I could, to persevere in her good resolutions, by invoking the blessed Virgin Mary and St. Philomene, who was, the Sainte a la mode, just as Marie Alacoque is today, among the blind slave of Rome. I told her that I would pray and think over the subject of her second request; and I asked her to come back in a week for my answer.

 

            “The very same day, I went to my own confessor, the Rev. Mr. Baillargeon, then Curate of Quebec, and afterwards Archbishop of Canada. I told him the singular and unusual request she had made, that I should never put her to any of those questions suggested by the theologians, to insure the integrity of the confession. I did not conceal from him that I was much inclined to grant her that favor; for I repeated what I had already several times told him, that I was supremely disgusted with the infamous and polluting questions which the theologians forced us to put to our female penitents. I told him frankly that several young and old priests had already come to me to confess that, with the exception of two, they had told me they could not put those questions and hear the censures they elicited without falling into the most damnable sins.

 

            “My confessor seemed to be much perplexed about what he should answer. He asked me to come again the next day, that he might review some theological books in the interval. The next day I took down in writing his answer, which I find in my old manuscripts, and I give here in all its sad cruelty: ‘Such cases of the destruction of female virtue by the questions of the confessional is an unavoidable evil. It cannot be helped; for such questions are absolutely necessary in the greater part of the cases with which we have to deal. Men generally confess their sins with s much sincerity that there is seldom any need for questioning them, except when they are very ignorant. But St. Liguori, as well as our personal observation, tells us that the larger number of girls and women, through a false and criminal shame, very, very seldom confess the sins they commit against purity. It requires the utmost charity in the confessors to prevent these unfortunate slaves of their secret passions from making sacrilegious confessions and communions. With the greatest prudence and zeal he must question them on those matters, beginning with the smallest sins, and going, little by little, as much as possible by imperceptible degrees, to the most criminal actions. As it seems evident that the penitent referred to in your questions of yesterday, is unwilling to make a full and detailed confession of all her iniquities, you cannot promise to absolve her without assuring yourself, by wise and prudent questions that she had confessed everything.

 

            “‘You must not be discouraged when, through the confessional, or any other way, you learn the fall of priests into the common frailties of human nature, with their penitents. Our Saviour knew very well that the occasions of girls and women, are so numerous, and sometimes so irresistible, that many would fall. But He has given them the Holy Virgin Mary, who constantly asks and obtains their pardon. He has given then the sacrament of penance, where they can receive their pardon as often as they ask for it. The man of perfect chastity is a greater honor and privilege; but we cannot conceal from ourselves that it puts on our shoulders a burden that many cannot carry forever. St. Ligouri says that we must not rebuke the penitent says that we must not rebuke the penitent priest who falls only once a month; and some other trustworthy theologians are still more charitable.”

 

            “This answer was far from satisfying me. It seemed to me composed of soft-soap principles. I went back with a heavy heart and an anxious mind; and God knows that I made many fervent prayers that this girl should never come again to give me her sad history. I was then hardly 26 years old, full of youth and life. It seemed to me that the stings of a thousand wasps to my ears could not do me such harm as the words of that dear, beautiful, accomplished, but lost girl. I do not mean to say that the revelations which she made had, in any way, diminished my esteem and my respect for her. It was just the contrary. Her tears and her sobs at my feet; her agonized expressions of shame and regret; her noble words of protest against the disgusting and polluting interrogations of the confessors, had raised her very high in my mind. My sincere hope was that she would have a place in the kingdom of Christ with the Samaritan woman, Mary Magdalene, and all the sinners who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb.

 

            “At the appointed day, I was in my confessional, listening to the confession of a young man, when I saw Miss Mary entering the vestry, and coming directly to my confessional box, where she knelt by me. Though she had, still more than at the first time, disguised herself behind a long, thick, black veil, I could not be mistaken; she was the very same amiable young lady in whose father’s house I used to pass such pleasant and happy hours. I had often listened with breathless attention to her melodious voice, when she was giving us, accompanied by her piano, some of our beautiful church hymns. Who could then see and hear her without almost worshipping her? The dignity of her steps and her whole mien, when she advanced toward my confessional, entirely betrayed her and destroyed her incognito.

