LETTER III.

_Seville, ---- 1799._

Fortune has favoured me with an acquaintance--a young clergyman of

this town--for whom, since our first introduction, I have felt a

growing esteem, such as must soon ripen into the warmest affection.

Common danger, and common suffering, especially of the mind, prove

often the readiest and most indissoluble bonds of human friendship:

and when to this influence is added the blending power of an

intercommunity of thoughts and sentiments, no less unbounded than

the confidence with which two men put thereby their liberty, their

fortune, and their life into the hands of each other--imagination

can hardly measure the warmth and devotedness of honest hearts thus

united.

Spaniards, who have broken the trammels of superstition, possess a

wonderful quickness to mark and know one another. Yet caution is so

necessary, that we never offer the right hand of fellowship till,

by gradual approaches, the heart and mind are carefully scanned on

both sides. There are _bullies_ in mental no less than in animal

courage: and I have sometimes been in danger of committing myself

with a pompous fool that was hazarding propositions in the evening,

which he was sure to lay, in helpless fear, before the confessor, the

next morning; and who, had he met with free and unqualified assent

from any one of the company, would have tried to save his own soul

and body by carrying the whole conversation to the Inquisitors. But

the character of my new friend was visible at a glance; and, after

some conversation, I could not feel the slightest apprehension that

there might lurk in his heart either the villainy or the folly

which can betray a man, in this world, under a pretext of ensuring

his happiness in the next. He too, either from the circumstance of

my long residence in England, or, as I hope, from something more

properly belonging to myself, soon opened his whole mind; and we both

uttered downright _heresy_. After this mutual, this awful pledge, the

Scythian ceremony of tasting each other’s blood could not have more

closely bound us in interest and danger.

The coolness of an orange-grove is not more refreshing to him who has

panted across one of our burning plains, under the meridian sun in

August, than the company of a few trusty friends to some unbending

minds, after a long day of restraint and dissimulation. When after

our evening walk we are at last comfortably seated round my friend’s

reading-table, where an amiable young officer, another clergyman,

and one of the most worthy and highly-gifted men that tyranny and

superstition have condemned to pine in obscurity, are always welcomed

with a cordiality approaching to rapture--I cannot help comparing

our feelings to those which we might suppose in Christian slaves at

Algiers, who, having secretly unlocked the rivets of their fetters,

could shake them off to feast and riot in the dead of night, cheering

their hearts with wild visions of liberty, and salving their wounds

with vague hopes of revenge. Revenge, did I say! what a false notion

would that word give you of the characters that compose our little

club! I doubt if Nature herself could so undo the work of her hands

as to transform any one of my kind, my benevolent friends, into a

man of blood. As to myself, mere protestations were useless. You

know me; and I shall leave you to judge. But there is a revenge of

the fancy, perfectly consistent with true mildness and generosity,

though certainly more allied to quick sensibility than to sound and

sober judgment. The last, however, should be seldom, if at all,

looked for among persons in our circumstances. Our childhood is

artificially protracted till we wonder how we have grown old: and,

being kept at an immeasurable distance from the affairs and interest

of public life, our passions, our virtues, and our vices, like those

of early youth, have deeper roots in the imagination than the heart.

I will not say that this is a prevalent feature in the character of

my countrymen; but I have generally observed it among the best and

the worthiest. As to my confidential friends, especially the one I

mentioned at the beginning of this letter, in strict conformity with

the temper which, I fear, I have but imperfectly described, they

spend their lives in giving vent, among themselves, to the suppressed

feelings of ridicule or indignation, of which the religious

institutions of this country are a perennial source to those who

are compelled to receive them as of Divine authority. England has

so far improved me, that I can perceive the folly of this conduct.

I am aware that, instead of indulging this childish gratification

of our anger, we should be preparing ourselves, by a profound

study of our ancient laws and customs, and a perfect acquaintance

with the pure and original doctrines of the Gospel, for any future

opening to reformation in our church and state. But under this

intolerable system of intellectual oppression, we have associated

the idea of Spanish law with despotism, and that of Christianity

with absurdity and persecution. After my return from England I feel

almost involuntarily relapsing into the old habits of my mind. With

my friends, who have never left this country, any endeavour to break

and counteract such habits would be perfectly hopeless. Despondency

drives them into a course of reading and thinking, which leads only

to suppressed contempt and whispered sarcasm. The violence which

they must constantly do to their best feelings, might breed some of

the fiercer passions in breasts less softened with “the milk of human

kindness.” But their hatred of the prevailing practices and opinions

does not extend to persons. Yet I for one must confess, that were I

to act from a first and habitual impulse, without listening to my

better judgment, there is not a saint or a relic in the country I

would not trample under foot, and treat with the utmost indignity. As

things are, however, I content myself with scoffing and railing the

whole day. But I trust that, on a change of circumstances, I should

act more soberly than I feel.

I should have found it very difficult, without this fortunate

intimacy with a man who, though still in the prime of youth, has

lately obtained, by literary competition, a place among what we call

the higher clergy--that is, such as are _above_ the cure of souls--to

give you an insight into the internal constitution of the Spanish

church, the vices of the system which prepares our young men for the

altar, and the ruinous foundations on which the ecclesiastical law,

aided by civil power, hazards the morals of our religious teachers

and their flocks. When I had expressed to my friend my desire of

having his assistance in carrying on this correspondence, as well

as satisfied his mind on the improbability of any thing entrusted

to you, recoiling upon himself in Spain; he shewed me a manuscript

he had drawn up some time before, under the title: “A few facts

connected with the formation of the intellectual and moral character

of a Spanish Clergyman.” “Who knows,” he said, “but that this

sketch may answer your purpose? No traveller’s-guide account of our

universities and clerical establishments, can convey such a living

picture of our state, as the history of a young mind trained up under

their influence. You might easily find a list of the professors,

endowments, and class-books of which the framework of Spanish

education consists. But who would have the patience to read it, or

what could he learn from it? I had intended that this little effusion

of an oppressed and struggling mind should lie concealed till some

future period, probably after my death, when my country might be

prepared to learn and lament the wrongs she has, for ages, heaped on

her children. But, since you have provided against discovery, and are

willing to translate into English any thing I may give you, it will

be some satisfaction to know that the results of my sad experience

are laid before the most enlightened and benevolent people of Europe.

Perhaps, if they know the true source of our evils, the day will come

when they may be able and willing to help us.”

The question with me now was, not whether I should accept the

manuscript, but whether I could do it justice in the translation.

Trusting, however, that the novelty of the matter would atone for

the faults of my style; labour and perseverance have, at length,

enabled me to enclose it in this letter. As I have thus introduced

a stranger to you. I am bound in common civility to fall into the

background, and let him speak for himself.

_A few Facts connected with the formation of the Intellectual and

Moral Character of a Spanish Clergyman._

“I do not possess the cynical habits of mind which would enable me,

like Rousseau, to expose my heart naked to the gaze of the world.

I have neither his unfortunate and odious propensities to gloss

by an affected candour, nor his bewitching eloquence to display,

whatever good qualities I may possess: and as I must overcome no

small reluctance and fear of impropriety, to enter upon the task

of writing an account of the workings of my mind and heart, I have

some reason to believe that I am led to do so by a sincere desire

of being useful to others. Millions of human creatures are made to

venture their happiness on a form of Christianity which possesses the

strongest claims to our attention, both from its great antiquity,

and the extent of its sway over the most civilized part of the

earth. The various effects of that religious system, unmixed with

any thing unauthorized or spurious, upon my country, my friends, and

myself, have been the object of my most serious attention, from the

very dawn of reason till the moment when I am writing these lines.

If the result of my experience should be, that religion, as it is

taught and enforced in Spain, is productive of exquisite misery in

the amiable and good, and of gross depravity in the unfeeling and the

thoughtless--that it is an insuperable obstacle to the improvement of

the mind, and gives a decided ascendancy to lettered absurdity, and

to dull-headed bigotry--that it necessarily breeds such reserve and

dissimulation in the most promising and valuable part of the people

as must check and stunt the noblest of public virtues, candour and

political courage--if all this, and much more that I am not able

to express in the abstract form of simple positions, should start

into view from the plain narrative of an obscure individual; I hope

I shall not be charged with the silly vanity of attributing any

intrinsic importance to the domestic events and private feelings

which are to fill up the following pages.

“I was born of parents who, though possessed of little property, held

a decent rank among the gentry of my native town. Their characters,

however, are so intimately connected with the formation of my own,

that I shall indulge an honest pride in describing them.

“My father was the son of a rich Irish merchant, who obtained for

himself and descendants a patent of _Hidalguia_, or noblesse, early

in the reign of Ferdinand VI. During the life of my grandfather, and

the consequent prosperity of his house, my father was sent abroad

for his education. This gave a polish to his manners, which, at that

period, was not easily found even in the first ranks of the nobility.

Little more than accomplishments, however, was left him, when, in

consequence of his father’s death, the commercial concerns of the

house being managed by a stranger, received a shock which had nearly

reduced the family to poverty and want. Yet something was saved;

and my father, who, by some unaccountable infatuation, had not been

brought up to business, was now obliged to exert himself to the

utmost of his power. Joining, therefore, in partnership with a more

wealthy merchant, who had married one of his sisters, he contrived,

by care and diligence, together with a strict, though not sordid

economy, not to descend below the rank in which he had been born.

Under these unpromising circumstances he married my mother, who, if

she could add but little to her husband’s fortune, yet brought him a

treasure of love and virtue, which he found constantly increasing,

till death removed him on the first approaches of old age.

