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Part I. Novitiate and Ecclesiastic Career.

At the age of nineteen I had formed the resolution of entering the church, and was finishing my studies at the Seminary of Vercelli. I usually passed my vacations in the company of Luigi Quarelli, arch-priest and cure of Langosco, my native place. Incited by an eager thirst for knowledge, I had, in the course of a few years, completely exhausted his library; and often did this worthy man repeat to me, that so far from learning being of any use to me, it would more probably be an obstacle to my advancement in the church. He now began to speak to me of the Jesuits. The power of this order, its reverses, its recent restoration, the impenetrable mystery in which it has been enveloped since its origin, all contributed to exalt it in his eyes. According to his account, none were admitted into it but such as were distinguished for intellect, wealth, or station. He spoke of it as the only order which, so far from repressing the native energies of the mind, or the tendencies of genius, did actually favour them in every way. This assertion he substantiated by many striking examples.

The impression made on me by these conversations was exceedingly strong. Young, inexperienced, and dazzled by statements which taught me to regard Jesuitism as the only resource of a noble ambition, I longed for nothing so much as to be received into the order. Neither the thought of abandoning my parents, nor that of the severe trials to which I must subject myself, could, in any way, divert me from my purpose.

The cure scrupulously examined my resolution, and the result being satisfactory, he wrote to Turin, to Father Roothaan, then rector of a college of the society in that town, and now general of the Jesuits. The rector, after having made the customary inquiries respecting me, intimated that I might repair to the capital, and undergo the preliminary examinations.

I therefore took my departure. When I presented myself to him, he conversed with me for some time, and with great openness and affability. At first, his object appeared to be merely to acquaint himself with the extent of my acquirements, but by degrees he led me on insensibly to make a general confession, as it were, of my whole life.

I will not here attempt to retrace the details of this conversation. It would be difficult for me to convey an idea of the consummate art employed to sound a conscience, to descend into the very depths of the inmost heart, and to make all its chords resound, the individual remaining, all the while, unconscious of the analysis which is going on, so occupied is he by the pleasant flow of the conversation, so beguiled by the air of frank good-nature with which the artful process is conducted.

I have retained but vague and disjointed recollections of all these subtle artifices. One portion of the conversation, however, imprinted itself so deeply in my memory that I will repeat it, in order to show under what point of view the present chief of the Jesuits had already begun to regard the mission and aim of his order.

“And now,” said he, after having examined me, “what I have to communicate to you is calculated to fill you with hope and joy. You enter our society at a time when its adherents are far from numerous, and when there is, consequently, every encouragement to aspire to a rapid elevation. But think not that on entering it you are to fold your arms and dream. You are aware that our society, at one time, flourished vigorously, that it marched with giant steps in the conquest of souls, and that the cause of Christ and of the Holy See achieved signal victories by our means. But the very greatness of the work we were fulfilling, excited envy without bounds. The spirit of our order was attacked, all our views were misrepresented and calumniated, and as the world is always more ready to believe evil than good, we came, ere long, to be universally detested.

“Thus, we, the Society of Jesus, were doomed to undergo the same trials as our Divine Master. We were loaded with insults, we were driven from every resting-place. Monarchs and nations entertained with respect to us but one common thought, that of sweeping us from the face of the earth. Humiliated, insulted, buffeted, crowned with thorns, and bearing the cross, we also were doomed to suffer the death of ignominy. There was not wanting even a Caiaphas (allusion to Pope Clement XIV. who banned the Jesuits) to sign our sentence with his own hand; and the chastisement with which he was soon after visited by the just judgment of Heaven (the Jesuits murdered him with poison), gave rise to a last calumny against us, which crowned all the others. Our last struggle was ended; we died—but though dead, the powerful still trembled at our name. They made haste to seal up our tomb, and they set over it a vigilant guard, so that there might not be the faintest sign of life beneath the stone which covered us.

“But behold what became of the potentates themselves, during our sleep of death! (Meaning during the suppression of the Jesuits.) Day by day they were visited by chastisements more and more severe. The world became the theatre of direful troubles and terrible catastrophes. A giant threaded (infilzava) (Italian meaning speared) crowns upon his resistless sword, and monarchs were cast down in the dust at his feet. But the moment of terror soon arrived, in which Almighty God broke the sword of the man of fate, and called us from the sepulchre. Our resurrection struck the nations with astonishment; and now we shall be no more the sport and the prey of the wicked, for our society is destined to become the right arm of the Eternal!

“Thus, a new era is opening for us. All that the church has lost she will regain through us. Our order, by its activity, its efforts, and its devotedness, will vivify all the other orders, now well nigh extinct. It will bear to all parts the torch of truth, for the dispersion of falsehood; it will bring back to the faith those whom incredulity has led astray; it will, in a word, realise the promise contained in the gospel, that all men shall be one fold under one Shepherd.

“Henceforward, then, no more disasters; the future is wholly ours. Our march will be victorious, our conquests incessant, our triumph decisive.

“But, once more, do not expect to walk upon roses; it is right that I should warn you of this. The mission which our society imposes on itself is a stern one. We do not (it is important that you should know this), we do not aim only at restoring their ancient empire to some fragments of truth, but at restoring it to the whole Catholic truth. Thus, there is no pride or pretension that our order does not ruffle and wound: whence result all sorts of accusations, which we must support with courage. Bear in mind, when once the hand is laid to the plough, the only thought must be how to run the furrow straight. Macte animo (Italian meaning “with a bright heart”), then, look not backwards. You can do much. Besides, I think that the more you become penetrated with the spirit of the order —if God, as I trust, grants you the grace to become one of its members—the more energy you will feel in yourself for the task which the superiors, and not human caprice, will assign you. Your superiors alone must be judges of this, for God always especially directs them, in order that each one, remaining at the post which is suitable to him, may most usefully co-operate in the great work, namely, the raising up of the church, the salvation of the world, and the union of all sects and parties under the authority of him who, as the representative of God himself on earth, cannot but act in the interest of all, ON CONDITION, HOWEVER, THAT ALL CONSENT TO OBEY HIM.”

This discourse, which I have considerably abridged, excited my imagination, filled me with new thoughts, and awakened in my heart an ardent faith. My visit to Father Roothaan, his engaging countenance, the unctuous (smooth) phrases that flowed abundantly from his lips, the singular address he displayed in rendering his conversation always full of interest—all this had soon subjugated me most completely to the Jesuits.

The reader may imagine what I felt on the occasion of this memorable interview. I was at the age of enthusiasm, the age in which all our faculties spring with undivided purpose towards their aim, whatever it may be. My mind had remained till then absorbed in a sort of half slumber. Transported—inflamed for a cause which I believed to be that of God himself, my sole aspiration was to pronounce the vows which were to bind me to it for ever.

On learning my decision my father was struck with the deepest sorrow: nor can I describe the distress of my poor mother; but though the strong affection I felt for her had always given her a great influence over me, this time her prayers could not change my determination. Luigi di Bernardi a man of uncommon worth, a priest, anti-monastic on principle, by whom I had been early initiated into all that is manly, austere, and sublime in the annals of Greece and Rome, exerted all his energy and all his knowledge to change the bent of my mind. All his efforts failed to shake my resolution, though my gratitude and my respect for him were boundless. Many friends also beset me, and added additional gloom in the appalling pictures which several persons had already traced to me of the order of the Jesuits. But in all this I saw nothing but pure malevolence, or stratagems devised to change my resolution.

At length my father declared that I should never have his consent.

The arch-priest Quarelli, grieved at our approaching separation, was obliged, almost in spite of himself, to make use of an argument which he knew would be decisive with my father and mother, both overcome with anguish at the thought of losing their only child.

He told them that everything proved the irresistible force of my vocation, and that my internal struggles were no less cruel than theirs; that it was absolutely necessary to obey the voice which called me, under pain of warring against God Himself. He reminded them of Abraham, and of his willingness to sacrifice his only son. “Besides,” continued he, “perhaps he will not be entirely lost to you: perhaps God will permit that you shall embrace him sometimes before your death. You cannot live in peace with your conscience unless you consent, and, be well assured, the reward that awaits you at your last home will be equal to the greatness of your sacrifice; while, on the other hand, how deep would be your remorse if you persisted in refusing to God that which He asks of you!”

To talk thus to my parents was to attack them on their vulnerable side. Though they were most deeply afflicted, they consented at last to bid me farewell. My father was unable to pronounce a single word; my mother was almost overwhelmed by grief.

Just at this time Father Roothaan wrote thus to me:—

“Dearly beloved son, I trust that you will follow up your holy vocation in such a manner that we may never have to repent—you, of the resolution you have taken; I, of having proposed you; the superiors, of having accepted you. Your eternal salvation, your solid religious perfection for the greater glory of God, are and ought to be the first and principal motive for which you desire to enter into the company. You will need all your courage, as I told you, when you come to me for examination. In order to be a good and a true Jesuit it is indispensable to possess a strong heart, and to be ready not only to labour much, but to suffer much—aye, even unto death! — to be persevering in humility, in obedience, in patience, seeking only God, who will Himself be merces vestra magna nimis (Your reward is too great). Therefore, confortare et esto robustus (strengthen and be strong). In giving yourself up to the order you place yourself in the hands of Divine Providence! Confide yourself wholly to Him, and He will conduct you safely to port! Under His protection we may sing whilst we steer!

“Hasten your preparations so that you may present yourself here in September*, and I will send you immediately to Chieri, that you may there lay, in the novitiate, the solid foundations of a truly religious and Jesuitical life.”

A few days afterwards I received from him another letter, in the following terms:—

“Now, then, you may at once enter the novitiate. Such is the purport of a letter of yesterday’s date, sent me by the father rector of Chieri. Call at St. Francis-de-Paule, in Turin; if I am not there, you will find me at Chieri, where the novitiate is. As to the manner of proceeding to Chieri, you will be informed of it here, at St. Francois-de-Paule. Pray for me to the Lord.
“Yours most affectionately in Christ,
“John Roothaan,
“of the Society of Jesus.”

* Sic, although the letter was dated the 2nd September (1824.)

I set out accordingly. On my arrival, they placed in my hands the rules which related to this first phase of my new existence. I was immediately initiated into the exercises of Saint Ignatius, and of other saints— all Jesuits. It is by this sudden and complete immersion of the soul that they acquire their unlimited power over so many young men, unarmed by experience, and totally without defense, from the unreflecting enthusiasm which belongs to their age.

The most profound silence, rarely interrupted even by whispers, reigned in this abode, which was however not destitute of material comforts. The guardian angel (for this is the name given to the father attached to each novice) was accustomed to close the shutters of my windows, in order that I might remain as much as possible in obscurity. Thus seated, in partial darkness, he reasoned aloud on the world, on sin, and on eternal punishment. Conformably to one of the rules of the founder of the society, he designated those who do not submit in all things to the decisions of the church, as an army of rebels, angels of darkness, whom Satan inspires and governs, and against whom battle must be waged, until the day of final victory by the army of the faithful, led on by those angels of light and chiefs of the sacred militia, the Jesuits. As for the enemy’s camp, he spoke of nothing in it but its reeking pestilence and corruption.