 

            “Oh! I would have given every drop of my blood in that solemn hour, that I might have been free to deal with her just as she had so eloquently requested me to do-to let her weep and cry at the feet of Jesus to her heart’s content. Oh! If I had been free to take her by the hand, and silently show her the dying Saviour, that she might have bathed His feet with her tears, and spread the oil of her love on His head, without my saying else but ‘Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven!’

 

            “But there, in that confessional box, I was not the servant of Christ, to follow His divine, saving words, and obey the dictates of my honest conscience. I was the slave of the Pope! I had to stifle the cry of my conscience, to ignore the inspirations of my God! There my conscience had no right to speak; my intelligence was a dead thing! The theologians of the Pope, alone, had a right to be heard and obeyed! I was not there to save, but to destroy; for, under the pretext of purifying, the real mission of the confessor, often, if not always, in spite of himself, is to scandalize and damn their souls.

 

            “As soon as the young man who was making his confession at my left hand, had finished, O without noise, turned myself toward her and said, through the little aperture, ‘Are you ready to begin your confession?’

 

            “But she did not answer me. All that I could hear was: ‘Oh, my Jesus, have mercy upon me! I come to wash my soul in Thy blood; wilt Thou rebuke me?’

 

            “During several minutes she raised her hands and eyes to heaven, and wept and prayed. It was evident that she had not the least idea that I was observing her; she thought the door of the little partition between her and me was shut. But my eyes were fixed upon her; my tears were flowing with her tears, and my ardent prayers were going to the feet of Jesus with her prayers. I would not have interrupted her for any consideration, in this, her sublime communication with her merciful Saviour.

 

            “But after a pretty long time, I made a little noise with my hand, and putting my lips near the opening of the partition which was between us, I said in a low voice: ‘Dear sister, are you ready to begin your confession?’

 

            “She turned her face a little towards me, and she said with a trembling voice: ‘Yes, dear father, I am ready.’      

 

            “But she then stopped again to weep and pray, though I could not hear what she said.

 

            “After some time in silent prayer, I said, ‘My dear sister, if you are ready, please begin your confession.’ She then said: ‘My dear father, do you remember the prayers which I made to you, the other day? Can you allow me to confess my sins without forcing me to forget the respect that I owe to myself, to you, and to God who hears us? And can you promise that you will not put to me any of those questions which have already done me such irreparable injury? I frankly declare to you that there are sins in me that I cannot reveal to anyone, except to Christ, because He is my God, and that He already knows them all. Let me weep and cry at His feet. Can you not forgive me without adding to my iniquities by forcing me to say things that the tongue of a Christian woman cannot reveal to a man?’

 

            “‘My dear sister,’ I answered, ‘were I free to follow the voice of my own feelings I would be only too happy to grant your request; but I am here only as the minister of our holy church, and bound to obey the laws, Through her most holy pops and theologians, she tells me that I cannot forgive your sins, if you do not confess them all, just as you have committed them. The church tells me also that you must give the details, which may add to the malice or change the nature of your sins. I am sorry to tell you that our most holy theologians make it a duty of our confessors to question the penitent on the sins which he has good reason to suspect have been voluntarily omitted.

 

            “With a piercing cry she exclaimed: ‘Then, O, my God, I am lost-forever lost.”

 

            “This cry fell upon me like a thunderbolt; but I was still more terror-stricken when, looking through the aperture, I saw she was fainting; I heard the nose of her head striking against the sides of the confessional box.

 

            “Quick as lightning I ran to help her, took her in my arms and called a couple of men who were at a little distance, to assist me in laying her on a bench, I washed her face with some cold water and vinegar. She was as pale as death, but her lips were moving, and she was saying which nobody but I could understand:

 

            “‘I am lost- lost forever!.”

 

            “We took her home to her disconsolate family, where during a month she lingered between life and death. Her first two confessors came to visit her; but having asked everyone to go out of the room, she politely, but absolutely, requested them to go away and never come again, She asked me to visit her every day, ‘for,’ she said, ‘I have only a few more days to live. Help me to prepare myself for the solemn hour when will open the gates of eternity!’

