Auricular Confession and Popish Nunneries / Volumes I. and II., Complete

by William Hogan

In the year 1822, and in the city of Philadelphia, an elegant carriage, with servants in livery, drove up to my door, in Fourth street, between Walnut and Spruce, where I then lived; and a lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion, unceremoniously stepped up to my door and opened it without rapping, announcing herself a stranger who wished to see me on particular business. I knew, almost by intuition, what this particular business was. I asked no questions and of course received no answers. The lady, however, said she wanted to confess and get absolution. My duty was plain, I was a Popish priest But you have not the worst of it yet, reader; so far, there was nothing evil in the matter save the infatuation of the lady in believing that a man could forgive her sins, and my worse than infatuation and weakness in believing that I had such power. The substance of this confession was the following, which fully verifies the truth of Michelet's statement This lady had been in the habit of going to confession to a Popish bishop, who lived in a neighboring state, and frequently had criminal intercourse with him, going to his room whenever he directed her, under pretence of going to confession, though at the time she was a married woman. It will be asked why she came to me. The reason was this: her paramour being a bishop, was unwilling to have his crimes known to any priest in his own diocese, and directed her to come to another; and believing, as all Catholics do, that one priest can forgive sins as well as another, she selected me, as I was then comparatively a stranger in the country. But the worst of the tale is not told yet. That part of it which corroborates the statement of Michelet remains still to be heard.

Soon after the departure of this lady from my house, an English gentleman, with whom I had the pleasure of an acquaintance some years previously in London, and with whom I occasionally dined at a well-known and fashionable boarding-house, not far from my own house, called on me and insisted that I should dine with him that day, holding out as a particular inducement the pleasure of introducing me to a lady and gentleman of the highest respectability, whom I should meet at dinner. I accordingly went to dine; and the reader may imagine my surprise at finding the very identical lady who had been at confession with me a few hours before, and her husband—the respectable lady and gentleman to whom my friend promised an introduction. Respectable they truly Were, as far as this world is capable of appreciating respectability; and happy they were also, to all appearance; but was not Michelet right in saying of a woman who goes to confession to a priest, "She will never pass before that man without lowering' her eyes?" Could that lady pass before me without lowering her eyes? or could I, if hardened in the iniquitous practice of hearing confession much longer than I was then, pass that lady without lowering mine? Did I not, as Michelet expresses it, "hold the soul" of that lady? Did I not, were I iniquitously disposed, as her bishop was, hold her body also? But when I looked at the husband of this lady—the elegant, accomplished, and gentlemanly husband—when I reflected on his humiliating position—when I reflected that this elegant man was widowed, not only of the soul, but partly of the body, of his beautiful, and as I can easily fancy, once innocent and virtuous wife, by a Popish bishop in the confessional, I could almost have cursed the hour that gave me birth in a land of Popery. My very soul froze within me, and I almost regretted that God in his mercy had not made me something else than a being who could have broken the cords of that pure and unmingled love between that elegant man who sat before me, and his once elegant and virtuous wife. Humiliating indeed, as Michelet said, must be the condition of that man whose wife goes to the confessional. When he walks the streets, he is met by the confessor of his wife, who, as Michelet properly says again, "salutes him humbly, turns aside, and laughs." O, how true this is! and would to God I could brand it upon the heart of every man whose wife goes to confession. Is it true that God lives? is it true that the earth moves? is it true that man has a soul? is it true that mind is not matter? is it true that the sun rises and sets? O! it is still more true, if possible, that there are such things as Popish priests—saints in appearance, but demons in practice,—who laugh at the ruin and division they have made between man and wife. I do not know that I was ever so lost to every feeling of honor, when a Romish priest, as, when I passed through the streets, to laugh at the husband whose wife was persuaded and fascinated away from him in the confessional; but I have often walked the streets with Romish priests, in Europe especially, where Popery predominates, and there is no sort of amusement upon those occasions which they enjoy more than calling each other's attention to some of their neighbors, as they pass along, and whispering into each other's ears, "Look at that gentleman; how fond he seems, of his wife. It was yesterday she was at the confessional with me; poor fool!" This chit-chat terminates in a hearty laugh, all at the expense of the husband. The reader, I trust, will not think me tedious, if I give him another instance of the evils of Popish confession. It will be borne in mind that the fact which I am about to state is not taken from history, though history abounds with similar cases. It is one within my own knowledge.