The indispensable complement of these private and daily discourses is weekly confession, comprising an avowal of every affection of the heart, every sentiment of the mind, and even of one’s dreams. This is the plummet-line always kept in hand by the superiors, and by means of which they ascertain what is passing in the very depth of their pupils’ consciences. The miracles of all sorts with which the heads of the latter are filled are all invented in order to rear upon supernatural bases a structure of absolute and blind obedience. Under such a system, wherein there is neither conversation, nor reading, nor devotional exercise which has not been elaborately adjusted by a mysterious power, in such a manner as to take possession of both the understanding and the heart, each individual who has been wrought upon during a sufficient time, comes at last to consider himself religiously bound to the total surrender of his own will.

For myself, I felt my own personality daily diminishing, and I blessed this progressive self-annihilation, and recognized in it the sign of my salvation.

The subject most peculiarly dwelt upon, during my confessions, was the affection which still bound me to the remembrance of my friends and relations. I was constantly told that it was my imperative duty to tear asunder these bonds of affection, and stifle these remembrances: their complete immolation was represented to me as the most sacred of triumphs. To devote myself entirely to the order, was the sole object prescribed to me. As long as there existed within me the smallest trace of self-will, or of earthly affection, there would be something remaining of the “old man ” which was finally to be absorbed in the Jesuit. I was by no means astonished that they should thus seek to convert me into a new being, for I truly believed that the more I should identify myself with the society the more I should belong to God; and in this deadening of every feeling which might stand in the way of my entire dedication to the order, I perceived nothing but a just and reasonable consequence of its directing principle: “that the fewer ties we have with all that might distract us from our purpose, the more will be our power to persuade others to acknowledge that authority which it is the mission of the Jesuits to proclaim, as the only one upon earth which is not subject to error.”

Thus far, all went on well. However laborious it might be, I subjected myself resolutely to the probatoria (the probation which precedes the novitiate). Not that I was exempt from anxiety and sorrow. Far from it. In hours of deep depression and anguish, my thoughts recurring to many a beloved object I had just forsaken, and feeling that my heart was empty, my mind perturbed, my soul sinking within me, and even my imagination, hitherto so free, enchained, I confess that I shrank back with terror and repented. Never, however, even in those gloomy moments, did the idea of renouncing the society seriously take possession of me. The fact is, there was not a particle of all I had heard from Father Roothaan, but what I believed to be true, noble, holy, and more worthy to be followed than anything else on earth. Moreover, when these mental struggles beset me, I was told that those very persons who had sustained the like, had afterwards made themselves the most distinguished in the order for their zeal; and that far from regarding such things as proofs of a want of vocation, I ought rather to behold in them a mark of Divine election. “By and by,” they told me, “when your studies shall have been completed, the immolation of the ‘old man’ accomplished, and your special vocation determined, you will only have to unfold your wings without fear of any impediment to your soaring flight.”

This sort of language cheered me, and it is probable that I should have grown more and more attached to the society, that I should even have become one of its most devoted members, but for the incidents which I am about to relate.

My too intense application to the subjects of a gloomy devotion, and the utter solitude of the probatoria, had broken down my spirits and my health. The first complaint I made, immediately procured me the indulgence of meat on a fast-day; and, when I would have refused this favour, it was in vain that I alleged the trifling nature of my indisposition. My guardian angel, Father Saetti, of Modena, solemnly replied to me that I ought to take especial care of my health, that I was called to be a labourer in the Lord’s field, and that it was by no means the intention of the church to exact too much of those who, having torn asunder all the bonds of the flesh and of the world, delivered themselves up to her with devotedness.

Every morning, fasting, they obliged me, in spite of my extreme repugnance, to drink a sort of mulled wine, rather thick, and of a singular flavour, which had the effect of producing, during the whole of the day, a species of torpor (a state of lowered physiological activity) which I had never before experienced. In vain I refused this potion; all I could obtain was the permission to begin with small doses, until I should become accustomed to it.

At length, fatigued by long poring over ascetic books, and by the meditations which I was required to make again and again for hours on my knees, without any support, and being tempted by the fine autumn weather to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the sunshine, I begged my guardian angel to ask permission for me of the rector to walk for a few moments alone in the garden. “You have only,” he replied, “to go to him and ask this permission for yourself; you may be certain he will grant you whatever favour is in his power.”

It was not, however, until two days afterwards that, excited by the splendour of a day more than usually beautiful, I resolved to make my request.

It was in the afternoon. I quitted my chamber, and went to the rector’s apartment, the door of which I found open, although the rector was absent. This circumstance surprised me not a little, as among the Jesuits everything is conducted with the most exact regularity.

As the novices never address the superior, who has the direction of the novitiate, otherwise than by his title of rector, I am unable here to designate him by his name; but nothing would be easier than to know it by ascertaining who was the Jesuit father occupying the direction of the novitiate house at Chieri in the month of September, 1824.

This father was without any austerity of manner. I had every reason to be gratified by his kindness to me, and separated as I was from all those whom I had loved, I began to feel some attachment for him. From my first entrance into the house, he had even admitted me to a considerable degree of familiarity, with a view, no doubt, to insinuate himself into my confidence, all of which, indeed, he was in a fair way of obtaining. But the familiarity to which he had accustomed me had, on this, occasion, a result very unfortunate for his speculations. If he had treated me with that reserve which intimidates and keeps at a distance, I should never have presumed to enter bis apartments during the absence of the master, to go from one room to another, and to allow myself to do what I am about to relate.

I entered, then, the opened door, and perceiving nothing unusual in the room, except a small table, covered with bottles and glasses, in the right-hand corner, I supposed that the rector’s absence was momentary, and that he would presently return. For want of something to do, I sauntered with a sort of lazy curiosity into an adjacent chamber, where a small library immediately attracted my attention. Impressed as I was by the holy maxims which were daily repeated to me, and above all by those solemn words which began and closed every conversation—Ad majorem Dei gloriam—how should I have doubted but that I was dwelling among angels? In fact, it is impossible to imagine anything more touching than the generosity with which the fathers attribute to each other the rarest virtues and the most astonishingly miraculous of powers. I was not far, indeed, from believing implicitly that I was an inmate of a place peculiarly favoured by a constant communion with Heaven.

It was impossible, then, that I should for a moment conceive the thought that the rooms of the rector of a novitiate, who, as my confessor, was ever exciting me to a life of purity and elevation, should contain any books but those of piety and holiness. Weary as I had grown for some time of incessantly reading the exercises of Saint Ignatius, and incited by an irresistible desire to turn over some other leaves than those, I raised my hand to a shelf of the library, and joyfully seized a volume. To my surprise, I perceived a second row of books behind the first. Curiosity impelled me to take down the volume which had been concealed by the first I laid hold on. The name of the author has escaped my recollection, but it was, I think, a philosopher of the last century. I should have looked at it more deliberately, had not a third row of books, behind the second, struck me by the peculiar style of the binding. What was my astonishment when this title met my gaze, “Confessions of the Novices!” The side edges of the book were marked with the letters of the alphabet. Could I do less than seek for the initial of my own name?

The first pages, written, probably, a few days after my arrival, contained a rough sketch of my character. I was utterly confounded. I recognized my successive confessions, each condensed into a few lines. So clear and accurate was the appreciation given of my temperament, my faculties, my affections, my weakness and my strength, that I saw before my eyes a complete revelation of my own nature. What surprised me above all was the conciseness and energy of the expressions employed to sum up the characteristics of my whole being. The favourite images I found in this depository of outpourings of all sorts from the heart of ingenuous youth, were borrowed from the materials used in building—hard, fragile, malleable, coarse, precious, necessary, accessory; a sort of figurative language which has kept fast hold on my memory. I only regret that I could but glance with the rapidity of lightning over the pages that concerned myself; yet this glance sufficed to reveal to me the object of such a work. An idea may be formed of it from the passage I am about to cite, and Of which I have retained an indelible remembrance.

“The amount of enthusiasm and imagination with which he is endowed,” said the text, “might in time be made very useful in varnishing our work. His want of taste for the grotesque (sic) in religion* will do no harm, but it proves that his talent must be employed in recommending and exalting, to the more delicate consciences, all that is pure and ennobling in religion. He would spoil all if we were to let him set to work on the clumsier parts of the edifice; whilst he will greatly aid its advancement if he is employed exclusively in the more delicate parts. Let him be kept, therefore, in the upper regions of thought, and let him not even be aware of the springs which set in movement the vulgar part of the religious world.

* Father Saetti, knocking at my door one morning, according to his custom, I did not immediately open it “Why this delay?” he asked me. I replied that I could not open the door sooner. He then reminded me that, in all things, the most prompt obedience was the most perfect; that in obeying God we must make every sacrifice, even that of a moment of time. “One of the brethren,” he continued, “was occupied in writing, when some one knocked at his door. He had begun to make an o, but he did not stay to finish it He opened the door, and on returning to his seat, he found the o completed, and all in gold! Thus you see how God rewards him who is obedient?” I received this story with a burst of laughter, at which he appeared much scandalised. “What J” he exclaimed, with an alarmed face, “do you not believe in miracles?” “Most certainly I do,” replied I; “but this one is only fit to tell to old women.”

This was, no doubt, repeated to the superior, and gave rise, I Imagine, to the secret remarks quoted above.

“It is important that he should always have near him, in his moments of depression, someone to cheer him with brilliant anticipations. But should his ardour, on the contrary, lead him too far, some discouragement or disappointment must be prepared for him, in order to mortify him and keep him in subjection.”

Not an atom of what I had, as a matter of conscience, revealed to my guardian angel, or confessor, was omitted in this register. When I recollect what sweeping inductions were drawn from the trifles which I had considered myself bound to communicate, I cannot wonder that such a system, so based on profound study of character, pursued with so much assiduity and constancy, and applied on so vast a scale to individuals of every age and every condition, should place in the hands of the Jesuits an almost infallible means for attaining the end which they have proposed to themselves, with such extraordinary determination.

It may be imagined what were the reflections aroused within me on the discovery I had made. In an instant I recalled all the sinister statements which had been made to me respecting this celebrated society. But none of these thoughts had time to fix themselves in my mind, so eagerly was I incited by the desire to know more. Agitated, carried away, by a dizzy curiosity and an increasing anxiety, I seized a volume entitled, Confessions of Strangers. I hastily glanced over a few lines, here and there, and the small portions that I read induced me afterwards to believe, that everything in this order is done conformably to the rules of the little code, known by the name of Monita Secreta, or Secret Instructions. It was, in fact, a collection of notes upon persons of every class, of every age, rich men, bachelors, &c. Here again were circumstantial details—propensities, fortune, family, relations, vices and virtues, together with such anecdotes as were calculated to characterize the personages. It is only in cases of exception, as I have since learnt, that a Jesuit remains long in the same place. If he be allowed to continue his sojourn there, it is only when the superiors are convinced of the incontestable utility of the influence which he exercises. Whenever a Jesuit, particularly one of moderate abilities, has used up the resources of his mind in any particular place, and when he seems to have nothing new to produce, the regulations of the order require that he shall be replaced by another who may, in his turn, be remarked and admired for a longer or a shorter time. In these frequent changes there is another advantage: the new-comer, entering upon the sacred office of his predecessor, as soon as he has learnt the names of the persons who choose him for the director of their conscience, can, by means of the Register of Confessions, furnish himself, in a few hours, with all the experience acquired by his colleagues. This artifice endows him with the infallible power of surprising, confounding, and subjugating the penitents who kneel beside him; he penetrates them most unexpectedly, and, in a manner unprecedented, introduces himself into the most hidden folds of their hearts. It cannot be told with how much art the Jesuits profit by the astonishment they thus excite, and how adroitly they turn it to the advancement of their work. Thus, I have met with rich bigots, old men, and often with young persons of the weaker sex, who boldly maintain that the greater number of these reverend fathers are actually endowed with the spirit of prophecy.