“My mother was of honourable parentage. She was brought up in that

absence of mental cultivation which prevails, to this day, among

the Spanish ladies. But her natural talents were of a superior

cast. She was lively, pretty, and sang sweetly. Under the influence

of a happier country, her pleasing vivacity, the quickness of her

apprehension, and the exquisite degree of sensibility which animated

her words and actions, would have qualified her to shine in the most

elegant and refined circles.

“_Benevolence_ prompted all my father’s actions, endued him, at

times, with something like supernatural vigour, and gave him, for

the good of his fellow-creatures, the courage and decision he wanted

in whatever concerned himself. With hardly any thing to spare, I do

not recollect a time when our house was not a source of relief and

consolation to some families of such as, by a characteristic and

feeling appellation, are called among us the _blushing poor_.[9]

In all seasons, for thirty years of his life, my father allowed

himself no other relaxation, after the fatiguing business of his

counting-house, than a visit to the general hospital of this town--a

horrible scene of misery, where four or five hundred beggars are,

at a time, allowed to lay themselves down and die, when worn out

by want and disease. Stripping himself of his coat, and having put

on a coarse dress for the sake of cleanliness, in which he was

scrupulous to a fault; he was employed, till late at night, in making

the beds of the poor, taking the helpless in his arms, and stooping

to such services as even the menials in attendance were often loth

to perform. All this he did of his own free will, without the least

connexion, public or private, with the establishment. Twice he was at

death’s door from the contagious influence of the atmosphere in which

he exerted his charity. But no danger would appal him when engaged

in administering relief to the needy. Foreigners, cast by misfortune

into that gulf of wretchedness, were the peculiar objects of his

kindness.

[9] _Pobres vergonzantes._

“The principle of benevolence was not less powerful in my mother;

but her extreme sensibility made her infinitely more susceptible of

pain than pleasure--of fear than hope--and, for such characters,

a technical religion is ever a source of distracting terrors.

Enthusiasm--that bastard of religious liberty, that vigorous weed of

Protestantism--does not thrive under the jealous eye of infallible

authority. Catholicism, it is true, has, in a few instances, produced

a sort of splendid madness; but its visions and trances partake

largely of the tameness of a mind previously exhausted by fears and

agonies, meekly borne under the authority of a priest. The throes of

the New Birth harrow up the mind of the Methodist, and give it that

frenzied energy of despair, which often settles into the all-hoping,

all-daring raptures of the enthusiast. The Catholic Saint suffers in

all the passiveness of blind submission, till nature sinks exhausted,

and reason gives way to a gentle, visionary madness. The natural

powers of my mother’s intellect were strong enough to withstand,

unimpaired, the enormous and constant pressure of religious fears in

their most hideous shape. But, did I not deem reason the only gift of

Heaven which fully compensates the evils of this present existence, I

might have wished for its utter extinction in the first and dearest

object of my natural affection. Had she become a visionary, she had

ceased to be unhappy. But she possessed to the last an intellectual

energy equal to any exertion, except one, which was not compatible

with the influence of her country--that of looking boldly into the

dark recess where lurked the phantoms that harassed and distressed

her mind.

“It would be difficult, indeed, to choose two fairer subjects for

observing the effects of the religion of Spain. The results, in both,

were lamentable, though certainly not the most mischievous it is apt

to produce. In one, we see mental soberness and good sense degraded

into timidity and indecision--unbounded goodness of heart, confined

to the lowest range of benevolence. In the other, we mark talents of

a superior kind, turned into the ingenious tormentors of a heart,

whose main source of wretchedness was an exquisite sensibility to the

beauty of virtue, and an insatiate ardour in treading the devious

and thorny path it was made to take for the 'way which leadeth unto

life.’--A bolder reason, in the first, (it will be said) and a reason

less fluttered by sensibility, in the second, would have made those

virtuous minds more cautious of yielding themselves up to the full

influence of ascetic devotion. Is this, then, all that men are to

expect from the unbounded promises of light, and the lofty claims

of authority, which our religion holds forth? Is it thus, that,

when, to obtain the protection of an infallible guide, we have, at

his command, maimed and fast bound our reason, still a precipice

yawns before our feet, from which none but that insulted reason can

save us? Are we to call for her aid on the brink of despair and

insanity, and then spurn our faithful, though injured friend, lest

she should unlock our hand from that of our proud and treacherous

leader? Often have I, from education, habit, and a misguided love of

moral excellence, been guilty of that inconsistency, till frequent

disappointment urged me to break my chains. Painful, indeed, and

fierce was the struggle by which I gained my liberty, and doomed I am

for ever to bear the marks of early bondage. But no power on earth

shall make me again give up the guidance of my reason, till I can

find a rule of conduct and belief that may safely be trusted, without

wanting _reason_ itself to moderate and expound it.

“The first and most anxious care of my parents was to sow abundantly

the seeds of Christian virtue in my infant breast. In this, as in

all their proceedings, they strictly followed the steps of those

whose virtue had received the sanction of their church. Religious

instruction was conveyed to my mind with the rudiments of speech; and

if early impressions alone could be trusted for the future complexion

of a child’s character, the music, and the splendid pageantry of

the cathedral of Seville, which was to me the first scene of mental

enjoyment, might, at this day, be the soundest foundation of my

Catholic faith.

“Divines have declared that moral responsibility begins at the age

of seven, and, consequently, children of quick parts are not allowed

to go much longer without the advantage of confession. My mind had

scarcely attained the first climacteric, when I had the full benefit

of absolution for such sins as my good mother, who acted as the

accusing conscience, could discover in my _naughtiness_. The church,

we know, cannot be wrong; but to say the honest truth, all her pious

contrivances have, by a sad fatality, produced in me just the reverse

of their aim. Though the clergyman who was to shrive this young

sinner had mild, gentle, and affectionate manners, there is something

in auricular confession which has revolted my feelings from the day

when I first knelt before a priest, in childish simplicity, to the

last time I have been forced to repeat that ceremony, as a protection

to my life and liberty, with scorn and contempt in my heart.

“Auricular confession, as a subject of theological controversy, is,

probably, beneath the notice of many; but I could not easily allow

the name of philosopher to any one who should look upon an inquiry

into the moral influence of that religious practice, as perfectly

void of interest. It has been observed, with great truth, that the

most philanthropic man would feel more uneasiness in the expectation

of having his little finger cut off, than in the assurance that

the whole empire of China was to be swallowed up the next day by

an earthquake. If ever, therefore, these lines should meet the eye

of the public in some distant country (for ages must pass before

they can see the light in Spain), I entreat my readers to beware of

indifference about evils from which it is their happiness to be free,

and to make a due allowance for the feelings which lead me into a

short digression. They certainly cannot expect to be acquainted with

Spain without a sufficient knowledge of the powerful moral engines

which are at work in that country; and they will, perhaps, find that

a Spanish priest may have something to say which is new to them on

the subject of confession.

“The effects of confession upon young minds are, generally,

unfavourable to their future peace and virtue. It was to that

practice I owed the first taste of remorse, while yet my soul was in

a state of infant purity. My fancy had been strongly impressed with

the awful conditions of the penitential law, and the word _sacrilege_

had made me shudder on being told that the act of concealing any

thought or action, the rightfulness of which I suspected, would make

me guilty of that worst of crimes, and greatly increase my danger

of everlasting torments. My parents had, in this case, done no more

than their duty, according to the rules of their church. But, though

they had succeeded in rousing my fear of hell, this was, on the other

hand, too feeble to overcome a childish bashfulness, which made the

disclosure of a harmless trifle, an effort above my strength.

“The appointed day came at last, when I was to wait on the confessor.

Now wavering, now determined not to be guilty of sacrilege, I knelt

before the priest, leaving, however, in my list of sins, the last

place to the hideous offence--I believe it was a petty larceny

committed on a young bird. But, when I came to the dreaded point,

shame and confusion fell upon me, and the accusation stuck in my

throat. The imaginary guilt of this silence haunted my mind for four

years, gathering horrors at every successive confession, and rising

into an appalling spectre, when, at the age of twelve, I was taken

to receive the sacrament. In this miserable state I continued till,

with the advance of reason, I plucked, at fourteen, courage enough

to unburthen my conscience by a general confession of the past. And

let it not be supposed that mine is a singular case, arising either

from morbid feeling or the nature of my early education. Few, indeed,

among the many penitents I have examined, have escaped the evils

of a similar state; for, what a silly bashfulness does in children,

is often, in after-life, the immediate effect of that shame by

which fallen frailty clings still to wounded virtue. The necessity

of confession, seen at a distance, is lighter than a feather in

the balance of desire; while, at a subsequent period, it becomes

a punishment on delicacy--an instrument to blunt the moral sense,

by multiplying the subjects of remorse, and directing its greatest

terrors against imaginary crimes.

“These evils affect, nearly equally, the two sexes; but there are

some that fall peculiarly to the lot of the softer. Yet the remotest

of all--at least, as long as the Inquisition shall exist--is the

danger of direct seduction by the priest. The formidable powers

of that odious tribunal have been so skilfully arrayed against

the abuse of sacramental trust, that few are found base and blind

enough to make the confessional a _direct_ instrument of debauch.

The strictest delicacy, however, is, I believe, inadequate fully to

oppose the demoralizing tendency of auricular confession. Without the

slightest responsibility, and, not unfrequently, in the conscientious

discharge of what he believes his duty, the confessor conveys to

the female mind the first foul breath which dims its virgin purity.

He, undoubtedly, has a right to interrogate upon subjects which are

justly deemed awkward even for maternal confidence; and it would

require more than common simplicity to suppose that a discretionary

power of this nature, left in the hands of thousands--men beset with

more than common temptations to abuse it--will generally be exercised

with proper caution. But I will no longer dwell upon this subject for

the present. Men of unprejudiced minds will easily conjecture what I

leave unsaid; while to shew a hope of convincing such as have made a

full and irrevocable surrender of their judgment, were only to libel

my own.