 

            “Every day I visited her, and I prayed and I wept with her.

 

            “Many times, when alone, with tears I requested her to finish her confession, but, with a firmness which, then, seemed to be mysterious and inexplicable, she politely rebuked me.

 

            “One day, when alone with her, I was kneeling by the side of her bed to pray, I was unable to articulate a single word, because of the inexpressible anguish of my soul in her account, she asked me: ‘Dear Father, why do you weep?’

 

            “I answered, ‘How can you put such a question to your murderer! I weep because I have killed you, dear friend!’

 

            “This answer seemed to trouble her exceedingly. After she had wept and prayed in silence, she said, ‘Do not weep for me, but weep for so many priests who destroy their penitents in the confessional. I believe in the holiness of the sacrament if penance, since our holy church has established it. But there is, somewhere, something exceedingly wrong in the confessional. Twice I have been destroyed, and I know many girls who have also been destroyed by the confessional. This is a secret, but will that secret be kept forever? I pity the poor priests that day that our fathers will know what becomes of the purity of their daughters in the hands of their confessors. Father would surely kill my last two confessors, if he could only know they have destroyed his poor child.’

 

            “I could not answer except by weeping.

 

            “We remained silent for a long time; then she said: ‘It is true that I was not prepared for the rebuke that you have given me, the other day, in the confessional; but you acted conscientiously, as a good and honest priest. I know you must be bound by certain laws.’

 

            “She then pressed my hand with her cold hand and said: “Weep not, dear Father, because that sudden storm has wrecked my too fragile bark. This storm was to take me out from the bottomless sea of my iniquities to the shore where Jesus was waiting to receive and pardon me. The night after you had brought me, half dead, here to father’s house, I had a dream. Oh no! it was not a dream, it was a reality. My Jesus came to me. He was bleeding; his crown of thorns was on His head, the heavy cross was bruising His soft shoulders. He said to me, with a voice so sweet that no human tongue can imitate it: ‘I have seen thy tears, I have heard thy cries and I know thy love for Me. Thy sins are forgiven; take courage; in a few days thou shalt be with Me!’

 

            “I called the family, who rushed into the room. The doctor was sent for. He found her so weak that he thought id proper to only allow one or two persons to remain in the room with me. He requested us not to speak at all. ‘For,” said he, ‘the least emotion might kill her instantly; her disease is, in all probability, an aneurism of the aorta, the big vein which brings the blood to the heart; when it breaks she will go as quickly as lightning.’

 

            “It was nearly 10 at night when I left the house to go and take some rest. But it is not necessary to say that I passed a sleepless night. My dear Mary was there, pale, dying from the deadly blow which I had given her in the confessional. She was there, on her bed of death, her heart pieced with the dagger which my church had put into my hands! and instead of rebuking and cursing me for my savage, merciless fanaticism, she was blessing me! She was dying from a broken heart; and I was not allowed by my church to give her a single word of consolation and hope, for she had not made her confessions! I had mercilessly bruised that tender plant, and there was nothing in my hands to heal the wounds I had made!

 

            “It was very probable that she would die the next day, and I was forbidden to show her the crown of glory which Jesus has prepared in His kingdom for the repenting sinner.

 

“My desolation was really unspeakable, and I think I would have died that night, if the stream of tears which have flowed from my eyes had not been as a bam to my distressed heart.

 

            “How dark and long the hours of that night seemed to me!

 

            “Before the dawn of day, I arose to read my theologians again, and see if I could not find son one who would allow me to forgive the sins of that dear child, without forcing her to tell me anything that she had done. But they seemed to me, more than ever, unanimously inexorable, and I put them back on the shelves of my library with a heavy heart.

 

            “At 9:00 a.m. the next day, I was by the bed of our dear, sick Mary. I cannot sufficiently tell the joy I felt, when the doctor and the whole family said to me: ‘She is much better; the rest of last night has wrought a marvelous change, indeed.