I was, meanwhile, disposed to make further and bolder researches. The book which I next opened was a register of Revenues, Acquisitions, and Expenses. In my feverish impatience I soon quitted it for another, entitled, Enemies of the Society. At this moment I was interrupted by a noise which I heard, and scarcely had I time to replace the volumes I had disturbed, when I distinguished the sound of numerous approaching footsteps, as if several persons were about to enter the apartment. Then only I began to feel the danger of my presence in the closet.

Until then I had been wholly absorbed, and hurried along, as it were, by a whirlwind. But the discoveries I have related proved to be but the prologue to a drama infinitely more serious, and which I am about to retrace.

As soon as I was aware that the rector was returning, along with several other persons, I held a rapid debate within myself whether I should leave the inner room, and cross the other in their presence, or remain hidden as I was. But, in order to render my narrative more clear, I ought here, perhaps, to relate a fact which can alone explain why I had found the door of the apartment open. I learnt afterwards that a rich nobleman and courtier* had come to pay a visit to the Jesuit fathers at Chieri. I had myself a few days previously heard a rumour of the expected arrival of some fathers from a distance. At this period, the Jesuits were beginning to plant some roots in Piedmont, of which they meditated the conquest; and I doubt not that the superiors of the society resident at Chieri wished to offer a flattering reception to this high personage. Their conversation had, probably, run upon the work which they proposed to undertake in that country, I understood, at least, from some of their expressions, that they congratulated themselves on having interested their noble visitor, and trusted that they had acquired in him a powerful supporter. There seems every reason to suppose that the fathers, desirous of pleasing him, had, in their excess of politeness, accompanied him to his carriage, where the conversation and the parting compliments had been prolonged more than a quarter of an hour, whilst it had occurred to no one amongst them that the door of the rector’s apartment was left open.

* The Marquis of Saluces, brother of the Count of Saluces. I had not named him in the manuscript which has been stolen from me. My plunderers have added, in their Berne publication, a verbal indiscretion to their actual theft.

What might be the number of the fathers I cannot exactly report. To judge from the noise of voices, there might be at least eight or ten of them.

As to myself, my perplexity may be better conceived than described. I was bewildered. What was I to do? Remain? But every moment I might expect to be discovered, and then! Should I open the door, and break in upon their eager conversation? But I was too much agitated, too much oppressed, by what I had just read; besides, what I had already overheard of their projects, their eager animation, and the freedom of their speech, all terrified me. I trembled at the bare idea of encountering their inquisitorial gaze. A fearful reaction had instantaneously taken place within me. The Society of Jesus was suddenly revealed to me in darker and more repulsive colours than those under which it had formerly been depicted to me. Confounded, paralyzed, and utterly unable to come to any determination, I remained motionless. . . . Far from being fatal to me, this loss of time was the circumstance which saved me.

Whilst they were thus conversing together with considerable vehemence, all on a sudden, as if they had disappeared, the noise of their voices ceased, and a dead silence ensued. An electric shock could not have produced a greater revulsion of feeling than that I experienced; and the door of the room, in which I was, being a little open, as it had been from the first, my very pulses seemed to stand still during this pause.

Yet were I again to be submitted to such a trial, I know not whether I should again be capable of the resolution which then rose within me. I was composed, as it were, of two beings. I felt, at the same time, all the timidity and all the rash boldness of a child. A sort of fascination inspired me with a daring thought, leaving me at the same time perfectly aware of the danger of my situation. Others may be able to explain this mystery; for myself, I only state what occurred to me. I tell what I dared to attempt, and what I effected, without seeking to conceal the terror by which I was shaken during its execution, and which left an impression upon me that lasted more than a twelvemonth. Certain it is that I soon experienced, in the midst of my trembling fears, a sort of boyish exultation, a feeling of joy and triumph at the idea of being initiated into secrets, the mysterious and awful nature of which I was led to infer from the revelations of the library, the words which struck my ears, the opinion I had conceived of the power of the Jesuits, and the remembrance, which these circumstances so vividly recalled, of all that I had heard in their disfavour. But let me not anticipate.

Up to this time, I had been endeavouring to collect all my courage, in order to present myself before the assembly, and attempt to go forth, excusing myself to the rector, if, as was most likely, he should interrogate me; and, probably, I should have finished by taking this step, had the confused conversation continued much longer. The sudden silence, the idea that I was discovered, put an end to the resolution I was about to take. At the very moment when I expected to see the door opened, the incident which took place changed my situation, and rendered it critical in the last extreme. At the first words I heard, and which I am about to relate, I felt with terror that I was, in fact, witness of a council which held up before me the two grand perils between which I had to choose. But the danger, if I presented myself, was immediate though unknown, whilst it seemed to me that in temporizing there was some chance of safety. This latter plan, too, was the easier from its inaction; it left me a ray of hope that I might yet escape undetected, and I remained therefore motionless, awaiting my fate. I will now relate the words which almost immediately broke the awful silence.

I do not profess to give with literal accuracy, in each expression, the allocution of the Jesuit who filled the office of president on this occasion; but I pledge myself that the sense is faithfully and accurately reported: the words, which in a moment so grave, and in the midst of such profound attention, fell slowly and emphatically on my ear, remain indelibly imprinted on my memory.

“You will excuse me, dear brethren”—(an imperative gesture of the president himself had doubtless produced the silence which had been so startling to me)—“you will excuse me if I thus interrupt you. You are aware that we have no time to lose. Today, as already resolved, we will enter into a general view of the interests and the plan of action by which our society is at present to be guided. Hitherto our discussions have related only to local affairs. We must now define the principles which are, henceforward, to regulate our conduct. The men with whom we have now to do, are totally dissimilar to those of past times. The plan which we are now to lay down must be calculated to meet present as well as future obstacles. And shall not we,” he added, with a tone of concentrated haughtiness, “with our united efforts, be able to do as much as—nay, more than was done by one single man, in a few years, to the astonishment of the whole world? Hold yourselves ready then, you who have sufficient understanding to throw light upon the important questions which we have to resolve.

“You have, before your eyes, the list of those points which form our chief object.

“What is most important for us is, that our materials should augment, and that a book be ultimately made from them—I will not say a large book, but such a book, as may become, though small in volume, a vast fund, wherein shall be concentrated the experience of thousands, for the benefit of all those whom we shall initiate into our work. For you all know that since quiet is restored, and the genius of war is fettered, the mind of every nation is at the disposal of him who shall most adroitly take possession of it.

“But let us not deceive ourselves. However good our old swords may be, yet seeing the struggle which awaits us, it is not enough to sharpen them; we must above all things modernize them.

“We must first decide, then, what course to follow with the multitude who have been bewildered and fascinated by such fine-sounding words as ‘right,’ ‘liberty,’ ‘human dignity,’ and so forth. It is not by straightforward opposition, and by depreciating their idols, that we shall prevail. To prepare for men of all parties, whatever may be their banner, a gigantic surprise, that is our task. (Creare a tutti i pariiti, qualunque sia la lor bandiera, una gigantesca sorpresa, ecco la nostra opera.) (Italian meaning: “To create for all peers, whatever their nationality, a gigantic surprise. Here is our work.)

“Let our first care, therefore, be to change, altogether, the nature of our tactics, and to give a new varnish to religion, by appearing to make large concessions. This is the only means to assure our influence over these moderns, half men, half children.

“We will first, then, take a review of the arsenal of our forces. The present meeting shall be the pregnant mother of our future proceedings (

seance mere

), wherein we will concentrate all the ideas we have formed upon the epoch, so as to turn them to the aggrandisement of the church. Here are the minutes of the three preceding meetings, which you may all consult at your leisure. Broad margins have been left in order that you may note down your reflections, your rectifications, and even your objections, should such present themselves to your minds; and above all, your new views on the difficulties we shall encounter, and on the best means of vanquishing them. In this manner we shall become more and more enlightened on the grand design of our order, and on the course which will most promptly and most surely accomplish it.

“Bear ever in mind that our great object, in the first place, is to study deeply and bring to perfection the art of rendering ourselves both necessary and formidable to the powers that be.”

It almost took away my breath to find the worst that bad been told me of the Jesuits thus suddenly and unexpectedly confirmed by what I had just read and heard. To open the door now, and to present myself before them, would have been the act of a madman. All that remained for me was to decide what I should do if I were discovered; and I thought my only possible resource, if I heard them approach the door, would be to stretch myself on the ground as if I were in a fit. I felt, in fact, as if I were on the point of being precipitated headlong down a precipice.

A salutary diversion drew me out of this state of extreme anxiety; there was a movement and a sound of chairs; they were evidently taking their seats at the table. Here was a respite! I breathed again. The person who had already spoken now uttered, in a simple and familiar tone, the following words, which suddenly inspired me with the feelings and the resolution of which I have spoken above.

“I should wish,” said he, “that nothing should be lost of what we are about to say. I desire exceedingly that all our ideas may be committed to writing, so that others may have opportunity to criticise, develop, or improve them. Let us, therefore, deliver them clearly and deliberately, in order that our friend the secretary (L’amico nostro, il secretario) may lose nothing of what is said.”

To hear this, to observe near me a small table furnished with writing materials, and to resolve to play myself the part of secretary, was the work of an instant.

From the commencement of my studies, first from caprice, and afterwards with a special motive, I had invented for my own use a system of abbreviations in writing. I had only thought, at first, of procuring myself a little leisure during the dictation of the lessons, and thus being able to amuse myself, with all the vain-glory of a schoolboy, in watching my fellow-students painfully writing down what I had long since finished. The indulgence of this diversion sometimes, indeed, Induced the professor to require me to prove, by reading the dictation, that I had really written it. But I afterwards turned this species of stenography to more account, because it enabled me to enjoy furtive reading during the lessons. And the effect of it remains to this day; for, although I no longer make use of this system, I find it difficult to write without many abbreviations, so that my handwriting is, unfortunately for my correspondents, singularly illegible. Besides, those amongst the Jesuits whose native tongue was not Italian naturally spoke with slowness. Hence I had no difficulty in writing down all that was said. I was thus occupied until the close of the day; a quarter of an hour more, and daylight would have totally failed me.

I will not attempt to describe my sensations whilst thus occupied. I felt as if I had taken a prodigious leap. Still very young (I was only nineteen), simple and confiding, I was confronted, wholly unprepared, with the most daring and profound machinations which men, such as the chiefs of the Jesuits, were capable of devising. The veil withdrawn, I beheld myself face to face with one of the most mysterious powers which has ever been known to reduce to system, on a vast scale, the art of subjugating all sorts of passions—the passions of the mass, and the passions of sovereigns—to the obtaining of a fixed and immutable purpose.

Thus, scarcely daring to make the slightest movement, I was able, through the partly-opened door, to hear distinctly every word. I listened to the discourses of eight or ten of the most energetic chiefs of the society, who, having laid aside, on this occasion, their unctuous language, and honied phrases of holiness, boldly reasoned upon sects, parties, opinions, and interests, weighed both obstacles and resources, and built up a colossal edifice of delusion, before which Machiavel would have bowed his head.