“From the peculiar circumstances of my country, the training of my

mental faculties was an object of little interest with my parents.

There could be scarcely any doubt in the choice of a line of life

for me; who was the eldest of four children. My father’s fortune was

improving; and I might help and succeed him with advantage to myself

and two sisters. It was, therefore, in my father’s counting-house,

that, under the care of an old trusty clerk, I learned writing and

arithmetic. To be a perfect stranger to literature is not, even now,

a disgrace among the better class of Spaniards. But my mother, whose

pride, though greatly subdued, was never conquered by devotion,

felt anxious that, since, from prudential motives, I was doomed to

be buried for life in a counting-house, a little knowledge of Latin

should distinguish me from a mere mercantile drudge. A private

teacher was accordingly procured, who read with me in the evening,

after I had spent the best part of the day in making copies of the

extensive correspondence of the house.

“I was now about ten years old, and though, from a child, excessively

fond of reading, my acquaintance with books did not extend beyond a

history of the Old Testament--a collection of the Lives of the Saints

mentioned in the Catholic Almanack, out of which I chose the Martyrs,

for modern saints were never to my taste--a little work that gave

an amusing miracle of the Virgin for every day of the year[10]--and

prized above all, a Spanish translation of Fenelon’s Telemachus,

which I perused till I had nearly learned it by heart. I heard,

therefore, with uncommon pleasure, that, in acquiring a knowledge of

Latin, I should have to read stories not unlike that of my favourite

the Prince of Ithaca. Little time, however, was allowed me for study,

lest, from my love of learning, I should conceive a dislike to

mercantile pursuits. But my mind had taken a decided bent. I hated

the counting-house, and loved my books. Learning and the church were,

to me, inseparable ideas; and I soon declared to my mother that I

would be nothing but a clergyman.

[10] See Note C.

“This declaration roused the strongest prejudices of her mind and

heart, which cold prudence had only damped into acquiescence. To have

a son who shall daily hold in his hands the real body of Christ, is

an honour, a happiness which raises the humblest Spanish woman into

a self-complacent consequence that attends her through life. What,

then, must be the feelings of one who, to the strongest sense of

devotion, joins the hope of seeing the dignities and emoluments of

a rich and proud Church bestowed upon a darling child? The Church,

besides, by the law of celibacy, averts that mighty terror of a

fond mother--a wife, who, sooner or later, is to draw away her

child from home. A boy, therefore, who at the age of ten or twelve,

dazzled either by the gaudy dress of an officiating priest--by the

importance he sees others acquire, when the bishop confers upon

them the clerical tonsure--or by any other delusion of childhood,

declares his intention of taking orders, seldom, very seldom escapes

the heavy chain which the Church artfully hides under the tinsel of

honours, and the less flimsy, though also less attainable splendour

of her gold. Such a boy, among the poor, is infallibly plunged into

a convent; if he belongs to the gentry, he is destined to swell the

ranks of the secular clergy.

“It is true that, in all ages and countries, the leading events

of human life are inseparably linked with some of the slightest

incidents of childhood. But this fact, instead of an apology, affords

the heaviest charge against the crafty and barbarous system of laying

snares, wherein unsuspecting innocence may, at the very entrance of

life, lose every chance of future peace, happiness and virtue. To

allow a girl of sixteen to bind herself, for ever, with vows--not

only under the awful, though distant guardianship of heaven, but the

odious and immediate superintendence of man--ranks, indeed, with

the most hideous abuses of superstition. The law of celibacy, it is

true, does not bind the secular clergy till the age of twenty-one;

but this is neither more nor less than a mockery of common sense,

in the eyes of those who practically know how frivolous is that

latitude.[11] A man has seldom the means to embrace, or the aptitude

to exercise a profession for which he has not been trained from

early youth. It is absurd and cruel to pretend that a young man,

whose best ten or twelve years have been spent in preparation for

orders, is at full liberty to turn his back upon the Church when he

has arrived at one-and-twenty. He may, indeed, preserve his liberty;

but to do so he must forget that most of his patrimony has been laid

out on his education, that he is too old for a cadetship in the

army, too poor for commerce, and too proud for a petty trade. He

must behold, unmoved, the tears of his parents; and, casting about

for subsistence, in a country where industry affords no resource,

love, the main cause of these struggles, must content itself with

bare possible lawfulness, and bid adieu to the hope of possession.

Wherever unnatural privations make not a part of the clerical duty,

many may find themselves in the Church who might be better elsewhere.

But no great effort is wanted to make them happy in themselves, and

useful to the community. Not so under the unfeeling tyranny of our

ecclesiastical law. For, where shall we find that virtue which,

having Nature herself for its enemy, and misery for its meed, will

be able to extend its care to the welfare of others?--As to myself,

the tenour and colour of my life were fixed the moment I expressed my

childish wish of being a clergyman. The love of knowledge, however,

which betrayed me into the path of wretchedness, has never forsaken

its victim. It is probable that I could not have found happiness in

uneducated ignorance. Scanty and truly hard-earned as it is the store

on which my mind feeds itself, I would not part with it for a whole

life of unthinking pleasure: and since the necessity of circumstances

left me no path to mental enjoyment, except that I have so painfully

trodden, I hail the moment when I entered it, and only bewail the

fatality which fixed my birth in a Catholic country.

[11] The secular clergy are not bound by vows. Celibacy is

enforced upon them by a law which makes their marriage illegal,

and punishable by the Ecclesiastical Courts.

“The order of events would here require an account of the system of

Spanish education, and its first effects upon my mind; but, since I

speak of myself only to shew the state of my country, I shall proceed

with the moral influence, that, without interruption, I may present

the facts relating severally to the heart and intellect, in as large

masses as the subject permits.

“The Jesuits, till the abolition of that order, had an almost

unrivalled influence over the better classes of Spaniards. They had

nearly monopolized the instruction of the Spanish youth, at which

they toiled without pecuniary reward; and were equally zealous in

promoting devotional feelings both among their pupils and the people

at large. It is well known that the most accurate division of labour

was observed in the allotment of their various employments. Their

candidates, who, by a refinement of ecclesiastical policy, after an

unusually long probation, were bound by vows, which, depriving them

of liberty, yet left a discretionary power of ejection in the order;

were incessantly watched by the penetrating eye of the master of

novices: a minute description of their character and peculiar turn

was forwarded to the superiors, and at the end of the noviciate,

they were employed to the advantage of the community, without ever

thwarting the natural bent of the individual, or diverting his

natural powers by a multiplicity of employments. Wherever, as in

France and Italy, literature was in high estimation, the Jesuits

spared no trouble to raise among themselves men of eminence in

that department. In Spain, their chief aim was to provide their

houses with popular preachers, and zealous, yet prudent and gentle,

confessors. Pascal, and the Jansenist party, of which he was the

organ, accused them of systematic laxity in their moral doctrines:

but the charge, I believe, though plausible in theory, was perfectly

groundless in practice. If, indeed, ascetic virtue could ever be

divested of its connatural evil tendency--if a system of moral

perfection that has for its basis, however disavowed and disguised,

the Manichæan doctrine of the two principles, could be applied with

any partial advantage as a rule of conduct, it was so in the hands

of the Jesuits. The strict, unbending maxims of the Jansenists, by

urging persons of all characters and tempers to an imaginary goal

of perfection, bring quickly their whole system to the decision of

experience. They are like those enthusiasts who, venturing upon the

practice of some Gospel sayings, in the literal sense, have made

the absurdity of that interpretation as clear as noon-day light. A

greater knowledge of mankind made the Jesuits more cautious in the

culture of devotional feelings. They well knew that but few can

prudently engage in open hostility with what in ascetic language is

called the world. They now and then trained up a sturdy champion,

who, like their founder Loyóla, might provoke the enemy to single

combat with honour to his leaders; but the crowd of mystic combatants

were made to stand upon a kind of jealous truce, which, in spite of

all care, often produced some jovial meetings of the advanced parties

on both sides. The good fathers came forward, rebuked their soldiers

back into the camp, and filled up the place of deserters by their

indefatigable industry in engaging recruits.

“The influence of the Jesuits on the Spanish morals, from every

thing I have learned, was undoubtedly favourable. Their kindness

attracted the youth from the schools to their company: and, though

this intimacy was often employed in making proselytes to the order,

it also contributed to the preservation of virtue in that slippery

age, both by the ties of affection, and the gentle check of example.

Their churches were crowded every Sunday with regular attendants,

who came to confess and receive the sacrament. The practice of

choosing a certain priest, not only to be the occasional confessor,

but _director of the conscience_, was greatly encouraged by the

Jesuits. The ultimate effects of this surrender of the judgment are,

indeed, dangerous and degrading; but, in a country where the darkest

superstition is constantly impelling the mind into the opposite

extremes of religious melancholy and profligacy, weak persons are

sometimes preserved from either by the friendly assistance of a

prudent _director_; and the Jesuits were generally well qualified for

that office. Their conduct was correct, and their manners refined.

They kept up a dignified intercourse with the middling and higher

classes, and were always ready to help and instruct the poor, without

descending to their level. Since the expulsion of the Jesuits, the

better classes, for the most part, avoid the company of monks and

friars, except in an official capacity; while the lower ranks, from

which these professional saints are generally taken, and where they

re-appear, raised, indeed, into comparative importance, but grown

bolder in grossness and vice, suffer more from their influence than

they would by being left without any religious ministers.[12]

[12] See note D.