 

            “With a really angelic smile she extended her hand to me, that I might press it into mine, and she said: ‘I thought last evening the dear Saviour would take me to Him, but He wants me, dear Father, to give you a little more trouble; however, be patient, in cannot be long before the solemn hour of the appeal will ring. Will you please read me the history of the suffering and death of the beloved Saviour, which you read me the other day? It does me so much to see how He has loved me, such a miserable sinner.’

 

            “There was a calm and solemnity in her words which struck me singularly, as well as all those who were there.

 

            “After I had finished reading, she exclaimed”: He has loved me so much that He died for me sins!’ And she shut her eyes as if to meditate in silence, but there was a stream of big tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

            “I knelt down by her bed, with her family, to pray; but I could not utter a single word. The idea that this dear child was there, dying from the cruel fanaticism of my theologians and my own cowardice in obeying them, was a mill-stone to my neck. It was killing me.

 

            “Oh! If, by dying a thousand times, I could have added a single day to her life, with that pleasure I would have accepted those thousand deaths!

 

            “After we had silent prayer and wept by her bedside, she requested her mother to leave her alone with me.

            “When I saw myself alone, under the irresistible impression that this was her last day, I fell on my knees again, and with tears of the most sincere compassion for her soul, I requested her to shake off her shame and to obey our holy church, which requires every one to confess their sins id they want to be forgiven.

 

            “She calmly, but with an air of dignity which no human words can express, said: ‘Is it true, that, after the sins of Adam and Eve, God himself made coats and skins, and clothed them that they might not see each others’ nakedness?’

 

            “‘Yes,” I said, ‘this is what the holy Scriptures tell us.’

 

            “‘Well, the, how is it possible that our confessors dare to take away from us that holy, divine coat of modesty and self-respect? Has not Almighty God Himself made, with His own hands, that coat of womanly modesty and self-respect that we might not be to you and ourselves a cause of shame and sin?

 

            “I was really stunned by the beauty, simplicity and sublimity of that comparison. I remained absolutely mute and confounded. Though it was demolishing all the traditions and doctrines of my theologians, that noble answer found such an echo in my soul, that it seemed to me a sacrilege to try touch it with my finger.

 

            “After a short time of silence she continued: “Twice I have been destroyed by priests in the confessional. They took away from me that divine coat of modesty and self-respect which God gives to every human being who comes into this world, and twice I have become for those very priests a deep pit of perdition into which they have fallen, and where, I fear, that they are forever lost! My merciful, Heavenly Father has given me back that coat of skins, that nuptial robe of modesty, self-respect and holiness, which had been taken away from me. He cannot allow you or any other man, to tear again and spoil that vestment which is the work of His hands.’

 

            “These words had exhausted her; it was evident to me that she wanted some rest. I left her alone, but I was absolutely beside myself. Filled with admiration for the sublime lessons which I had received from the lips of that regenerated daughter of Christ, who, it was evident, was soon to fly away from us, I felt a supreme disgust for myself, my theologians-shall I say it?-yes, I felt in that solemn hour a supreme disgust for my church which was cruelly defiling me and all her priests in the confessional box. I felt, in that hour, a supreme horror for that auricular confession, which is so often a pit of perdition and supreme misery for the confessor and penitent. I cam out and walked for two hours on the Plains of Abraham, to breathe pure and refreshing air of the mountains. There, alone, I sat on a stone, on the very spot where Wolf and Montcalm fought and died; and I wept to my heart’s content, on my irreparable degradation, and the degradation of so many priests through the confessional.

 

            “At 4 o’clock in the afternoon I went back again to the house of my dear, dying Mary. The mother took me apart, and very politely said: ‘My dear Mr. Chiniquay, do you not think it is time that our dear child receive the last sacraments? She seemed much better this morning, and we were full of much hope; but she is now rapidly sinking. Please lose no time in giving her the holy viaticum and the extreme unction.’

 

            “I said: ‘Yes, madam; let me pass a few moments alone with our dear child, that I may prepare her for the last sacraments.’