This was a rude trial for an understanding so youthful and unprepared as mine. Besides this, the singularity of my situation—listening to and writing down the words of invisible personages, whilst I knew that the sword was suspended over me by a single thread—occasioned emotions so violent, that I cannot, to this day, recall them without a nervous shudder.

My readers’ own feelings, as they peruse what follows, will enable them to judge what I must have suffered.

A certain impression, which I welcomed as a hope of safety and of Divine protection, seemed to come upon me, that this singular situation, which I had neither sought nor foreseen, was not the effect of chance. Besides, my occupation absorbed me so deeply, that I had sunk into a sort of calm—a calm inwardly troubled, it is true, and, as it were, convulsive. But when I perceived that the sitting was about to draw to a close, all my agitation was renewed. A deep terror took possession of all my senses; after what I had heard and what I had done, I could not look for any mercy. At the noise which followed, when all the assembly rose from their seats, my knees knocked together, and drops of cold perspiration fell from my forehead.

Meanwhile, however much I resembled a condemned criminal whose hour of execution has arrived, I was not so wholly mastered by terror but that I had some lucid moments. I took advantage of the noise produced by their mutual congratulations to thrust my manuscripts into my stockings, and felt somewhat relieved when they were thus concealed. Afterwards, when the bottles were uncorked, and the glasses were jingled, I exerted all the little force I had left to ease my torpid limbs; for the posture I had been obliged so long to maintain had cramped my whole frame, especially my neck and my legs. Happily, the noise was now sufficient to allow me to stretch my limbs, and let my blood return to its natural circulation.

This relief obtained, and the noise in the adjoining room having again subsided, the chief who had already spoken, addressed the following observations to his colleagues, who listened with the renewed attention which his words seemed always to command.

“Where is the revolutionist who, as soon as he becomes engaged in any plot, is not obliged to risk his fortune and his life? As for us, we have nothing of the kind to fear. On the contrary, those who load us with favours, to whom we owe these spacious mansions where we hold our meetings in perfect safety, not only confide to us their subordinates and their families, but put themselves into our hands.”

These last words, uttered in a slightly ironical tone, excited an approving murmur, which induced the speaker to add:—

“But let us not trust too much to the singular advantages of our admirable position. Let us rather take extreme care to avoid the least false step, so as to arrive safely at the result of our efforts.”

After these words there was an explosion of enthusiasm —toast followed toast; but nothing of the precise meaning of their noisy conversation reached me. The only words I heard distinctly were these which one of them, evidently English or Irish by his accent, pronounced in a grave sonorous voice, accenting each syllable impressively: “Et erit unum ovile, et unus pastor.” (Latin for, “And there shall be one flock, and one shepherd.”)

Continually in fear of being discovered, I expected every instant to see the joyous scene of which I was the unknown witness, change into a scene of death. I looked anxiously around me—not a corner where I could conceal myself. I heard the rapid beating of my heart; my fate seemed darker than the night whose approach rendered my thoughts still more gloomy. What a position! I at once desired and feared a change, whatever it might be. I desired it, that I might be released from such cruel constraint; I feared it, for what might befall me! All at once a fortunate accident roused me from my stupor—the house, bell rang. I heard these words, “Come, let us to supper;” followed by these others, “We have earned one, and a good one too.”

As soon as I could make out that they were moving to the door and were really going, I was seized with an agitation of quite a different nature from that which I had endured before. I cannot possibly express what I felt at this moment, when, listening attentively, I acquired the certainty that the room was becoming empty. It seemed to me that an overwhelming weight, which had oppressed me during half the day with a mysterious terror, was instantaneously taken away, as it were, by an invisible hand.

Thenceforward, full of courage, I did not doubt that God had assisted me till then, and that he would continue to assist me.

As soon as the sound of retreating steps had completely died away in the corridors, I crept softly into the apartment. Even there I could not help casting a look on the table round which the assembly had been seated. The temptation was too strong for my curiosity not to overcome my fears. The first thing that struck me was some great books in the form of registers, with alphabeted edges. The sight of them explained to me a noise I had heard at the moment when the Jesuits entered. However, no use had been made of these books during the conference.

Although at that hour I could scarcely see to read, yet I would not lose the opportunity of casting a rapid glance into these volumes. I found that they contained numerous observations relative to the character of distinguished individuals, arranged by towns or families. Each page was evidently written by several different hands. Beside these enormous volumes, I saw three unbound manuscript books, two in Italian, and one in French, all thickly set with marginal notes. If I had not been tormented with strong apprehensions, I could have employed some precious time in looking through this mass of writings. But I had incurred peril enough, and however great the attraction, it was necessary to resist it, and depart without more delay.

What activity in this order!—what power of combination!—what boldness of views!—what fecundity (fruitfulness) of means! But also, what pride to imagine it possible, even with all these appliances, to delude, ensnare, mystify, and quell this rebellious age, which becomes each day more clear-sighted to comprehend these plans, and perceive the definitive object of these manoeuvres.

Jesuitism, indeed, has long lain under the most terrible suspicions.

Fra Paolo Sarpi, a man of great capacity, of consummate experience, a monk himself, and who, during a long life, had studied this amphibious sort of corporation (for it does not declare itself decidedly either ecclesiastic or monkish), calls it in his usual laconic language, “The secret of the court of Rome, and of all secrets the greatest.”

“Of all the religious orders,” said likewise the formidable Philip II., “that of the Jesuits is the only one which I cannot in the least comprehend.”

At the present day this society continues to be an enigma, but its meaning is on the point of being found out.

One day during the last few years I opened the Revue des Deux-Mondes, and great was my surprise on finding there details very similar to those which I have just recounted, and of which, as I have already said, I made no mystery on my arrival in Switzerland. It is, nevertheless, possible, that the information contained in the following lines proceeded from another source: —

“The provincial houses correspond with those of Paris; they are also in direct communication with the general, who resides at Rome. The correspondence of the Jesuits, so active, so varied, and organized in so wonderful a manner, has for object to furnish the chiefs with every information of which they may stand in need. Every day the general receives a number of reports which severally check each other. There are in the central house, at Rome, huge registers, wherein are inscribed the names of all the Jesuits and of all the important persons, friends, or enemies, with whom they have any connexion. In those registers are recorded, without alteration, hate, or passion, facts relating to the lives of each individual. It is the most gigantic biographical collection that has ever been formed. The conduct of a light woman, the hidden failings of a statesman, are recounted in these books with cold impartiality; written with an aim to usefulness, these biographies are necessarily genuine. When it is required to act in any way upon an individual, they open the book and become immediately acquainted with his life, his character, his qualities, his defects, his projects, his family, his friends, his most secret acquaintances. Can you not conceive, sir, what paramount practical advantages a society must enjoy that possesses this immense police register which embraces the whole world? Jt is not on light grounds I speak of these registers, it is from one who has seen this collection, and who is perfectly acquainted with the Jesuits, that I derive my knowledge of this fact. It suggests matter for reflection for those families who give free access to the members of a community in which the study of biography is so adroitly cultivated and applied.”

I was forced, though with regret, to quit the table; besides, the darkness prevented my reading profitably. I was under no difficulty about leaving the room; I knew that the door opened on the inside, and that I should only have to shut it gently to reach the corridor. I thought it best not to go to my room, as it must have been shut up during my absence. What I most dreaded at that moment was to meet any one, for I was convinced that during this absence of half a day I had been anxiously sought for. The best expedient I could think of was to go and place myself in a latticed pew in the church, in which I attended mass every day accompanied by my guardian angel.

Alone there, and in some degree safe, I had leisure to feel the full effects of the fatigue of body and mind I had endured. All my ideas had in fact undergone a complete revolution, which, had it been effected slowly, would not have had the serious consequences of which I am about to speak; but it had taken place with extraordinary violence; the tree had been torn up suddenly by the roots and cast upon the furious waters of a torrent. I will not attempt to describe such a situation; at times I appreciated the event in all its reality; at others the burning of my brain was such that I did not doubt I had been the sport of some Satanic vision; I was present once more at the scene which I had witnessed, but it was now so exaggerated that I fancied I heard spectres or demons conversing together.

Under a load of such different impressions of fear, of astonishment, my intellectual and moral strength broken by toil and constraint, after having yielded myself up to a maze of gloomy and agonizing thoughts, it was a good thing for me that I sank into a deep sleep. It must have been about nine or ten in the evening, when I was suddenly awakened by some one shouting out my name. Mechanically I came out of my pew, and was still rubbing my eyes when I know not how many fathers came round me.

I was instantly overwhelmed with questions. I was obliged to pause some moments to collect my ideas; and then I could find nothing better to say than that I had felt unwell—that everything fatigued me—that the slightest noise tortured me—and that I had retired there to be alone.

But all this was far from satisfying them. Father Saetti remarked, that not only he had been where we then were, but that he had knocked at every door, even at that of the rector, without being able to find me.

In fact, during the meeting I had heard the door open; and so long as the whisperings lasted, and until it was shut again, I had felt a cold shudder run through my frame.

I replied, therefore, that it was true I had not been constantly there; that I had been absent for a quarter of an hour or so, and I mentioned a place to which I had been obliged to go.

The embarrassment manifested in every word I spoke increased their suspicions. The fathers, irritated rather than appeased by my replies, continued, under different forms, to repeat the same interrogations.

The guardian angel took the trouble to inform me, in an ill-humoured tone, that at first he had believed I had gone to make my request to the rector, but that my absence proving so long, he had changed his opinion. And as though he feared being accused of negligence, he justified himself in an eager and serious tone.

“It was impossible for me to suppose,” said he to the rector, “that even if you had received him you would have kept him so long—above all to-day, when, on account of the meeting, you had told me there would be no reception. It was only after having been more than once to inquire of the porter and of the lay brothers, after having importuned everybody, that I began to suspect he might have run away. It was then at the risk of disturbing your meeting, not knowing what to do, I came and knocked at your door. Before supper, I hastened to inform you of his disappearance, and, had it not been to obey you, I should, for my own part, have judged it perfectly useless to go calling him through the corridors as I have just done. I can scarcely believe my eyes at seeing him there now.”

There would have been no end to all this, if, wearied with so many questions, and making a bold effort, I had not begun to complain bitterly, groaning out that they tortured me, that I was exhausted with suffering, that I was dying.

An aged father, whom I recognized by his voice as one of those who had spoken during the meeting, suddenly cut short these puzzling interrogatories. ” Let me see/* said he, taking hold of my hand and feeling my pulse, whilst the rest stood keenly watching me in silence; then, after a few moments of serious thought, “Poor lad!” said he, “he is in a burning fever. To bed with him immediately! let the physician see him at once; I never in my life saw any one in such violent agitation; he is in a tremendous fever.” This was sufficient to put an end to their suspicions.

My first care, on being conducted to my room, was to endeavour to undress without assistance. I contrived, not without difficulty, to lay my stockings aside without any other person touching them. The physician, who soon arrived, confirmed the opinion already pronounced on the serious nature of my attack.

Wholly engrossed by the secret in my possession, as soon as I was left alone, notwithstanding the darkness and the deplorable state I was in, I opened the edge of one of my waistcoats with a penknife; I then took my manuscripts, reduced them into small squares, and placed them earefully within the lining, so as to make no show that could betray their existence. I was obliged, however, to defer till the morrow the task of stitching up the waistcoat.