“Since the abolition of the Jesuits, their devotional system has been

kept up, though upon a much narrower scale, by the congregations

of Saint Philip Neri (_l’Oratoire_, in France), an Italian of the

sixteenth century, who established voluntary associations of secular

clergymen, living together under an easy rule, but without monastic

vows, in order to devote themselves to the support of piety. The

number, however, of these associated priests is so small, that,

notwithstanding their zeal and their studied imitation of the

Jesuits, they are but a faint shadow of that surprising institution.

Yet these priests alone have inherited the skill of Loyóla’s

followers in the management of the ascetic contrivance, which,

invented by that ardent fanatic, is still called, from his Christian

name, _Exercises of Saint Ignatius_. As it would be impossible

to sketch the history of my mind and heart without noticing the

influence of that powerful engine, I cannot omit a description of

the establishment kept by the _Philippians_ at Seville--the most

complete of its kind that probably has ever existed.

“The _Exercises of Saint Ignatius_ are a series of meditations on

various religious subjects, so artificially disposed, that the mind

being at first thrown into distressing horror, may be gradually

raised to hope, and finally soothed, not into a certainty of Divine

favour, but a timid consciousness of pardon. Ten consecutive days

are passed in perfect abstraction from all wordly pursuits. The

persons who submit to this spiritual discipline, leave their homes

for rooms allotted to them in the religious house where the Exercises

are to be performed, and yield themselves up to the direction of the

president. The priest, who for nearly thirty years has been acting in

that capacity at Seville, enjoys such influence over the wealthy part

of the town, that, not satisfied with the temporary accommodation

which his convent afforded to the pious guests, he can now lodge

the Exercitants in a separate building, with a chapel annexed,

and every requisite for complete abstraction, during the days of

their retirement. Six or eight times in the year the Exercises

are performed by different sets of fifty persons each. The utmost

precision and regularity are observed in the distribution of their

time. Roused by a large bell at five in the morning, they immediately

assemble in the chapel to begin the meditation appointed for the

day. At their meals they observe a deep silence; and no intercourse,

even among each other, is permitted, except during one hour in

the evening. The settled gloom of the house, the almost incessant

reading and meditation upon subjects which, from their vagueness

and infinitude, harass and bewilder the fancy, and that powerful

sympathetic influence, which affects assemblies where all are intent

on the same object and bent on similar feelings, render this house a

modern cave of Trophonius, within whose dark cells cheerfulness is

often extinguished for ever.

“Unskilful, indeed, must be the hand that, possessed of this engine,

can fail to subdue the stoutest mind in which there lurks a particle

of superstitious fear. But Father Vega is one of those men who are

born to command a large portion of their fellow creatures, either by

the usual means, or some contrivance of their own. The expulsion of

the Jesuits during his probationship in that order, denied him the

ample field on which his early views had been fixed. After a course

of theological studies at the University, he became a member of the

_Oratorio_, and soon attracted the notice of the whole town by his

preaching. His active and bold mind combines qualities seldom found

in the same individual. Clear-headed, resolute, and ambitious, the

superstitious feelings which melt him into tears whenever he performs

the Mass, have not in the least impaired the mental daringness he

originally owes to nature. Though seldom mixing in society, he is a

perfect man of the world. Far from compromising his lofty claims

to respect, he flatters the proudest nobles of his spiritual train

by well-timed bursts of affected rudeness, which, being a mere

display of spiritual authority, perfectly consistent with a full

acknowledgment of their worldly rank and dignity, give them, in the

eyes of the more humble bystanders, the additional merit of Christian

condescension. As an instance of this, I recollect his ordering the

Marquis del Pedroso, one of the haughtiest men in this town, to

fetch up-stairs from the chapel, a heavy gold frame set with jewels,

in which the Host is exhibited, for the inspection of the company

during the hour of recreation allowed in the Exercises. No man

ever shewed such assurance and consciousness of Heaven’s delegated

authority as Father Vega, in the Confessional. He reads the heart of

his penitent--impresses the mind with the uselessness of disguise,

and relieves shame by a strong feeling that he has anticipated

disclosure. In preaching, his vehemence rivets the mind of the

hearers; a wild luxuriance of style engages them with perpetual

variety; expectation is kept alive by the remembered flashes of

his wit; while the homely, and even coarse, expressions he allows

himself, when he feels the whole audience already in his power, give

him that air of superiority which seems to set no bounds to the

freedom of manner.

“It is however, in his private chapel that Father Vega has prepared

the grand scene of his triumphs over the hearts of his audience.

Twice every day, during the Exercises, he kneels for the space of

one hour, surrounded by his congregation. Day-light is excluded, and

a candle is so disposed in a shade that, without breaking the gloom

of the chapel, it shines on a full-length sculpture of Christ nailed

to the Cross, who, with a countenance where exquisite suffering is

blended with the most lovely patience, seems to be on the point

of moving his lips to say--“Father, forgive them!” The mind is at

first allowed to dwell, in the deepest silence, on the images and

sentiments with which previous reading has furnished it, till the

Director, warmed with meditation, breaks forth in an impressive

voice, not, however, addressing himself to his hearers, from whom

he appears completely abstracted, but pouring out his heart in

the presence of the Deity. Silence ensues after a few sentences,

and not many minutes elapse without a fresh ejaculation. But the

fire gradually kindles into a flame. The addresses grow longer and

more impassioned; his voice, choked with sobs and tears, struggles

painfully for utterance, till the stoutest hearts are forced to yield

to the impression, and the chapel resounds with sighs and groans.

“I cannot but shudder at the recollection that my mind was made to

undergo such an ordeal at the age of fifteen; for it is a custom

of the diocese of Seville to prepare the candidates for orders

by the Exercises of Saint Ignatius; and even those who are to be

incorporated with the clergy by the ceremony of the _First Tonsure_,

are not easily spared this trial. I was grown up a timid, docile,

yet ardent boy. My soul, as I have already mentioned, had been early

made to taste the bitterness of remorse, and I now eagerly embraced

the offer of those expiatory rites which, as I fondly thought, were

to restore lost innocence, and keep me for ever in the straight path

of virtue. The shock, however, which my spirits felt, might have

unnerved me for life, and reduced my faculties to a state little

short of imbecility, had I not received from nature, probably as a

compensation for a too soft and yielding heart, an understanding

which was born a rebel. Yet, I cannot tell whether it was my heart

or my head, that, in spite of a frighted fancy, endued me with

resolution to baffle the blind zeal of my confessor, when, finding,

during these Exercises, that I knew the existence of a prohibited

book in the possession of a student of divinity, who, out of mere

good nature, assisted my early studies; he commanded me to accuse

my friend before the Inquisition. Often have I been betrayed into a

wrong course of thinking, by a desire to assimilate myself to those I

loved, and thus enjoy that interchange of sentiment which forms the

luxury of friendship. But even the chains of love, the strongest I

know within the range of nature, could never hold me, the moment I

conceived that error had bound them. This, however, brings me to the

history of my mind.

“An innate love of truth, which shewed itself on the first

developement of my reason, and a consequent perseverance in the

pursuit of it to the extent of my knowledge, that has attended me

through life, saved me from sinking into the dregs of Aristotelic

philosophy, which, though discountenanced by the Spanish government,

are still collected in a few filthy pools, fed by the constant

exertions of the Dominicans. Unfortunately for me, these monks have

a richly endowed college at Seville, where they give lectures on

Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, to a few young men whom they recruit

at the expense of flattering their parents. My father’s confessor

was a Dominican, and he marked me for a divine of his own school.

My mother, whose heart was with the Jesuits, would fain have sent

me to the University, where the last remnant of their pupils

still held the principal chairs. But she was informed by the wily

monk, that _heresy_ had began to creep among the new professors

of philosophy--heresy of such a horrible tendency, that it nearly

amounted to polytheism. The evidence on which this charge was

grounded, seemed, indeed, irresistible; for you had only to open the

second volume of one Altieri, a Neapolitan friar, whose Elements

of philosophy are still used as a class-book at the University of

Seville, and you would find, in the first pages, that he makes

_space_ uncreated, infinite, and imperishable. From such premises the

consequence was evident; the new philosophers were clearly setting up

a rival deity.

“With the usual preparation of a little Latin, but in absolute want

of all elementary instruction, I was sent to begin a course of logic

at the Dominican college. My desire of learning was great indeed; but

the _Categoriæ ad mentem Divi Thomæ Aquinatis_, in a large quarto

volume, were unsavoury food for my mind, and, after a few vain

efforts to conquer my aversion, I ended in never opening the dismal

book. Yet, untrained as I was to reading, books were necessary to

my happiness. In any other country I should have met with a variety

of works, which, furnishing my mind with facts and observations,

might have led me into some useful or agreeable pursuit. But in

Spain, the chances of lighting on a good book are so few, that I must

reckon my acquaintance with one that could open my mind, among the

fortunate events of my life. A near relation of mine, a lady, whose

education had been superior to that commonly bestowed on Spanish

females, possessed a small collection of Spanish and French books.

Among these were the works of Don Fray Benito Feyjoo, a Benedictine

monk, who, rising above the intellectual level of his country, about

the beginning of the present (18th) century, had the boldness to

attack every established error which was not under the immediate

patronage of religion. His mind was endowed with extraordinary

clearness and acuteness; and having, by an extensive reading of Latin

and French works, acquired a great mass of information on physical

and historical subjects, he displayed it, with peculiar felicity of

expression, in a long series of discourses and letters, forming a

work of fourteen large closely printed volumes.[13]

[13] Feyjoo died in 1765. Several of his Essays were published in

English by John Brett, Esq. 1780.