 

            “When alone with her, I again fell on my knees, and, amidst torrents of tears, I said: ‘My dear sister, it is my desire to give you the holy viaticum and the extreme unction; but tell me, how can I dare to do a thing so solemn against all the prohibitions of our holy church? How can I give you the Holy Communion without first giving you absolution? And how can I give you absolution when you earnestly persist in telling me that you have so many sins which you will never declare to me or any other confessor?

 

            “‘You know that I cherish and respect you as if you were an angel sent to me from heaven. You told me, the other day, that you blest the day that you first saw and knew me. I say the same thing. I bless the days that I have known you. I bless every hour that I have spent by your bed of suffering; I bless every tear which I have shed with you on your sins and on my own; I bless every hour we have passed together in looking to the wounds of our beloved, dying Savour; I bless you for having forgiven me your death! for I know it, and I confess it in the presence of God-I have killed you, dear sister, But now I prefer a thousand time to die than to say to you a word which would pain your soul. Please, my dear sister, tell me what I can and must so for you in this solemn hour?

 

            “Calmly and with a smile of joy such as I had never seen before, nor since, she said: ‘I thank and bless you dear Father, for the parable of the Prodigal Son, on which you preached a month ago. You have brought me to the feet the dear Saviour; there have I found a peace and a joy surpassing anything that human heart can feel; I have thrown myself into the arms of my Heavenly Father, and I know that He has mercifully accepted and forgiven His poor, prodigal child! Oh, I see the angels with their golden harps around the throne of the Lamb! Do you not hear the celestial harmony of their songs? I go-I go to join them in my Father’s house. I SHALL NOT BE LOST!’

 

            “While she was thus speaking to me, my eyes really turned into two fountains of tears; I was unable, as unwilling to see anything, so entirely overcome was I by the sublime words which were flowing from the dying lips of that dear child, who was no more a sinner, but a real angel of heaven to me. I was listening to her words; there was a celestial music in every one of them. But she had raised her voice in such a strange way when she had begin to day, ‘I go to my Father’s house,’ and she had made such a cry of joy when she had let the last words, ‘not be lost,’ escape her lips, that I have raised my head and opened my eyes to look at her. I suspected that something strange had occurred.

 

            “I got upon my feet, passed my handkerchief over my face to wipe away the tears which were preventing me from seeing with accuracy, and looked at her.

 

            “Her hands were crossed on her breast, and there was on her face the expression of a really superhuman joy; her beautiful eyes were fixed as if they were looking on some grand and sublime spectacle; it seemed to me at first, that she was praying.

 

            “In that very instant, the mother rushed into the room, crying: ‘My God! My God! What does that cry, ‘lost’ mean?’ For her last words, ‘not be lost,’ particularly the last one, had been pronounced with such a powerful voice, that they had been heard almost everywhere in the house.

 

            “I made a sign with my hand to prevent the distressed mother from making any noise and troubling her dying child in her prayer, for I really thought that she had stopped speaking, as she used so often to do, when alone with me, in order to pray. But I was mistaken. The redeemed soul had gone, on the golden wings of love, to join the multitude of those who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb, to sing the eternal Alleluia.

 

            “The revelation of the unmentionable corruptions directly and unavoidably engendered by articular confession, had come to me from the lips of that young lady, as the first rays of the sun which were to hurl back the dark clouds of night which Rome had wrapped my intelligence on that subject.”

 

 

THE HORRIBLE DEEDS OF MODERN ROMANISM

 

            This article appeared twelve years ago in “The Rocky Mountain American,” published at Denver, Col. We recommend it with a vengeance to all who are patronizing Papal priests or Papal Convents.

 

            “ROME NEVER CHANGES. Her motto is ‘Semper Idem’-‘always the same.’”-Cardinal Gibbons.

 

            “You Catholics ought to be proud of your women, because you are the only people in the world who have virtuous wives; there are none virtuous in the Protestant churches!” -Priest Timothy Corbett, of Duluth, Minn., Dec. 10, 1893.

 

            “Facts lead us to conclude that although probably from prudential motives Romish bishops and inquisitorial powers, yet they do so secretly, in accordance with their oaths. If the reader asks where, we reply within the walls of those prisons which exist in many Roman Catholic churches, and within the precincts of every monastery and nunnery in this country.”-Charles Hastings Collette.