When my health was in some degree restored, and I had recovered my composure, I communicated to the rector my determination to discontinue my studies for the novitiate. In this I was guilty of signal imprudence, and from that moment my intention of quitting the establishment was represented to me as an inspiration of the devil. The pertinacity with which they strove to detain me, against my will, was so much the more odious to me, as they protested that all they sought was the welfare of my immortal soul. I found my self compelled some time longer to champ the bit in silence.

The day of confession arrived. I had hitherto obeyed a rule which prescribed that the penitent should reply aloud to the questions of his confessor—a more efficacious means, it was said, of advancing in humility and of rendering the act of confession meritorious. This time I paid no attention to it. The rector remarked this, and severely reprimanded me. The fact is, that he never failed on the Saturday evening to place his chair against that very door which, on the day when I took my notes of the sitting, had remained partly open, and he seated himself in such a manner that my voice was necessarily directed towards the door. I was, meanwhile, kneeling on a sort of footstool, and my face nearly touched his. The knowledge I had acquired had rendered me suspicious. The care which he took to exhort me to speak louder, whilst the usual custom in confession is to whisper, called my attention to the door which was in front of me, and I examined it as carefully as my situation would permit. I perceived that it was slight, and composed of a number of narrow battens, with many small interstices between them. Of course, in my new frame of mind I could not help supposing that some mystery was hidden behind that door—that, perhaps, on the same spot where I had written down the proceedings of the meeting, on that very table, so well furnished with writing materials, a secretary took notes of all that was weekly elicited, by questions cunningly contrived so as to search out the inmost hearts of young men who would have scrupled to dissemble, in the solemn act of confession, even their most fugitive thoughts.

Let me now give an account of the contrary effect which was produced on me, in my present state, by those very things which had previously wrought upon me, as it were, by fascination.

The devotional books I was made to read, the sighs and lamentations I heard uttered for the multitude of souls whom the world beguiles and corrupts, and, above all, these maxims, “That it is only by sacrificing our inclinations that we can advance towards perfection; that inferiors ought to listen to their superiors as if God spoke by their lips; that when we have become as a wand, or as a lifeless body in their hands, then only we have attained the height of obedience; and that this short life cannot be better employed than for the triumph of the church, and in seeking to bring all to her.” These books, these sighs, these maxims appeared to me as nothing else than the means of an abominable deception.

Nothing annoyed me so much as the pains they took to imbue my gait, my gestures, and even my looks with a certain air of austerity, and to prune my habitual language of certain free and artless expressions, with a view to impose others upon me, of a honied, specious, and sanctimonious nature. To meditate for ever, in such a place as this, on the eternity of punishment, everlasting felicity, and the duty of putting off the old man and putting on the new, and to pass the beads of a chaplet daily through my fingers, were exercises incompatible thenceforward with the new life which I had received in that very place. But what consummated my disgust was to be compelled to participate in conventional groanings, and in a pious loquacity of which it is impossible to form an idea. How, indeed, could I have continued to be at all deceived as to the nature of these practices? I was now aware of their purpose. They hoped, by means of all their trash of hollow and heartless prayers, their fictitious ecstacies, and chimerical communion with God, to galvanize my imagination, to suppress a portion of my being, and by marring my reason to obscure and mutilate my understanding, so that they might at length become its absolute masters.

The traces of the crisis through which I passed have been so profound, that no religious phraseology, however grand, has ever since been able to impose upon me. So far from being, in my estimation, a warrant of solid piety, a profusion of set phrases induces me rather to inquire whether it is not employed as an instrument of political views, or of self-interested speculation. I have become more and more averse from that heavy formality which almost everywhere stifles the fruitful principles of the gospel; and I have good right to disapprove of and detest it, since I early encountered the most venomous of reptiles under its thick foliage. I know, indeed, of no better rule for judging of men and things than that given by Jesus: “A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, nor an evil tree good fruit. By their fruits ye shall know them/* Convinced that the rector would never cease to oppose my departure, I matured a project of flight, and I chose for its execution what I thought the most favourable hour of the afternoon. I went immediately to the very hotel at which, a short time before, I had dined with the arch-priest, the day of my entrance into the novitiate. From thence I sent to the establishment for whatever belonged to me. One of the fathers immediately came to me, and exerted all his eloquence to convince me that I had committed a heinous fault; but it was in vain he protested that salvation is scarcely to be attained by those who mingle in the world’s ways, whereas if we die in the society it is assured to us, according to the promise of St. Ignatius—I was no longer the man to give heed to such fables. Abstaining from all imprudent disclosures, and avoiding every symptom of rancour, I at length dismissed my persevering visitor, and now I thought only of returning to my parents. A physician, whom I found it necessary to consult, advised me to avoid the motion of a carriage, and to travel rather by boat upon the Po. It is astonishing how the eager desire to quit this place, and the joy of breathing the free air, took away all feeling of the indisposition under which I was still labouring. But scarcely had I proceeded six or seven leagues by water ere my illness increased so much, that when I was landed at Casala I was considered to be in danger. I was therefore compelled to remain at that place until I was able to be removed to Langosco, my native town.

Amidst so many trials it was, however, a consolation to me that throughout this perilous affair I had avoided the worst of all evils, that of betraying myself. In the height of the fever, brought on by all I had gone through, every word I uttered had some confused reference to the meeting of which I had made a minute. I had to strive against this tendency of my disorder, and so great was the* struggle, that I suffered from the effects of it for more than a year. The strangeness of the event, and the fear of betraying my own share in it, had deranged my whole being.

It is important that I should touch upon other annoyances to which I was subjected as soon as it was known that I had left the Jesuits. No one was more visibly, hurt at my abandonment of the novitiate than was my former friend the cure. My brief abode at Chieri, my escape, the complaint against me addressed to him by the superior, and, more than all, my extreme reserve with the Jesuits, from whom I declared, however, I had never experienced anything but good treatment—all these things • were to him totally inexplicable. Those who compared my former enthusiasm with my present icy silence, accused me of inconsistency, and harassed me with questions; and the necessity under which I was placed of answering evasively, contributed not a little to make it appear that I was in the wrong. But the greatest grief I felt on this occasion was that he who had hitherto loved me as his son, so that we could not pass a day without seeking each other’s society, now shut his door against me, declaring, with indignant severity, that for the future he would have nothing to do with me. This was my old friend the cure# And in fact he had witnessed in me so much resistance overcome, so many sacrifices made, so many ties, and those the dearest, broken, that he could not but consider my vocation as a strong and decided one. It appeared unpardonable in his eyes that I should have no reason to allege for the suddenness of the change, none to justify my flight; and nothing could exasperate him more than the utter apathy I showed with regard to the Jesuits, after having been one of their most ardent admirers; an apathy which I could not disguise, although it rendered my conduct still more enigmatical. All this kept us asunder during several years, and even when our reconciliation at last took place, he could not refrain from treating me as inconstant,: unreasonable, flighty, and paradoxical. In fact he only consented to receive me again on condition that not a word should be said on all this affair.

I will now give an idea of the conduct which I was. obliged to adopt, in order to make my way in the clerical. world. I pursued my theological studies, and very naturally the pages I possessed were the frequent subject of my meditations. Instead of being influenced by official instruction, I soon became sensible that, in my case, it only served as an antidote against itself. I thus preserved my thoughts from pursuing the common track. But a crowd of reflections were awakened within me on all that I saw, and these I was absolutely forced to suppress. To form an idea of what all this cost me, it would be necessary to make a close acquaintance with life in a seminary.

Reciprocal mistrust is the first lesson taught there; servility is recommended as the height of virtue; espionage is noble, everything is pardoned to him who practises it, whilst the greatest implacability is shown towards, him who dares to call it a base occupation. The doctrine of pride is also carried to its greatest height in the opinion which the priest is taught to form of his own dignity. He is told to consider himself as no less superior to the laity than man is to the brute. He is told that he must not be familiar with the people; that he must maintain a certain distance in order to be the more imposing, and the better to inculcate the superiority of the church, or (which comes to the same thing) of the clergy. The students in these ecclesiastical establishments, almost all of the poorer classes, shrink from no sacrifice, because they are sustained by the hope of improving their condition. Yes, all that is sought, with such concentrated eagerness, under the semblance of this plausible mechanism of worship, is, in plain truth, a position more or less brilliant—a trade, in fact, by which to live. Such is the mainspring of this machinery, and it does not fail to keep all in movement. And to say the truth, whoever has eyes to see and ears to hear, can feel no doubt that this is the means employed to influence, modify, transform, render subservient, or stifle, if need be, opinions, ideas, and systems. So that the greater number of young men, who are brought by instruction to admit these ready made convictions, and who are incapable of a free and magnanimous resolution, easily lend themselves to certain functions in the Catholic hierarchy, and each works at his’ appointed hour, and in his appointed place, with surprising: readiness and regularity.

When my eyes had once begun to penetrate all these combinations, and their unavoidable results, I perceived within myself symptoms of another revolution. Every amusement was insipid to me; and my soul, early awakened, and yet imprisoned in a little world, an epitome of all that is stirring in the great world, set itself to work secretly to discuss a multitude of questions, delicate in their nature, and difficult to solve. I was in a situation every way exceptional. I was like a person who is placed behind the* curtain during a scenic representation, and who witnesses the play of the wires. Thus, the pomp and show of religion, its fetes, liturgies, solemnities, and devotional practices, inspired me with nothing short of repugnance. But forced to submit to circumstances, with my eye fixed upon a multitude of figures, and on the concealed springs which put them in movement, I shrank, pensively, within myself. This, however, I will say, that notwithstanding all the obligations which I felt were imposed upon me by my situation, neither the sermons at chapel, nor the weekly gymnastics to which I was forced to resign myself, in order to be one of the actors in the insipid exhibition of high mass, nor the act of confession and its monthly certificates, nor all the constraint imposed by constant espionage, operated in the same manner upon me that it did upon others. It roused within me a rebellious feeling, instead of rendering me docile to receive the common stamp.

Alone, as it were, amongst a great number of fellow- students, almost unconnected with them, on account of my eccentricity and isolation, I was compelled to have recourse to whatever change or occupation I could procure, in order to render my situation supportable. I ransacked all the works that came within the limits of the prescribed rules, in the hope of appeasing my thirst of knowledge, and for want of larger resources, my mind was absorbed in reasoning and reflection. I deeply studied (and this was the source of much reproach to me) a Latin Bible, divided into small volumes, one of which I always had about me. Meanwhile the orchestra poured forth its anthems, the altar shone resplendent with gold, the bishop enthroned himself with his scenic adornments; they knelt, they bowed, they waved the censers, they chanted, they stunned the ears, and dazzled the eyes; whilst I, in order to detach myself, as much as possible, from all this mechanical mummery, gladly abandoned my seat at the feast, always furnished on days of extraordinary ceremony, to those who were well contented to take my place; that is to say, to any of those beings as fond of these ceremonies as they were stupid and greedy.

My antipathy for these material forms of worship became generally perceived, and produced considerable scandal. I felt, meanwhile, an increasing ardour in the study of the Prophets and of the New Testament, in order to acquaint myself perfectly with the type of doctrine and the plan of redemption which they contain. If I consented, from time to time, to play a part in the numerous exhibitions which are indispensable in every grand Catholic solemnity, I did it with so bad a grace, and with such evident repugnance, that my fellow – actors were both amused and angry; so extremely susceptible are priests in all that relates to their ceremonies.