“It was not without difficulty that I obtained leave to try whether

my mind, which had hitherto lain a perfect waste, was strong enough

to understand and relish Feyjoo. But the contents of his pages came

like the spring showers upon a thirsty soil. A man’s opinion of the

first work he read when a boy, cannot safely be trusted; but, to

judge from the avidity with which at the age of fifteen I devoured

fourteen volumes on miscellaneous subjects, and the surprising

impulse they gave to my yet unfolded faculties, Feyjoo must be a

writer who deserves more notice than he has ever obtained from his

countrymen. If I can trust my recollection, he had deeply imbibed

the spirit of Lord Bacon’s works, together with his utter contempt

of the absurd philosophy which has been universally taught in Spain,

till the last third of the eighteenth century. From Bayle, Feyjoo had

learned caution in weighing historical evidence, and an habitual

suspicion of the numberless opinions which, in countries unpurified

by the wholesome gales of free contending thought, are allowed to

range unmolested, for ages, with the same claim to the rights of

prescription as frogs and insects have to their stagnant pools. In

a pleasing and popular style, Feyjoo acquainted his countrymen with

whatever discoveries in experimental philosophy had been made by

Boyle at that time. He declared open war against quackery of all

kinds. Miracles and visions which had not received the sanction of

the Church of Rome did not escape the scrutinizing eye of the bold

Benedictine. Such, in fact, was the alarm produced by his works

on the all-believing race for whom he wrote, that nothing but the

patronage of Ferdinand VI. prevented his being silenced with the

_ultima ratio_ of Spanish divines--the Inquisition.

“Had the power of Aladdin’s lamp placed me within the richest

subterraneous palace described in the Arabian Nights, it could not

have produced the raptures I experienced from the intellectual

treasure of which I now imagined myself the master. Physical strength

developes itself so gradually, that few, I am inclined to think,

derive pleasure from a sudden start of bodily vigour. But my mind,

like a young bird in the nest, had lived unconscious of its wings,

till this unexpected leader had, by his boldness, allured it into

flight. From a state of mere animal life, I found myself at once

possessed of the faculty of thinking; and I can scarcely conceive,

that the soul, emerging after death into a higher rank of existence,

shall feel and try its new powers with a keener delight. My

knowledge, it is true, was confined to a few physical and historical

facts; but I had, all at once, learned to reason, to argue, to

doubt. To the surprise and alarm of my good relatives, I had been

changed within a few weeks, into a sceptic who, without questioning

religious subjects, would not allow any one of their settled notions

to pass for its current value. My mother, with her usual penetration,

perceived the new tendency of my mind, and thanked Heaven, in my

presence, that Spain was my native country; ‘else,’ she said, ‘he

would soon quit the pale of the church.’

“The main advantage, however, which I owed to my new powers, was a

speedy emancipation from the Aristotelic school of the Dominicans.

I had, sometimes, dipped into the second volume of their Elements

of Philosophy, and had found, to my utter dismay, that they denied

the existence of a _vacuum_--one of my then favourite doctrines--and

attributed the ascent of liquids by suction, to the horror of nature

at being wounded and torn. Now, it so happened that Feyjoo had given

me the clearest notions on the theory of the sucking-pump, and the

relative gravity of air and water. Nothing, therefore, could equal my

contempt of those monks, who still contended for the whole system of

sympathies and antipathies. A reprimand from the reverend Professor

of Logic, for my utter inattention to his lectures, sprung, at

length, the mine which, charged with the first scraps of learning,

and brimful of boyish conceit, had long been ready to explode.

“Had the friar remonstrated with me in private, my habitual timidity

would have sealed up my lips. But he rated me before the whole class,

and my indignation fired up at such an indignity. Rising from my seat

with a courage so new to me that it seemed to be inspired, I boldly

declared my determination not to burden and pervert my mind with the

absurdities that were taught in their schools. Being asked, with a

sarcastic smile, which were the doctrines that had thus incurred

my disapprobation, I visibly surprised the Professor--no bright

genius himself--with the theory of the sucking-pump, and actually

nonplus’d him on the mighty question of _vacuum_. To be thus bearded

by a stripling, was more than his professional humility could bear.

He bade me thank my family for not being that moment turned out of

the lecture-room; assuring me, however, that my father should be

acquainted with my impertinence in the course of that day. Yet I

must do justice to his good-nature and moderation in checking the

students, who wished to serve me, like Sancho, with a blanketing.

“Before the threatened message could reach my father, I had, with

great rhetorical skill, engaged maternal pride and fear, in my

favour. In what colours the friar may have painted my impudence,

I neither learned nor cared: for my mother, whose dislike of the

Dominicans, as the enemies of the Jesuits, had been roused by the

public reprimand of the Professor, took the whole matter into her

hands, and before the end of the week, I heard, with raptures, that

my name was to be entered at the University.

“Having thus luckily obtained the object of my wishes, I soon

retrieved my character for industry, and received the public thanks

of my new Professor. What might have been my progress under a better

system than that of a Spanish university, vanity will probably not

allow me to judge with fairness. I will, therefore, content myself

with laying a sketch of that system before the reader.

“The Spanish universities had continued in a state worthy of the

thirteenth century till the year 1770, when the Marquis of Roda, a

favourite minister of Charles III., gave them an amended plan of

studies, which though far below the level of knowledge over the rest

of Europe, seems at least to recognise the progress of the human

mind since the revival of letters. The present plan forbids the

study of the Aristotelic philosophy, and attempts the introduction

of the inductive system of Bacon; but is shamefully deficient, in

the department of literature. Three years successive attendance in

the schools of logic, natural philosophy, and metaphysics, is the

only requisite for a master’s degree; and, though the examinations

are both long and severe, few of the Spanish universities have yet

altered the old statute which obliges the candidates to draw their

Theses from Aristotle’s logic and physics, and to deliver a long

discourse upon one chapter of each; thus leaving their daily lectures

perfectly at variance with the final examinations. Besides these

preparatory schools, every university has three or four professors

of divinity, as many of civil and canon law, and seldom less of

medicine. The students are not required to live in colleges. There

are, however, establishments of this kind for undergraduates; but

being, for the most part, intended for a limited number of poor boys,

they make no part of the Academic system. Yet some of these colleges

have, by a strange combination of circumstances, risen to such a

height of splendour and influence, that I must digress into a short

sketch of their history.

“The original division of Spanish colleges into _minor_ and _major_,

arose from the branches of learning for which they were intended.

Grammar and rhetoric alone were taught in the first; divinity, law,

and medicine, in the last. Most of the _Colegios Mayores_ were, by

papal bulls and royal decrees, erected into _universities_, where,

besides the fellows, students might repair daily to hear the public

lectures, and finally take their degrees. Thus the university of

this town (Seville) was, till lately, attached to this college, the

rector or head of which elected annually by the fellows, was, by

virtue of his office, rector of the university. This, and the great

colleges of Castille, enjoying similar privileges, but far exceeding

ours in wealth and influence, formed the literary aristocracy of

Spain. Though the statutes gave no exclusion to plebeians, the

circumstances required in the candidates for fellowships, together

with the _esprit de corps_ which actuated the electors, confined such

places to the _noblesse_. Anxious to increase their influence, none

of the six great colleges of Spain could ever be induced to elect

any one who was not connected with some of the best families. This,

however, was but a prudential step, to avoid the public disgrace to

which the _pruebas_, or interrogatories relative to _blood_, might

otherwise expose the candidates. One of the fellows was, and is still

at Seville, according to the statutes, to repair to the birth-place

of the parents of the elected member, as well as to those of his

two grandfathers and grandmothers--except when any of them is a

foreigner, a circumstance which prevents the journey, though not

the inquiry--in order to examine upon oath, from fifteen to thirty

witnesses at each place. These, either from their own knowledge,

or the current report of the town, must swear that the ancestor in

question never was a menial servant, a shopkeeper or petty tradesman;

a mechanic; had neither himself, nor any of his relations, been

punished by the Inquisition, nor was descended from Jews, Moors,

Africans, Indians, or Guanchos, _i. e._ the aborigines of the Canary

Islands. It is evident that none but the hereditary gentry could

expose themselves to this ordeal: and as the pride of the reporter,

together with the character of his college, were highly interested

in the purity of blood of every member, no room was left for the

evasions commonly resorted to for the admission of knights in the

military orders.

“Thus, in the course of years, the six great colleges[14] could

command the influence of the first Spanish families all over the

kingdom. It was, besides, a point of honour among such as had

obtained a fellowship, never to desert the interest of their college:

and, as every cathedral in Spain has three canonries, which must be

obtained by a literary competition, of which the canons themselves

are the judges, wherever a _Colegial Mayor_ had obtained a stall,

he was able to secure a strong party to any one of his college who

should offer himself as a champion at those literary jousts. The

chapters, on the other hand, were generally inclined to strengthen

their own importance by the accession of people of rank, leaving poor

and unknown scholars to grovel in their native obscurity. No place of

honour in the church and law was left unoccupied by the _collegians_:

and even the distribution which those powerful bodies made of their

members--as if not only all the best offices and situations, but

even a choice of them, were in their hands--was no secret to the

country at large. Fellows in orders, who possessed abilities, were

kept in reserve for the literary _competitions_. Such as could not

appear to advantage at those public trials were, by means of court

favour, provided for with stalls in the wealthiest cathedrals. The

absolutely dull and ignorant were made _inquisitors_, who, passing

judgment in their secret halls, could not disgrace the college by

their blunders. Medicine not being in honour, there were no fellows

of that profession. The lay members of the major colleges belonged

exclusively to the law, but they would never quit their fellowships

except for a place among the judges. Even in the present low ebb of

collegiate influence, the College of Seville would disown any of the

fellows who should act as a mere advocate.

[14] There exist in Spain some other colleges which are also

called _mayores_; but none, except four at Salamanca, one at

Valladolid, and one at Seville, were reckoned as a part of the

literary aristocracy of the country. None but these had the

privilege of referring all their interests and concerns to a

committee of the supreme council of the nation, expressly named

for that purpose.