A short time previous to my coming to this country, and soon after my being installed as confessor in the Romish Church, I became intimately acquainted with a Popish family of great respectability. This family consisted of a widowed father and two daughters and never in my life have I met two more interesting young ladies than the daughters were. These ladies lived not far from the church where I officiated, and were frequently in the habit of going to mass to my church, and calling upon me when service was over, to take breakfast with them at their father's house. This custom of having young ladies call upon Roman Catholic clergymen to accompany them home to breakfast after mass is over, is very prevalent in Europe, among the most fashionable members of the Popish Church; it is particularly so in the city of———, where I then officiated, and where the melancholy circumstance which I am about to relate took place. The father of the two young ladies to whom I have alluded, was a gentleman of about the age of fifty-five, distinguished for his charity and benevolence. He was wealthy; and whenever any object which might advance the good of his fellow beings was suggested or proposed, he was among the first to advocate and support it. His influence and his money were never wanting, when either could promote the happiness of his fellow beings. It may easily be imagined that the daughters of such a gentleman were well educated and accomplished. It may also be supposed that their home, being a home of plenty and abundance, was one of peace, happiness, charity, and domestic love. It was truly so, when I had the honor of first knowing the family. But the serpent found its way into this little garden of happiness.

In less than two months after my first visit to this family, at their peaceful and hospitable breakfast table, I observed the chair which had been usually occupied by the elder of the two sisters, occupied by the younger, and that of the latter vacant I inquired the cause, and was informed by the father that he had just accompanied her to the coach which left that morning for Dublin, and that she went on a visit to the sister of the Rev. B. K. I, of course, made no further observations, but I suspected that something was wrong; I also knew full well, that whatever the cause was, I should learn the particulars of it in my capacity as confessor. As time advanced, I made the usual inquiries for this young lady, who was then only about eighteen years old. The answers were such as any one acquainted with the world might expect, and entirely satisfactory to all who knew nothing of the iniquitous practices encouraged and fostered in the Romish confessional.

I will here pass over an interval of about three months. A detail of the private occurrences in any particular family can have no general interest. At or about the expiration of that period, the younger sister complained of indisposition, and it was found necessary to send her also on a visit to Dublin.

Now the whole truth broke upon me at once. I knew there was foul play somewhere, and soon enough did the fact in all its particulars come to my ear. It seems that both the daughters of whom I have spoken, went to a school attached to the Ursuline Nunnery in the city of————. The confessor, whose duty it was to hear the confessions of the pupils of this institution, was one Rev. Mr. B. K., a friar of the Franciscan order, who, as soon as his plans were properly laid, and circumstances rendered matters ripe for execution, seduced the elder lady; and finding that the fact could no longer be concealed, arranged matters with a friend in Dublin, so that the victim of his iniquity might be concealed and privately supplied with all the usual attendants which her situation required.

She was confined at the house of his friend, and her illicit offspring given to the managers of the Foundling Hospital in Dublin.

But the most horrible part of the story remains yet to be told. No sooner was this elder lady provided for, than this incarnate demon, B. K., commenced the seduction of the younger lady. He succeeded, and ruined her, too. But there was no difficulty in providing for them; both became nuns. And here, you people of Massachusetts in particular, be it known to you, fathers and mothers, who have sent your daughters to be educated in the Ursuline Convent, Charlestown, Massachusetts—I mean that which you felt it your duty to pull down, a few years ago, and which was situated upon Mount Benedict—that both these nuns held high stations in the convent which you pulled down, and that at the very period of its destruction. Pools, "dolts, double dolts," as the Jesuit Rodin calls all who contribute to the support of Popish nunneries, are you not ashamed of yourselves? Are females who have been the prostitutes of priests in foreign countries, and who in nine cases out of ten continue to be so here, the only teachers competent to instruct your daughters? Are there no American ladies—no Protestant ladies—capable of teaching your children? Must American parents go to Europe, and take from the 546 purlieus of Popish convents, instructors for their children? A poor compliment to American Protestant ladies, and a sad commentary it is upon the total ignorance of American theologians respecting Popish morals in Europe.

Here we have a case in point This is not an old lie, as Popish priests and their supporters call all accusations against them; it is a new one, if a lie at all; it is one which I know myself, and can prove. I knew these nuns personally, before they came to this country. I was acquainted with them before they became nuns. I saw them in the convent at Mount Benedict. They were great favorites of Bishop Fenwick.

They were spoken of by some of the first families in the city of Boston, as models of piety; and to my own knowledge, two or three young ladies—and these the daughters of New England Protestants—were counselled by their mothers to take particular notice of the manners of those two nuns in particular, and imitate them, as nearly as possible. Nor can any one be surprised or scandalized, if I acknowledge my weakness in stating that I could not resist an involuntary impulse to laugh at them "in my sleeve." Does Bishop Fenwick desire the names of these two nuns? It is true, they might be Magdalens, but "credat Judeas Apella, sed non ego."