Such was the effect upon me of the event which I have related; and I was compelled to maintain a daily and hourly struggle with the desire I felt to communicate it. Notwithstanding all my reserve, however, involuntary glimpses of revelation from time to time escaped me, like flashes of lightning, and excited surprise and alarm in some for whom I had the greatest respect and love; so that they began to look upon me as an inexplicable anomaly, and I became convinced that my only hope of safety was to preserve the most rigorous silence.

My studies being terminated, I applied for ordination. And now I was made sensible of the obstacles I had to expect. I observed in all those who directed the seminary, not excepting the rector himself, a determination to stop my progress. I begged of them to inform me what were the motives of their refusal, and to say in what my conduct had given them offence? They replied, that I had no taste for religious ceremonies, and that, consequently, I had no vocation for the church; that I read too much, and that they could not understand me. As they persisted in their refusal, a canon, highly placed, who had long been my confessor, a man of a singular and complex character, procured me an introduction to Grimaldi, archbishop of Vercelli. When I represented to him the deplorable ignorance and the scandalous immorality of many of the pupils of the seminary, who had been received into holy orders by the influence of certain personages, and even by that of certain ladies, whilst those who were questioned as to my conduct had not a word of reproach to bring forward, he was obliged to intrench himself behind a custom which exists of never accepting a candidate who is opposed by his superiors.

I recount these details in order to show that the superiors with whom I had to do were unable to comprehend my character. They were anxious , to interdict me from ever entering into the Catholic sanctuary; but they were unable to And an effectual pretext. The archbishop owned himself, at length, dissatisfied with mere suspicions, vague accusations, aDd gratuitous assertions of the difficulty of ascertaining my tendencies.

One of the many proofs I could furnish, that the singular secret of which I was possessor influenced all my views and directed all my proceedings, is, that as soon as I had succeeded in obtaining ordination, I took my departure for Turin.

In one of the intervals of the secret conference, during which the Jesuits relaxed themselves by a little familiar conversation, I had heard the theologian Guala spoken of as an ecclesiastic very serviceable to their plans. No sooner, then, was I at liberty to pursue my own projects, than I endeavoured to procure an introduction to him. He instructs a chosen band of young priests, in the capital of Piedmont, whom he trains up for confessors, and he conforms, in all things, to the views of the Jesuits, whom he considers as models of perfection. His morality is theirs.

What most struck me, on my entrance into this congregation, was the chief himself. Small of stature, of great activity, with a most penetrating eye, inflexible with the little, and supple with the great, I beheld him every morning besieged, both at his own residence and at the confessional, by the most influential and the most distinguished persons of both sexes whom the city possesses.

Every week, at an appointed time, priests, young and old, crowded into a vast hall, and a conference took place, in which this theologian and his colleagues, all spiritual directors of the highest families, conducted the discussion of cases of conscience. For myself, all my attention was applied to study the tactics employed to furnish young confessors with rules not only different, but absolutely opposed to each other, and to teach them how to use them. I acquired also the clearest conviction that the supreme art of the confessional is, to utilize for the church, that is, for the clerical hierarchy, sins and crimes of every species. Casuistry, like a Proteus, for ever displayed itself to my eyes under varying colours. The waving willow branch is not more flexible than are these doctors in their principles of morality.

Every young priest is at liberty to play, by turns, the part of confessor and that of penitent. In the latter case, assuming the character of bigot or libertine, or acting the part of statesman, marquis, countess, or man or woman of the lower classes, he simulates the passions and adven- tures of all ages, sexes, and conditions, I listened with particular attention to the mentors, aged men of great experience, when they corrected the apprentice-confessors; not a word did I suffer to escape me of the many which revealed, in all its sinuosities, contrasts, and searching subtleties, all subservient to views of interest and domination, the nature of the language which they were to employ with the several classes of society.

But it is from a number of anecdotes, from conversations, from words let fall in public, or confidentially, from manuscripts which were only confided to trustworthy persons, that I acquired the certainty that the hidden designs of the Jesuits are executed by the aid of a multitude of adherents, who are entirely ignorant of the power that act* upon them, but are governed by others, who appear to know something of it, but in different degrees.

This same theologian, who had at his disposal beneficea small and great, from the humblest offices up to mitred ones, succeeded, with great skill, in presenting himself to my selection when he learned that I was engaged in the choice of a confessor. My confession, genuine at first, was soon changed into a sort of conversation that had no relation to it, as a religious act. He, nevertheless, required that, every Sunday, the priests whose director he waa should not fail to kneel before him at the hours when the church was most crowded: it is not difficult to guess the motive for such an exhibition.

He. little suspected, however, that instead of studying me, as he proposed, he was giving me ample and continual subject for the study of himself.

Everything had, indeed, concurred to enable me gradually to penetrate the system which was carried on. I was not imposed upon by the numerous equipages which crowded round his door, and by the assemblage of persons of consequence, and ladies of rank, who waited upon him.

In this place, where the Jesuits, thanks to their devoted auxiliary, train up the clergy according to their views, I was more successful in my researches than I could have hoped. I was even so fortunate as to surprise miracles in their very germs—to learn how they are wrought up and brought to perfection—how they are introduced on the scene, and used as a lever for the accomplishment of ulterior projects.

I might have established myself in this congregation, and have counted, if I had chosen to make my court to him, on the credit of so powerful a protector. He did all in his power to inoculate me with his own ideas; but quackery, which in general deserves only contempt, ought to be more than despised in the church. An attendance of one year on this able and wealthy casuist, was enough to enable me to appreciate not only himself but his troops Of adorers.

I now determined to quit this place, in order to pursue my investigations on a larger scale. I therefore abstained from returning, with the others, at the end of the vacation.

I will not conceal a strong temptation, which, for a while, diverted me from the path I had laid down for myself.

Seeing the rapid elevation of certain individuals of wretched abilities, who seemed to defy me as incapable of rivaling them, I was more than once on the point of making use of the secret of the Jesuits, as a sort of itinerary, in order to arrive, by a shorter way, at a respectable position in the ecclesiastical career.

This temptation did not last long, though I was often taken hardly to task by my father and his friends, sometimes because I devoted myself to the study of the bible and of the fathers of the church (a study which, I was assured, would be without any utility either immediate or remote); sometimes because I had declared my fixed determination never to aspire to any appointment or any honour whatsoever. Thus circumstanced, I felt that I must renounce my design of future expatriation, or make up my mind not to shrink from any kind of mortification. Happily for me, as my ardour increased to explore the foundations upon which Catholicism is built, my eyes became gradually opened, and I discerned more distinctly in what a mass of dogmatical, moral, and historical errors I had been brought up. This led me to conclude that it was not only a small portion of the Catholic hierarchy, as I had previously supposed, whose infection was dangerous, but the whole hierarchy itself, which, by its doctrines and by its aim, perverted the precepts of Christ, and pursued a course entirely repugnant to His teachings. And, in good truth, although the Catholic church, inscribing in its calendar, and in the breviary of its priests, the names of the doctors of the first six centuries, constitutes them—(strange fiction!)—the columns of the church, declares them its organs, and worships them as its saints, we may, nevertheless, boldly affirm, when we know these fathers more intimately than by their names, and when we have weighed their writings, that they all, one after another, bring their portion of gunpowder and place it under the edifice of degenerated Catholicism; and in such abundant quantity, that there is a thousand times more than enough to blow up the whole and reduce it to dust.

The examination which I thus made naturally inspired me with the desire to make another, equally useful and important.

I desired to know all that passed in other seminaries, in the different brotherhoods, in the cloisters, in the houses of the cures, but above all, in the dwellings of the superior clergy. Thus, there is no labour which I was not willing to undertake in order to penetrate all the springs and all the combinations by which, even in our times, though it be not in the same manner as formerly, the Catholic organization can boast of being endowed both with a boundless elasticity, and an inflexible rigidity that no other has ever possessed, or perhaps ever will.

On this account, I do not, therefore, regret the pains I took.

I could not, however, fail to perceive that, in consequence of the social condition of my country, I should at last become exposed to unpleasant consequences, should the least suspicion be entertained as to the twofold direction of my inquiries. I thought it necessary, on this account, to carry on, under a literary veil, my dogmatical and historical researches, and above all, those which I carried into the a the domain of contemporary religion. I have always had an inclination for poetry and the fine arts. Availing myself therefore of this tendency, I let it be generally understood that the cultivation of letters was my ruling passion. Thia expedient, far from being an obstacle to the exploratory work which I had undertaken, furnished me, on the contrary, by the intercourse it procured me with persons of all classes, with numberless opportunities of appreciating the progress of the occult ideas of the Jesuits, whilst I seemed to be amusing myself with matters of trivial import.

Monks of every hue came frequently and eagerly to visit me, for sake of the sermons which I dictated to them. Assiduous reading of every kind had rendered this sort of improvisation easy to me. These men were open-mouthed beyond all conception, and they made me the depository of all they knew. Good easy men they were for the most part, but never having passed the bounds of monkish instruction, they were profoundly ignorant of the true nature of the system by which they were passively swayed. Each of them, in fact, might be regarded, in his degree, as a compendium of what passes within the cloister, and of the doctrines which are there taught.

I strove to make myself acquainted with the methods prescribed to them in order to become good confessors.

Some of the oldest, and the most noted for strictness in the confessional, told me what strange concessions are made by the Jesuits to certain consciences; and their anger was sometimes aroused when they related to me the efforts, too often useless, which they were forced to make against such a powerful means of seduction.

In this manner I gradually acquired clearer views, not only as to the Christian scheme, but also as to that no less mysterious enigma, the purpose of modern Catholicism. I saw it unfold itself by degrees, and I became convinced that both in the secular and regular clergy, and in the higher and lower classes of society, a metamorphosis was taking place in accordance with the views of the Jesuits.

How many phrases of the secret conference, which had appeared to me as mere momentary ebullitions, and flights of Utopian hyperbole wholly out of place in times like ours, recurred forcibly to my memory when facts themselves came forth as commentaries upon them! As yet unlearned in the complication of human affairs, I had long regarded as impracticable the mode of action which the Jesuits had proposed to themselves in their secret meeting, in order to get the mastery over both people and aristocracy, by bringing them under the influence of the most opposite doctrines. But experience, acquired in the world of the great and in the world of the little, convinced me that I had been mistaken in classing this method amongst chimerical conceptions.

I frequently had occasion to appreciate the incomparable talent displayed by the Jesuits in making tools of young girls, silly women, domestics, devout ladies, and old men, towards the accomplishment of unlooked for results. However small may be each success they obtain, they use it to obtain greater still. How often have they, by means of such instruments, overthrown their surprised and astounded adversaries.

How many individuals, left stationary notwithstanding their capacity, and witnessing with irritation and disgust the rapid and unmerited elevation of others to honourable and lucrative appointments, have I seen at last enrol themselves among the adherents of the Jesuits I This miracle is followed by another. As no one likes to keep up an incessant struggle with an obstinate and vigorous enemy, the rage by which they were tortured up to the very moment when they yielded, becomes appeased; their secret feelings of scorn and hatred die away, and at last they grow zealous for a cause which formerly inspired them with indignation. Thus, the secret of this society consists in subduing, either by caresses or by the weariness of useless resistance when caresses have failed, the more enlightened of the middle classes, and in threatening them in their means of existence.