“While the colleges were still at the height of their power, a young

lawyer offered himself for one of the fellowships at Salamanca,

and was disdainfully rejected for want of sufficient proofs of

_noblesse_. By an extraordinary combination of circumstances, the

offended candidate rose to be prime minister of state, under Charles

III., with the title of Marquis of Roda. The extraordinary success

he had met with in public life, could not, however, heal the wound

his pride had received in his youth. But, besides the inducement of

his private feelings, he seems to have been an enemy to all influence

which was not exerted by the king and his ministers. Two powerful

bodies, the Jesuits and the colleges, engrossed so forcibly, and,

I may say, painfully, his attention, that it was wittily observed,

‘that the spectacles he wore had painted glasses, one representing a

Jesuit, the other a collegian’--and thus allowed him to see nothing

else. The destruction to which he had doomed them was, at length,

accomplished by his means. His main triumph was, indeed, over the

Jesuits: yet his success against the colleges, though certainly less

splendid, was the more gratifying to his personal feelings. The

method he employed in the downfall of the last is not unworthy of

notice, both for its perfect simplicity, and the light it throws upon

the state and character of the country. Having the whole patronage

of the Crown in his hands, he placed, within a short time, all the

existing members of the Salamanca colleges, in the most desirable

situations both of the church and law, filling their vacancies with

young men of no family. Thus the bond of collegiate influence was

suddenly snapped asunder: the old members disowned their successors;

and such as a few days before looked upon a fellowship as an object

of ambition, would have felt mortified at the sight of a relative

wearing the gown of a _reformed_ college. The _Colegio Mayor_ of

Seville was attacked by other means. Without enforcing the admission

of the unprivileged classes, the minister, by an arbitrary order,

deprived it of its right to confer degrees. The convocation of

doctors and masters was empowered to elect their own rector, and

name professors for the schools, which were subsequently opened to

the public in one of the deserted houses that had belonged to the

Jesuits. Such is the origin of the university where I received my

education.

“Slight, however, are the advantages which a young mind can derive

from academical studies in Spain. To expect a rational system of

education where the Inquisition is constantly on the watch to keep

the human mind within the boundaries which the Church of Rome, with

her host of divines, has set to its progress; would shew a perfect

ignorance of the character of our religion. Thanks to the league

between our church and state, the Catholic divines have nearly

succeeded in keeping down knowledge to their own level. Even such

branches of science as seem least connected with religion, cannot

escape the theological rod; and the spirit which made Galileo

recant upon his knees his discoveries in astronomy, still compels

our professors to teach the Copernican system as an hypothesis.

The truth is that, with Catholic divines, no one pursuit of the

human mind is independent of religion. Since the first appearance

of Christianity, its doctrines have ever been blended with the

philosophical views of their teachers. The scriptures themselves,

invaluable as they are in forming the moral character, frequently

touch, by incident, upon subjects unconnected with their main

object, and treat of nature and civil society according to the

notions of a rude people in a very primitive period. Hence the

encroachments of divines upon every branch of human knowledge,

which are still supported by the hand of power in a great part of

Europe, but in none so outrageously as in Spain. Astronomy must

ask the inquisitors’ leave to see with her own eyes. Geography was

long compelled to shrink before them. Divines were made the judges

of Columbus’s plans of discovery, as well as to allot a species to

the Americans. A spectre monk haunts the Geologist in the lowest

cavities of the earth; and one of flesh and blood watches the steps

of the philosopher on its surface. Anatomy is suspected, and watched

closely, whenever she takes up the scalpel; and Medicine had many

a pang to endure while endeavouring to expunge the use of bark and

inoculation from the catalogue of mortal sins. You must not only

believe what the Inquisition believes, but yield implicit faith

to the theories and explanations of her divines. To acknowlege

on the authority of Revelation, that mankind will rise from their

graves, is not sufficient to protect the unfortunate Metaphysician,

who should deny that man is a compound of two substances, one of

which is naturally immortal. It was long a great obstacle to the

rejection of the Aristotelic philosophy, that the _substantial

forms_ of the schools were found an exceedingly convenient veil for

the invisible work of _transubstantiation_; for our good divines

shrewdly suspected, that if colour, taste, smell, and all the other

properties of bodies were allowed to be mere _accidents_--the bare

impressions on our sense of one variously modified substance--it

might be plausibly urged that, in the consecrated Host, the body of

Christ had been converted into bread, not the bread into that body.

But it would be endless and tedious to trace all the links, of which

the Inquisition has formed the chain that binds and weighs down the

human mind among us. Acquiescence in the voluminous and multifarious

creed of the Roman church is by no means sufficient for safety.

A man who closes his work with the O. S. C. S. R. E. (_Omnia sub

correctione Sanctæ Romanæ Ecclesiæ_) may yet rue the moment when he

took pen in hand. Heterodoxy may be easily avoided in writing; but

who can be sure that none of his periods _smacks of heresy_ (sapiens

hæresim)--none of his sentences are of that uncouth species which is

_apt to grate pious ears_ (piarum aurium offensivas)? Who then will

venture upon the path of knowledge, where it leads straight to the

Inquisition?[15]

[15] ... Il s’est établi dans Madrid un systême de liberté sur la

vente des productions, qui s’étend même à celles de la presse;

et que, pourvu que je ne parle en mes écrits ni de l’autorité,

ni du culte, ni de la politique, ni de la morale, ni des gens

en place, ni des corps en crédit, ni de l’Opera, ni des autres

spectacles, ni de personne qui tienne à quelque chose, je puis

tout imprimer librement, sous l’inspection de deux ou trois

censeurs.--_Marriage de Figaro, Act 5, Sc. 3_.

“Yet such is the energy of the human mind, when once acquainted

with its own powers, that the best organized system of intellectual

tyranny, though so far successful as to prevent Spanish talent from

bringing any fruit to maturity, fails most completely of checking its

activity. Could I but accurately draw the picture of an ingenuous

young mind struggling with the obstacles which Spanish education

opposes to improvement--the alarm at the springing suspicions of

being purposely betrayed into error--the superstitious fears that

check its first longings after liberty--the honest and ingenious

casuistry by which it encourages itself to leave the prescribed

path--the maiden joy and fear of the first transgression--the

rapidly-growing love of newly discovered truth, and consequent hatred

of its tyrants--the final despair and wild phrenzy that possess it on

finding its doom inevitable, on seeing with an appalling evidence,

that its best exertions are lost, that ignorance, bigotry, and

superstition claim and can enforce its homage--no plot of romance

would be read with more interest by such as are not indifferent to

the noblest concerns of mankind. As I cannot, however, present an

animated picture, I shall proceed with a statement of facts.

“An imperfect knowledge of logic and natural philosophy was all I

acquired at the university before I began the study of divinity;

and like most of my countrymen, I should have completed my studies

without so much as suspecting the existence of elegant literature,

had it not been for my acquaintance with an excellent young man, much

my senior at the university, who, by his own unassisted industry, had

made some progress in the study and imitation of the classics.[16]

To him I owed my first acquaintance with Spanish poetry, and my

earliest attempts at composition in my own language. My good fortune

led me, but a short time after, to a member of the _Colegio Mayor_

of this town--another self-improved man, whose extraordinary talents

having enabled him, at the age of nineteen, to cast a gleam of good

taste over the system of his own university of Osuna, made him

subsequently, at Seville, the centre of a small club of students.[17]

Through the influence of his genius, and the gratuitous assistance he

gave them in their studies, some of his private pupils rose so far

above the mass of their academical fellows, as to shew by the fair,

though scanty, produce of their minds, the rich promise which the

state of their country yearly blasts.

[16] Don Manuel Maria del Marmol.

[17] Don Manuel Maria de Arjona.

“In all the Spanish universities with which I am acquainted, I

have observed a similar struggle between enterprising genius and

constituted ignorance. Valencia, Granada, the college of San

Fulgencio at Murcia; Salamanca, above all, and Seville, the least

among them; have exhibited symptoms of rebellion, arising from

the undaunted ardour of some young members, who having opened for

themselves a path to knowledge, would, at some time or other, make

a desperate effort to allure the rising generation to follow their

steps. The boldest champions in this hopeless contest, have generally

started among the professors of moral philosophy. Government had

confined them to the puny Elements of Jacquier and Heinnecius; but a

mind once set on “the proper study of mankind,” must be weak indeed

not to extend its views beyond the limits prescribed by the ignorance

of a despot or his ministers. With alarm and consternation to the

_white-tasselled_ heads,[18] and thrilling hopes to their secret

enemies, connected series of Theses have of late appeared among us,

which, in spite of the studied caution of their language, betrayed

both their origin and tendency. Genuine offspring of the French

school, the very turn of their phrases gave strong indications of a

style formed in defiance of the Holy Inquisition. But these fits of

restless impatience have only secured the yoke they were intended

to loosen. I have visited Salamanca after the great defeat of the

philosophical party, the strongest that ever was formed in Spain. A

man of first-rate literary character among us,[19] whom merit and

court favour had raised to one of the chief seats in the judicature

of the country, but whom court caprice had, about this time, sent to

rusticate at Salamanca, was doing me the honours of the place, when,

approaching the convocation-hall of the university, we perceived the

members of the faculty of divinity strolling about, while waiting for

a meeting of their body. A runaway slave, still bearing the marks

of the lash on his return, could not have shrunk more instinctively

at the sight of the planters meeting at the council-room, than my

friend did at the view of the cowls, ‘white, black, and grey,’ which

partially hid the sleek faces of his offended masters. He had, it is

true, been lucky enough to escape the imprisonment and subsequent

penance in a monastery which was the sad lot of the chief of his

routed party; but he himself was still suspected and watched closely.