 

            In reference to nunneries, the Council of Trent decreed that:

 

            “No professed nun should ever come out of her nunnery under and pretense whatever, not even for a moment. If any escape, being compelled to return to their convents, they must be punished as apostates.”

 

            Ligouri, in his “True Spouse of Christ,” defines the punishment of apostates:

 

            “To be chastised *  *  * shut up in a place of confinement, from which it is impossible to escape, in a word, it is to be in continual torture without a moment’s peace. Such is the miserable condition of a bad religieuse, and therefore she suffers on earth an anticipation of the torments of hell.”

 

            In May 1881, the Paris correspondent of the Edinburgh Daily Review stated:

 

            “Fifteen corpses, or rather skeletons of women, dating no more than ten years or so back, were found un a crypt under the church of St. Laurent, and physicians inferred, from the distorted state of their head and members, that they suffered indescribable anguish before dying. The crypt id exhibited to the public.”

 

            The Pall Mall Gazette, in the same year, referred to similar horrors found in the vaults of the church of Notra Dame des Victoires, It appears that the Communists unearthed a whole lot of mysteries that season.”

 

            “In another vault the bodies of four women, recently buried were discovered., and in a small lateral vault, a couple of gold bracelets were picked up. Here citizen Mousa thinks some fearful crime must have been committed, for on the wall of the vault was plainly visible the mark left by the jeweled arm, and it is evident to him that the lady with the bracelets must have struggled in the vault, which had been newly painted when she was confined in it.”

 

            An English physician describes what he saw during an official investigation made in the dungeon vaults of the church Les Petit Paris in 1871:

 

            “Many bodies of women, in their ordinary dress, and without any coffin, were found buried in slanting position, so that while the feet were some distance below the surface of the floor, the heads were covered with but a few inches of earth. One body was that of a fine, handsome woman, but recently interred, and evidently a terrible struggle had taken place before she was bound and buried-buried gradually-and buried (there can be little doubt) alive; otherwise, why buried in a slanting position?

 

            A correspondent writes the Minneapolis Loyal American:

 

            “One summer early in the thirties, the water in the St. Lawrence at Montreal became extremely low, so low indeed, that the shore line had receded a considerable distance, leaving exposed a wide strip of river bottom which was reeking with filth that had been thrown there or washed through the city sewers into the river. There was a nunnery standing close to the bank of the river and from it a large sewer extended, running out into the stream. Ordinarily the outlet of this sewer would be invisible, because submerged; but this particular summer it was left high and dry, and exposed to the public view, as was also a piece of river bottom adjoining and adjacent to it. What a foul, pestilential spot was that; but what a horrible sight was beheld as well; for, in the sewer and in the deep mud for many rods around its mouth, were the dead bodies and the skeletons of hundreds of infants that had been thrown in the vaults of the nunnery and washed down through the sewer. There they lay festering and rotting in the sun, and poisoning the air with deadly aroma; a reeking, filthy, horrible mass. The spot was visited by thousands, including citizens of Montreal, of Quebec, and of smaller towns adjacent. Indeed, quite a number of people came a long distance to see and verify what they could not believe from rumor or hearsay. Every one was indignant, in fact the feeling was intense. Against whom? Against the female inmates of the nunnery and the priests-the mothers and fathers of these hundreds of poor infants. Catholics and Protestants alike were loud in the denunciations of these people of crime and sin; but what was done? Nothing, absolutely nothing. The city of Montreal was in the hands of the clergy; what could be done? Who would dare to prosecute or even investigate? Woe to him that has the temerity to do so; he had no protection against his priestly enemies and their trembling, cringing slaves. He would be threatened with assassination and the deed might soon follow the threat; or the torch would be applied to his dwelling, and poison to be given to his cow or horse.”

 

            Open the doors of the closed retreats of the crafty, cruel Jesuits who if true to the record of their order, may be as free with their tortures here in America as they were in Spain in the days of Torquemada.

 

            San Francisco is a city wholly given over to Romanism.