The influential classes, under the persuasion that their interests can nowhere be safer than in the hands of the Jesuits, place them there, little suspecting the marvellous skill with which they change the very favours which are bestowed upon them into so many springs to advance a cause whose success would be followed by the ruin of those classes themselves.

The following are the conditions—few, indeed, but peremptory—which they take care to enforce in every country where they are favoured by the government.

They insist that people shall confess to them, and participate as frequently as possible in the festivals of their churches; that they shall augment the number of their adherents, become children of Mary, praise the order always and everywhere, and stick at nothing in order to be useful to it. It is only on these terms that their protection can be obtained.

All who know the mask it was necessary to assume, in France, under the fallen dynasty, in order to assure success in any career, have no need to be told these things. Be* sides, do not the apologists themselves of the Jesuits avow that the latter have always possessed, in an inconceivable degree, “the art of spreading and accrediting the ideas which are subservient to their views, and that of compelling the great ones of the earth to concur in the execution of their projects.”

It was with great unwillingness that I resigned myself to remain in a country where I witnessed the daily increasing triumph of dissimulation and hypocrisy. Had not my presence been necessary to my father, whom it would have been criminal to forsake in his almost continual state of infirmity, I should have gladly made every sacrifice in order to escape the spectacle of the abject servitude to which the clergy was already reduced, and which the laity was beginning to partake. I waited with a feeling like suffocation until I should be free. No sooner, then, had the death of my father taken place, than I made the necessary preparations to expatriate myself, taking care, meanwhile, that no one should suspect my real intentions.

I determined, however, to take a last farewell of my friend the cure, and of the instructor of my early years. Each of them, the more tenacious as he was entirely ignorant of my views, blamed my aversion for an advancement in the church, which was the object of so much eager ambition to others. When I announced to them that they would, in all probability, see me no more, they deplored what they were accustomed to call my inexplicable obstinacy.

The singular determination which I took drew upon me, still more than my retreat from the Jesuits, the reproach of inconsistency.

A twofold permission was necessary for my departure. I went to Vercelli, where I presented myself to the Lord Archbishop d’Angennes, who gave me an invitation to dinner. As some ostensible motive for my departure was necessary, I informed him that I was about to place myself as instructor in an English Catholic family. Whereupon he gave me, of his own accord, a letter of recommendation to the police, so that there might be no difficulty as to their granting me a passport.

I most here remark, before I take leave of this epoch of my life, that belonging as I did to that portion of the clergy which was reputed liberal, I should have paid dearly for my principles had I committed any one tangible indiscretion; for there is nothing in that unhappy country which is attacked so mercilessly as new ideas, whether religious or political, more particularly when they are professed by ecclesiastics. I was, however, sufficiently fortunate to quit Piedmont without having become the object of any persecution, or even disapprobation.

No sooner did I find myself in the beautiful land of Helvetia, than the recollections which belong to it crowded on my mind. I thought, in my simplicity, that I should now find but one standard, and all hearts universally devoted to liberty—to that liberty which the gospel proclaims and consecrates, and of which it is the great charter to the human race.

But, as I have already hinted, a number of facts concurred to open my eyes speedily to a state of things which I had been far from anticipating. The explanations given in the introduction render it unnecessary that I should enter here upon the details of my sojourn at Geneva, upon the disappointments which there awaited me, and upon the lectures on the Secret Plan of the Jesuits which I had occasion to deliver to a number of persons there. Amongst the reflections suggested by these lectures, there is one which I consider worthy to be noted.

It was observed to me, that the father of whom I have already spoken, he who opened the conference by an address to his colleagues, expressed himself like one having authority. He evidently took the lead, and all the others showed much deference for him. His expressions and his deportment would seem to indicate that he was himself the restorer of the occult society, and that he directed it as chief mover; for neither did his language nor that of the others give the slightest indication that he was in any way dependent on any superiors.

It thus appears probable that the president of the meeting at Chieri was the general of the Jesuits.

Now, at this period, the general of the order was no other than Father Fortis, the same who, when Pius VII. conceived the project of introducing some innovations into the articles of the Jesuitical constitutions, repeated these memorable words, “Sint ut sunt, aut non sint.”

It is to this reply, first addressed to Clement XIV. by Father Ricci, general of the company, that Archbishop de Pradt alludes, when, recapitulating his ideas on this invincible society, he thus expresses himself:—

“Heavens! what an institution is this! Was there ever one so powerful amongst men! How, in fact, has Jesuitism lived? How has it fallen? Like the Titans, it yielded only to the combined thunderbolts of all the gods of the earthly Olympus. Did the aspect of death damp its courage? Did it yield one step? Let us be what we are, it said, or let us be no longer. This was truly to die standing, like the emperors, and according to the precept of one of the masters of the world.”*

• De Pradt, On Ancient and Modem Jesuitism, quoted in the pamphlet entitled La Verite sur les Jesuites, p. 271.

Before I close this portion of my history, I ought, perhaps, to reply to certain scruples.

The double case of conscience to which I am about to refer, has been discussed in those ecclesiastical conferences of which I have already had occasion to speak, as means of forming the apprentices to the confessional.

Supposing that some’ one knows, either by private intelligence or as an accomplice, that there is a plot to set a town on fire, may he, notwithstanding his oath of secrecy, give information to the authorities, in order that they may take the necessary measures of prevention? Would it be lawful for the confessor, who might be informed of the fact, to take, notwithstanding the sacramental seal upon his lips, the needful steps to prevent so great a catastrophe?

Supposing that a conspiracy existed, the success of which would bring ruin on a kingdom, might it, in spite of all imaginable oaths to secrecy, be revealed by a conspirator, or by the confessor himself? Yes. I have heard it laid down by the most profound casuists, that where the general good is in question oaths are in no way binding in such cases as these.

Now, besides that I am bound by no promise, I may boldly affirm that it is not an individual that is here at stake, or a town, or a kingdom, but the far more important interests of civilization and of the gospel itself, which is alone able, by the force of truth, to transform this vicious civilization, and to substitute for it that Kingdom of God whose coming we daily invoke in our Christian prayers.

I may, I think, safely add that there is not a single person placed in like circumstances with me, who would not have been, like me, impelled by the force of a multitude of incidents, whose rapid succession left me not a moment for reflection. Embarrassment, agitation, indecision, terror, by turns incited and restrained me, and compelled me to aet like a man whose eyes are blindfolded, and who knows not whither he is going. In fact it was impossible for me to act otherwise than as I did; and I will add, in order to conceal nothing, that it would have been equally impossible for me afterwards to resist the yearning I constantly felt to search into everything that had the slightest connection with those Jesuitical revelations which were ever present to my mind. What I am, intellectually and morally, all my researches and all my ulterior labours, all the materials which I possess— my whole life, in short, resolves itself into the sudden and terrible enlightenment which so early flashed upon me, and which communicated to all my energies an irresistible impulse.

It might be objected that it would be more prudent, on my part, not to provoke, by the publication of this secret^ irreconcilable hatred, and perhaps, even revenge. But have I not undergone the most painful sacrifices in order to keep myself free and independent? When the Almighty had released me from the only tie which bound me to my country, did I not quit it solely with a view tp render public that which I had rigorously abstained from communicating even to my most intimate friends, from motives of prudence, and from well-founded fears? And when I arrived in Switzerland, did I not pass for a visionary when I began to announce the plots which the Jesuits were ripening, and the dangers which were about to arise?

And now, perceiving, to my great surprise, that on one side a reaction is already taking place, and that, on the other, a certain class of interests, either from blindness or irj-eflection, is inclined to mix itself up with the interests of the Jesuits, little aware of the nature of the allies it seeks, or of the fate which attends all who make common cause with them, I feel more urgently than ever that this publication is incumbent on me.

A phenomenon to which I am bound to call attention, because its immense importance is not sufficiently appreciated, is the alliance, which is now more firm than ever, between the high clergy and Jesuitism. I say, that neither its extent, nor its consequences, are sufficiently apprehended. And yet, who will deny that it has been the character of Jesuitism from its origin to its suppression, as Clement XIV. attests, continually to foment in the bosom of universities, parliaments, clerical bodies, and religious corporations, a succession of discontents, divisions, quarrels, and discords?

The remarks contained in the following extracts from an anonymous pamphlet, published at Geneva, seem to me to have been called forth by the knowledge of a Secret Pian, already divulged in that place.

“All around us,” says the author of the pamphlet, “far and near, in Switzerland, in Germany, in England, and more particularly in France, Catholicism, which had for some time bowed its head beneath political storms and warlike operations, now rises up, more hostile, more threatening than ever, and boldly proclaims its design to extirpate from the bosom of Christianity what it calls the heresy of the Reformation.

In particular, an association founded by a cure of Paris, for the conversion of heretics, under the title of, Congregation du Sacre Cceur de Marie, has obtained the sanction and concurrence of all the Romish clergy. Humble and obscure in its origin, it has risen, in an incredibly short space of time, to colossal proportions, its adherents now amounting to 2,000,000. These are disseminated through all the countries of the globe, and have taken a vow to co-operate in person and in purse in the propagation of Catholicism. They spare neither publications, nor intrigues, nor money, nor even miracles, in order to gain . their end. The gazette of the Simplon informs us, that the contributions of the two cantons of Valais and Soleure alone, have amounted this year (1842) to nearly 900,000 French francs. It is easy to imagine what might be done with such resources, could money create faith.

“Geneva could not fail to be one of the most attractive points to the Congregation, and in this place, in fact, it numbers many active associates. The rapidity with which the Catholic population daily increases within our walls, is, without any doubt, the fruit of this association, and already the foreign press proclaims this triumph.

“A wind,” continues the same pamphlet, “has blown from Rome, even over those writers who have hitherto remained most indifferent to religious interests; it is impossible not to recognize, in the malevolent absurdity of those attacks, which are renewed again and again, and almost word for word, the result of a vast concert, in which the hired performers obey, without perhaps being aware of it, the powerful and concealed instrument which gives them the key, from behind the curtain of the Alps.”

It is, then, an acknowledged fact that there exists a vast concert, in which the paid performers obey, almost unconsciously, the powerful and hidden instrument which gives them the key, from behind the curtain of the Alps; and it is even admitted that the many attacks we witness, far from being the effect of chance, are, on the contrary, evidently made with a view to certain remote projects. But who is there that cares to investigate the nature of these remote projects, and the means which may be employed to realize them?

All however agree in attributing to the Jesuits an extraordinary political influence. It is generally admitted that boundless power, absolute supremacy, is the object of their ambition. Their rule of action, that “the end justifies the means,” is become proverbial. And who doubts that the end so sought is evermore this same boundless power and supremacy?

The progress of this order being known and acknowledged, it would be folly not to suppose that it has abundantly provided itself with baits of every description, in order to secure such an immense number of co-operators of all classes and parties, even those the most opposite by nature.

And yet, no one has ever come forward with a view to investigate the means which the Jesuits are so industriously employing for the accomplishment of their ends. It is however easy to understand that the vast and formidable association, described in the above extract, is destined to be employed as a powerful lever, and to be directed, as time shall serve, to different points.