The rest of his friends, the flower of the university, had been kept

for three or four years, in constant fear of their personal liberty,

being often called before the secret tribunal to answer the most

captious interrogatories about themselves and their acquaintance, but

never put in possession of every count of the indictment. After this

and a few such examples, we have, at last, perceived the folly of

engaging in a desperate game, where no possible combination can, for

the present, give the dissenting party a single chance of success.

[18] A coloured tassel on the cap is, in Spain, the peculiar

distinction of doctors and masters. _White_, denotes divinity:

green, canon law: crimson, civil law: yellow, medicine; and

blue, arts, i. e. philosophy. Those caps are worn only on public

occasions at the universities.

[19] Melendez Valdez.

“French philosophy had not found its way to the university of

Seville, at the time when I was studying divinity. Even the knowledge

of the French language was a rare acquirement both among the

professors and their hearers. I have mentioned, at the beginning of

this sketch, that one of the few books which delighted my childhood

was a Spanish translation of Telemachus. A fortunate incident had

now thrown into my hands the original of my old favourite, and I

attempted to understand a few lines by comparing them with the

version. My success exceeded my hopes. Without either grammar or

dictionary, I could, in a few weeks, read on: guessing a great deal,

it is true, but visibly improving my knowledge of the idiom by

comparing the force of unknown words in different passages. An odd

volume of Racine’s tragedies was my next French book. Imperfectly as

I must have understood that tender and elegant poet, his plays gave

me so much pleasure, that by repeated readings I found myself able

to understand French poetry. It was about this time that I made my

invaluable acquaintance at our college. My friend had learned both

French and Italian in a similar manner with myself. He was acquainted

with one of the judges of our _Audiencia_, or provincial court of

judicature, a man of great literary celebrity,[20] who possessed a

very good library, from whence I was indulged with French books, as

well as Italian; for by a little ingenuity and the analogy of my own

language, I had also enabled myself to read the language of Petrarch.

[20] Don Juan Pablo Forner.

“Hitherto I had never had courage enough to take a forbidden book in

my hands. The excommunication impending over me by the words _ipso

facto_, was indeed too terrific an object for my inexperienced mind.

Delighted with my newly acquired taste for poetry and eloquence, I

had never brooded over any religious doubts--or rather, sincerely

adhering to the Roman Catholic law, which makes the examination of

such doubts as great a crime as the denial of the article of belief

they affect, I had always shrunk with terror from every heterodox

suggestion. But my now intimate friend and guide had made canon law

his profession. Ecclesiastical history, in which he was deeply

versed, had, without weakening his Catholic principles, made him a

pupil of that school of canonists who, both in Germany and France,

having exposed the forgeries, by means of which papal power had made

itself paramount to every human authority, were but too visibly

disposed to a separation from Rome. My friend denied the existence

of any power in the Church to inflict excommunication, without a

declaratory sentence in consequence of the trial of the offender.

Upon the strength of this doctrine, he made me read the ‘Discourses

on Ecclesiastical History,’ by the Abbé Fleury--a work teeming with

invective against monks and friars, doubts on modern miracles, and

strictures on the virtues of modern saints. Eve’s heart, I confess,

when

----her rash hand in evil hour

Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck’d, she ate,

could not have beaten more convulsively than mine, as I opened the

forbidden book. Vague fears and doubts haunted my conscience for many

days. But my friend, besides being a sound Catholic, was a devout

man. He had lately taken priest’s orders, and was now not only my

literary but my spiritual director. His abilities and his affection

to me had obtained a most perfect command over my mind, and it was

not long before I could match him in mental boldness, on points

unconnected with articles of faith.

“This was, indeed, the happiest period of my life. The greatest

part of my time, with the exception of that required for my daily

attendance at the dull lectures of the divinity professors, was

devoted to the French critics, André, Le Bossu, Batteux, Rollin, La

Harpe, and many others of less note. The habit of analyzing language

and ideas, which I acquired in the perusal of such works, soon led me

to some of the French metaphysicians, especially Condillac.

“It was the favourite amusement of myself and those constant

associates of my youth that formed the knot of friends, of whom

the often mentioned _Colegial Mayor_ was the centre and guide; to

examine all our feelings, in order to resolve them into some general

law, and trace them to their simple elements. This habit of analysis

and generalization extended itself to the customs and habits of the

country, and the daily incidents of life, till in the course of time

it produced in me the deceitful, though not uncommon notion, that

all knowledge is the result of developed principles, and gave me a

distaste for every book that was not cast into a regular theory.

“While I was thus amused and deceived by the activity of my mind,

without endeavouring to give it the weight and steadiness which

depends upon the knowledge of facts; Catholicism, with its ten

thousand rules and practices, was mechanically keeping up the

ill-contrived structure of devotion, which it had raised more in my

fancy than my heart. It had now to contend, however, with an enemy

whom nothing but fixed hope can keep within bounds--but religion had

left me no hope. Instead of engaging love on her side, she had forced

him into an inseparable league with immorality. I will not describe

the misery that embittered my youth, and destroyed the peace of my

maturer years--the struggles, perhaps the crimes, certainly the

remorse, that were in me the consequence of the barbarous laws of my

country. They are too intimately blended with _self_, too intricately

entwined with the feelings of others, to be left exposed for ever to

the cold indifference of the multitude. Whatever on this point is

connected with the general state of Spain, has already been touched

upon. Mine, indeed, is the lot of thousands. Often did I recoil at

the approach of the moment when I was to bind myself for ever to the

clerical profession, and as often my heart failed me at the sight of

a mother in tears! It was no worldly interest--it was the eternal

welfare of my soul, which she believed to depend on my following the

call of Heaven, that made the best of mothers a snare to her dearest

child. The persuasions of my confessor, and, above all, the happiness

I experienced in restoring cheerfulness to my family, deluded me

into the hope of preserving the same feeling through life. A very

short time, however, was sufficient to open my eyes. The inexorable

law that bound me, was the bitterest foe to my virtue. Yet devotion

had not lost her power over my fancy, and I broke loose, more than

once, from her thraldom, and was as often reclaimed, before the awful

period which was to raise me to the priesthood.

“If mental excitement, attended with the most thrilling and sublime

sensations, the effect of deception, could be indulged without

injury to our noblest faculties--if life could be made a long dream

without the painful startings produced by the din and collision of

the world--if the opium of delusion could be largely administered

without a complete enervation of our rational energies--the lot

of a man of feeling, brought up in the undisturbed belief of the

Catholic doctrines, and raised to be a dispenser of its mysteries;

would be enviable above all others. No abstract belief, if I am to

trust my experience, can either soothe our fears or feed our hopes,

independently of the imagination; and I am strongly inclined to

assert, that no genuine persuasion exists upon unearthly subjects,

without the co-operation of the imaginative faculty. Hence the

powerful effects of the splendid and striking system of worship

adopted by the Roman church. A foreigner may be inclined to laugh

at the strange ceremonies performed in a Spanish cathedral, because

these ceremonies are a conventional language to which he attaches no

ideas. But he that from the cradle has been accustomed to kiss the

hand of the priest, and receive his blessing--that has associated the

name and attributes of the Deity with the consecrated bread--that has

observed the awe with which it is handled--how none but annointed

hands dare touch it--what clouds of incense, what brilliancy of gems

surround it when exposed to the view--with what heartfelt anxiety the

glare of lights, the sound of music, and the uninterrupted adoration

of the priests in waiting, are made to evince the overpowering

feeling of a God dwelling among men--such a man alone can conceive

the state of a warm-hearted youth, who, for the first time approaches

the altar, not as a mere attendant, but as the sole worker of the

greatest of miracles.

“No language can do justice to my own feelings at the ceremony

of ordination, the performance of the first mass, and during the

interval which elapsed between this fever of enthusiasm and the cold

scepticism that soon followed it. For some months previous to the

awful ceremony I voluntarily secluded myself from the world, making

religious reading and meditation the sole employment of my time. The

_Exercises of Saint Ignatius_, which immediately preceded the day

of ordination, filled my heart with what appeared to me a settled

distaste for every wordly pleasure. When the consecrating rights

had been performed--when my hands had been annointed--the sacred

vesture, at first folded on my shoulders, let drop around me by the

hands of the bishop--the sublime hymn to the all-creating Spirit

uttered in solemn strains, and the power of restoring sinners to

innocence, conferred upon me--when, at length, raised to the dignity

of a ‘fellow-worker with God,’ the bishop addressed me, in the name

of the Saviour: ‘Henceforth I call you not servant ... but I have

called you friend;’ I truly felt as if, freed from the material

part of my being, I belonged to a higher rank of existence. I had

still a heart, it is true--a heart ready to burst at the sight of

my parents, on their knees, while impressing the first kiss on my

newly-consecrated hands; but it was dead to the charms of beauty.

Among the friendly crowd that surrounded me for the same purpose,

were those lips which a few months before I would have died to press;

yet I could but just mark their superior softness. In vain did I

exert myself to check exuberance of feelings at my first mass. My

tears bedewed the _corporals_ on which, with the eyes of faith, I

beheld the disguised lover of mankind whom I had drawn from heaven to

my hands. These are dreams, indeed,--the illusions of an over-heated

fancy; but dreams they are which some of the noblest minds have

dreamt through life without waking--dreams which, while passing

vividly before the mental eye, must entirely wrap up the soul of

every one who is neither _more_ nor _less_ than a man.

“To exercise the privileges of my office for the benefit of my

fellow-creatures, was now my exclusive aim and purpose. I daily

celebrated mass, with due preparation, preached often, and rejected

none that applied to me for confession. The best ascetic writers of

the Church of Rome were constantly in my hands. I made a study of

the Fathers; but, though I had the Scriptures among my books, it

was, according to custom, more for reference than perusal. These

feelings, this state of mental abstraction, is by no means uncommon,

for a time, among young priests whose hearts have not been withered

by a course of premature profligacy. It would be absurd to expect it

in such as embrace the clerical state as a trade, or are led to the

church by ambition, and least of all among the few that would never

bind themselves with the laws of celibacy, had they not previously

freed their minds from all religious fears. Yet, among my numerous

acquaintance in the Spanish clergy, I have never met with any one,

possessed of bold talents, who has not, sooner or later, changed

from the most sincere piety to a state of unbelief.[21] Were every

individual who has undergone this internal transformation to describe

the steps by which it was accomplished, I doubt not but the general

outline would prove alike in all. I shall, however, conclude my

narrative by faithfully relating the origin and progress of the

total change that took place in my mind within little more than a

year after taking priest’s orders.

[21] See Note E.

“The ideas of consistency and perfection are strongly attached by

every sincere Catholic to his system of faith. The church of Rome

has played for many centuries a desperate though, till lately, a

successful game. Having once proclaimed the necessity of an abstract

creed for salvation, and made herself the infallible framer and

expounder of that creed, she leaves her votaries no alternative but

that of receiving or rejecting the whole of her doctrines. Luckily

for her interests, men seldom go beyond a certain link in the

chain of thought, or allow themselves to look into the sources of

traditionary doctrines. Her theological system on the other hand,

having so shaped its gradual growth as to fill up deficiencies as

they were perceived, affords an ample range to every mind that,

without venturing to examine the foundations, shall be contented with

the symmetry, of the structure. I have often heard the question,

how could such men as Bossuet and Fenelon adhere to the church

of Rome and reject the Protestant faith? The answer appears to

me obvious. Because, according to their fixed principles on this

matter, they must have been either Catholics or Infidels. Laying it

down as an axiom, that Christianity was chiefly intended to reveal

a system of doctrines necessary for salvation, they naturally and

consistently inferred the existence of an authorized judge upon

questions of faith, otherwise the inevitable doubts arising from

private judgment would defeat the object of revelation. Thus it is

that Bossuet thought he had triumphantly confuted the Protestants

by merely shewing that they could not agree in their Articles. Like

Bossuet, most Catholic divines can see no medium between denying the

infallible authority of the Church and rejecting revelation.

“No proposition in Euclid could convey stronger conviction to my

mind than that which I found in this dilemma. Let me but prove, said

I to myself, that there exists a single flaw in the system, and it

will all crumble into dust. Yet, as in a Catholic, ‘once to doubt is

once to be resolved,’ I might have eternally closed my eyes, like

many others, against the impression of the most glaring falsehoods;

for how could I retrieve the rash step of holding my judgment in

suspense while I examined? The most hideous crimes fall within the

jurisdiction of a confessor; but the mortal taint of heresy cannot be

removed except by the Pope’s delegated authority, which, in Spain, he

has deposited in the hands of the Inquisition. Should I deliberately

indulge my doubts for a moment, what a mountain of crime and misery

I should bring upon my head! My office would, probably, lay me under

the necessity of celebrating mass the next day, which, to do with a

consciousness of unabsolved sin, is sacrilege; while this particular

offence would besides involve me in the ecclesiastical sentence of

_suspension_ and _interdict_. The recurring necessity of officiating

at the altar, before I could remove these inabilities, would increase

them every day tenfold, and give my life a foretaste of the torturing

fire to which I should be doomed by the sentence of my church. These

fears are not peculiar to timid or weak characters: they are the

legitimate consequences of a consistent and complicated system, and

cannot be dispelled but by a decided rejection of the whole.

The involuntary train, however, both of feeling and thought, which

was to make me break out into complete rebellion, had long been

sapping the foundations of my faith, without my being aware that

the whole structure nodded to its ruin. A dull sense of existence,

a heaviness that palled my taste for life and its concerns, had

succeeded my first ardour of devotion. Conscientiously faithful to

my engagements, and secluded from every object that might ruffle

the calm of my heart, I looked for happiness in the performance of

my duty. But happiness was fled from me; and, though totally exempt

from remorse, I could not bear the death-like silence of my soul.

An unmeaning and extremely burdensome practice laid by the Church

of Rome upon her clergy, contributed not a little to increase the

irksomeness of my circumstances. A Catholic clergyman, who employs

his whole day in the discharge of his duty to others, must yet

repeat to himself the service of the day in an audible voice--a

performance which neither constant practice, nor the most rapid

utterance can bring within the compass of less than an hour and a

half in the four-and-twenty. This exhausting exercise is enjoined

under pain of mortal sin, and the restitution of that day’s income on

which any portion of the office is omitted.

“Was mine a life of usefulness?--Did not the world, with all its

struggles, its miseries, and its vices, hold out nobler and more

exalted ends than this tame and deadening system of perfection? How

strong must be the probability of future reward, to balance the

actual certainty of such prolonged misery? Suppose, however, the

reality and magnitude of the recompence--am I not daily, and hourly,

in danger of eternal perdition? My heart sinks at the view of the

interminable list of offences; every one of which may finally plunge

me into the everlasting flames. Everlasting! and why so? Can there be

revenge or cruelty in the Almighty? Such were the harassing thoughts

with which I wrestled day and night. Prostrate upon my knees I daily

prayed for deliverance; but my prayers were not heard. I tried to

strengthen my faith by reading Bergier, and some of the French

Apologists. But what can they avail a doubting Catholic? His system

of faith being indivisible, the evidences of Christianity lead him to

the most glaring absurdities. To argue with a doubting Catholic is

to encourage and hasten his desertion. Chateaubriand has perfectly

understood the nature of his task, and by engaging the feelings and

imagination in defence of his creed, has given it the fairest chance

against the dry and tasteless philosophy of his countrymen. His

book[22] propped up my faith for a while.

[22] “Beauties of Christianity,” 3 vols. 8vo.

“Almost on the eve of my mental crisis, I had to preach a sermon

upon an extraordinary occasion; when, according to a fashion derived

from France, a long and elaborate discourse was expected. I made

infidelity my subject, with a most sincere desire of convincing

myself while I laboured to persuade others. What effect my arguments

may have had upon the audience I know not; they were certainly lost

upon the orator. Whatever, in this state, could break the habit of

awe which I was so tenaciously supporting--whatever could urge me

into uttering a doubt on one of the Articles of the Roman Creed,

was sure to make my faith vanish like a soap-bubble in the air. I

had been too earnest in my devotion, and my Church too pressing and

demanding. Like a cold, artful, interested mistress, that Church

either exhausts the ardour of her best lovers, or harasses them to

destruction. As to myself, a moment’s dalliance with her great rival,

Freedom, converted my former love into perfect abhorrence.

One morning, as I was wrapt up in my usual thoughts, on the banks

of the Guadalquivir, a gentleman, who had lately been named by the

government to an important place in our provincial judicature,

joined me in the course of my ramble. We had been acquainted but a

short time, and he, though forced into caution by an early danger

from the Inquisition, was still friendly and communicative. His

talents of forensic eloquence, and the sprightliness and elegance

of his conversation, had induced a conviction on my mind, that he

belonged to the philosophical party of the university where he had

been educated. Urged by an irresistible impulse, I ventured with him

upon neutral ground--monks, ecclesiastical encroachments, extravagant

devotion--till the stream of thought I had thus allowed to glide over

the feeble mound of my fears, swelling every moment, broke forth as a

torrent from its long and violent confinement. I was listened to with

encouraging kindness, and there was not a doubt in my heart which I

did not disclose. Doubts they had, indeed, appeared to me till that

moment; but utterance transformed them, at once, into demonstrations.

It would be impossible to describe the fear and trepidation that

seized me the moment I parted from my good-natured confidant. The

prisons of the Inquisition seemed ready to close their studded gates

upon me; and the very hell I had just denied, appeared yawning before

my eyes. Yet, a few days elapsed, and no evil had overtaken me. I

performed mass with a heart in open rebellion to the Church that

enjoined it: but I had now settled with myself to offer it up to my

Creator, as I imagine that the enlightened Greeks and Romans must

have done their sacrifices. I was like them, forced to express my

thankfulness in an absurd language.

“This first taste of mental liberty was more delicious than any

feeling I ever experienced; but it was succeeded by a burning thirst

for every thing that, by destroying my old mental habits, could

strengthen and confirm my unbelief. I gave an exorbitant price for

any French irreligious books, which the love of gain induced some

Spanish booksellers to import at their peril. The intuitive knowledge

of one another, which persecuted principles impart to such as

cherish them in common, made me soon acquainted with several members

of my own profession, deeply versed in the philosophical school

of France. They possessed, and made no difficulty to lend me, all

the Antichristian works, which teemed from the French press. Where

there is no liberty, there can be no discrimination. The ravenous

appetite raised by forced abstinence makes the mind gorge itself

with all sorts of food. I suspect I have thus imbibed some false,

and many crude notions from my French masters. But my circumstances

preclude the calm and dispassionate examination which the subject

deserves. Exasperated by the daily necessity of external submission

to doctrines and persons I detest and despise, my soul overflows

with bitterness. Though I acknowledge the advantages of moderation,

none being used towards me, I practically, and in spite of my better

judgment, learn to be a fanatic on my own side.

“Pretending studious retirement, I have fitted up a small room, to

which none but my confidential friends find admittance. There lie

my _prohibited books_, in perfect concealment, in a well-contrived

nook under a staircase. The _Breviary_ alone, in its black-binding,

clasps, and gilt leaves, is kept upon the table, to check the

suspicions of any chance intruder.”