If this Congregation du Sacre Cceur did not ultimately connect itself with the plan about to be exposed, we might have refrained from here quoting a fragment of its regulations, published in several journals. But the Steele, after having examined not only the bases upon which it stands, but also its tendencies, thus accurately defines it:—

“An occult goyemment, organized in a hierarchical manner, to the furtherance of a political and religious reaction.”

It was impossible that the regulations of this new corporation should long remain a secret; once discovered, they were soon published. The following are among the articles:—

“It is not only in its object that the Catholic Association differs from the work of Catholicism in Europe, but also in its mode of existence, and in its means of action. Its hierarchical organization will not be determined for the present. Divine Providence will counsel us in this matter!”

“The general assembly to be the principal instrument of the association—

“It would represent, in a certain degree, the institution of the cardinalate. It would serve as intermediary between the central directory, and the inferior grades of the hierarchy.

“The greatest discretion is recommended to the members of the Catholic Association, no one of whom shall ever reveal, on his own authority, directly or indirectly, to any person whatsoever, the existence, the means, or the rules of the association.”

“As the association has absolute need of pecuniary resources, in order to pursue its end, and fulfil its object, one of its fundamental rules is the existence of an annual subscription, levied upon each member, the amount of which shall, each year, be fixed by the chapter.”

“Every novice admitted into the association shall swear to combat to the death the enemies of humanity. His every, day, his every hour, shall be consecrated to the development of Christian civilization. He has sworn eternal hatred to the genius of evil, and has promised absolute and unreserved submission to our Holy Father the Pope, and to the commands of the hierarchical superiors of the* association. The director, on his admission, has ejaculated, ‘ We have one soldier more.”

These words suggested the following reflections to another journal:—”We are, therefore, warned. A crusade is organised; it has its secret chiefs, its avowed purpose, its trained soldiers.”

The work is, as yet, scarcely begun, and the chiefs of the league consider themselves already sufficiently strong to address the government in the terms which one power employs towards another. What will they do when their Strength shall have increased?

See how the editor of the Univers, a paper known to be the organ of the bishops of France, begins a letter which he addresses to the Minister of Public Instruction:—

“This year, sir, you shall have no vacation; nor shall your successor, next year, God willing: for the Catholics will allow no intermission to the war which they are determined to wage against instruction by the state” *

The same letter concludes in these terms:—

“If you know the hour of our defeat or of our degradation, secure your treasures. Down goes all when we are no more. Twenty empires sleep in the graves which they had dug for us.”

I am inclined to believe that most of the writers who m our day profess to uphold the cause of Catholicism, derive their inspiration in various degrees from the spirit df the famous Company.

To revert to the occult plans which I expose to the public, I have only to entreat that this matter be not lightly examined. Now to judge it with sagacity, demands some acquaintance with the mass of writings with which the advocates of monastic institutions and of the Jesuits have inundated us. Such a course of reading could not fail to convince every candid mind that there really exists a secret understanding to propagate, in a devout and pathetic tone, the most unworthy falsehoods. In fact, the religious orders would have us believe that, setting aside a few weaknesses incidental to human nature, their mission has ever been one of pure beneficence. All the calumnies which have been directed against them have sprung from heresy and impiety, actuated by jealousy and rancour. Consequently, if nations would seek to emerge from the factions and troubles which agitate them, they must repent of their ingratitude and return to their ancient saviours; “for,” say they, “as long as the disastrous principle of free inquiry was unknown, and men suffered themselves to be guided by the principle of ‘authority, all was harmony and peace; but once the principle of infallible authority was assailed, the whole world became the theatre of all sorts of evils and disorders.” What incredible efforts have , they not made to prop up this gigantic falsehood!

Even a cursory inquiry into these manoeuvres and artifices, can hardly fail to manifest that the prime mover of all this wonderfully assiduous labour is a power which works in secret, which combines all the subordinate movements, which chooses and applies its means according to circumstances; and which spares neither flattery .nor bribes in order to enrol in , its service those individuals, whether writers or men of action, who may be able to aid the work.

I do not conceal from myself all that I have to fear in thus rending the veil which has been so carefully drawn to conceal projects, the extent of which, I verily believe, is unknown to the mass of the Jesuits, as well as to the bishops, the cardinals, and’ the pope himself. But, God is my witness that the motive which animates and sustains me is the desire to prevent a mistake fostered and propagated by the most Machiavelian policy, and which would entail the direst calamities on human society.

I submit to men of cultivated understanding, who can reason and judge impartially, the secret conversations I am about to relate. Especially do I refer the matter to those who have studied not only the art by which the Roman theocracy has raised itself to so high a degree of power, but also the writings, the tactics, the acts and achievements of that order, which has, since its establishment, been the most subservient to its despotism. If my readers keep themselves free from the influence of a preconceived system, and from the prejudices of their position, whatever it may be, I doubt not that they will discern, on a cool examination of the whole plan, that it is redolent throughout of the most subtle and profound spirit of Jesuitism.

I can, indeed, have no dearth of materials to dissipate all uncertainty, and these I owe to the ardour of investigation of which I have already spoken, and which was constantly inciting me to investigate every incident which had the slightest bearing upon Jesuitism. But what has most astonished me has been this: to find in books and journals, the organs of conflicting opinions, not only isolated ideas, but series of ideas, closely identified, both as to style and subject, with those of the meeting, as it is about to be described; and this identity is so striking, that I ask myself:

Must not these books and articles be the work of individuals belonging to the knot of the initiated, or, at least, to the league? If it has not been in my power to collect a sufficient number of facts to give to the Secret Plan which I am publishing an irresistible character of authenticity—for, after all, every one knows that conspiracies of this nature, being destined to remain a mystery, never transpire but by some remarkable chance;—yet, in the impossibility of fulfilling conditions which are, in fact, inadmissible, I cannot suffer to escape me the only kind of proofs which, in such a case, it is reasonably permitted to require.

These proofs will, then, be brought forward in the latter part of this work, and those readers who will take the pains to examine them will know how to place a just value on the language which the Jesuits and their official apologists have borrowed from the true advocates of progress—a language which they are now employing with singular audacity. It will be proved by irrefutable arguments that civil and political equality, freedom of worship, of education, and of association, are in their hands weapons of war, and nothing more.

It was at the time of restorations of all sorts that Jesuitism also was restored. At the period when the Holy Alliance was formed, the pope determined that he also would create a rampart for himself, against the encroachment of new ideas; he therefore evoked, from the depths of its mysterious retreats, the most skilful and enterprising of orders, that he might by its aid unite and consolidate not only all the orders, but the clergy of different countries, and the episcopacy, in a Theocratical Holy Alliance, of which the object would be not less fatal to the people than to the governing powers themselves.

“Pius VII.,” as M. Henrion remarks, “at length recovering his liberty in 1814, recalled the religious orders to more active life. They have, subsequently, sent out new ramifications into many countries, and the venerable tree, which had been cut down nearly to the ground, shoots forth new branches, and is already adorned with abundance of foliage, which gladdens the eyes of Christians. In France, the change which took place in our political system in the month of August, 1830, having consecrated, in an especial manner, the liberty of association, there is no doubt that the monastic state will speedily rise up from its ruins.”

There will be no stability, according to the same writer, there will be no repose for society, if it refuses anew to be directed by monastic institutions. These would naturally range themselves under the leadership of Jesuitism. How should it be otherwise? Does not this order hold in its hands the plan of battle? Does it not train the combatants? Does it not direct them to the point to be attained? Why, otherwise, has the educatiQn of your youth been confided to the Jesuits? Why have they alone been judged worthy to initiate the clergy in the art of confession?

“It is impossible,” continues their apologist, “that the Company should not know how to take its stand, and to adapt itself to the exigencies of the present state of things, that it should not know* how, at formerly, to become popular by answering to the true wants of the period.”

The Jesuits make one premise which is very singular, that of”acting only in the face of day, lest suspicious and impious men should mistake for intrigue the ptouf mdrierfuge* and the sublime secrets of humility.” What, indeed, could be more excellent than the work which they propose to accomplish? To extirpate the genius of trill to lay the foundations of Christian civilisation! Bat this is only to be dene on condition that the people deliver themselves, brand hand and foot, to the Company of Jesus.

We find in the same author the following reflections:—

“In the moral world evO never walks abroad without its attendant good; and it is very favourable for the Jesuits that they should have been restored in 1814, at a period when the people, delivered from a long-standing European wav, remained a prey to principles equally false in religion and politics. The crisis came; and it could be nothing short of divine inspiration which suggested to Pius VII. the thought of rallying around the apostolic throne a society so formed to trample down error.

“It was not, however, until 1823” (a date to which I call particular attention) “that the Roman College, which had passed into other hands since the fall of the Jesuits, was restored to them by Pope Leo XII. Several towns m Italy, the Duke of Modena, the King of Sardinia, and Freiburg m Switzerland, also welcomed the members of this reviving company. The King of Spain restored to diem all their property, houses, and colleges, which had not been sold. Is France they opened establishments for public instruction at St. Acheul, D61e, Bordeaux, &c., &c. Francis II.’ received them in Gallicia, where they devoted themselves to instruction in the colleges of Tarnopol, Starzawiz, and Janow, and to active missions elsewhere. The company possesses colleges in England also, and in the United States of America.”

M. Henrion, the friend and confidant of the Jesuits, doubtless knows, as well as any one, what is the end which they propose to themselves; and in one single line he thus betrays it:—”It is,” says he, “the annihilation of a double class of principles to which the people are a prey—principles equally false in religion and in politics.”

They would then destroy all the ideas which the French: revolution has bequeathed to the world; in other words, they would abolish free inquiry, in order to bind every conscience with the chains of Catholic authority; they would strike down the principle of liberty, the source of’ all justice, in order to build up again the tyranny of timesr gone by.

I deem it important here to bring forward a fragment of the text, too little known, of the bull by which Pius VII* restored the Jesuits in 1814. This pope, whose spirit happily for humanity, the accession of Pius IX. has banished from the Vatican, declared that the Jesuits were indispensable to the safety of the world and to the wellbeing of the nations, and that he considered he should be neglecting one of his most urgent duties if he suffered the church to be longer deprived of their aid. He goes even further, and declares that they alone are competent to direct the faithful, the inferior clergy, and the bishops themselves. In short, he constitutes and consecrates them ..as the indispensable rowers of the mysterious Bark, the title by which the popes are accustomed to designate the Catholic church.

And lastly, in order that nothing may be wanting to an apotheosis so extraordinary, Pius VII. proclaims, in the face of nations, that under their guidance the bark of Catholicism will assuredly be saved, whilst without their care and protection it must inevitably founder.

Had we not then abundant reason to affirm that everything contained in these avowals is of immense importance, and calls for the closest attention?

And yet, so far from having allowed myself to exaggerate, I have closely paraphrased the following words, extracted from the bull of Pius VII., Sollicitudo omnium ecclesiarum:—

“We should believe ourselves guilty,” it is there stated, “of a very heavy offence before God, if, amidst the many pressing wants under which the public weal is suffering, we neglected to bring forward for its use the salutary help which God, by a singular providence, has placed in our hands.”

And whom has he selected to bring to the public weal this salutary help?

The Jesuits!

“On account,” adds this same pope, “of the waves which continually toss the bark of Peter, he should esteem himself as highly culpable, if he rejected the robust and emperienced rowers who offer themselves to him to quell the force of these ever-threatening wares.”

And the simple and significant reason which he gives is this:—

“That it may not be swallowed up in inevitable shipwreck.”