Chapter IX. Un-Married Cussedness of the Roman Priest-Craft.

In the Book of Books, we find that the Lord of Hosts declares that, “It is not good for man to dwell alone,” and our Heavenly Father also teaches us that “Every man should have one wife.”

Now, the Good Lord was either right or wrong when He made this declaration, and who is there that would declare that the Lord was mistaken in His injunction? Not one! Therefore, we must acknowledge that either the Lord our God made a declaration that was nonsensical and unreasonable, or else the Roman Priestcraft is living a life which is diagonally contrary to the commands and demands of God Almighty, for when the Roman Church declares that her Priests shall not wed, they at once set up a rule for their teachers which is in violation, to not only the laws of God, but laws of man, as the silent whisperings of man’s nature demands a helpmate. The heathen nations of the earth who are not acquainted with the sanctity of the marriage vow, have a longing for the companionship of the opposite sex, and this longing cannot be termed anything but “a godly love,” as this feeling was placed in the bosom of humanity by a divine being, and whenever this desire is thwarted, you have disturbed the most blissful inspiration of the human family; but the Roman Catholic Church would have us believe that a few of the human family have been ordained by God to live recluses, or, as we may term it, “unmarried hermits.”

Catholicism, with all her damnable dogmas and creeds, cannot change that God-given impulse that was planted in the bosom of man, when Adam was created in the Garden of Eden, and the more Roman Catholicism endeavors to eradicate that feeling, the greater her sins become, for it is a most damnable sin to try to force man to eradicate from his bosom this everlasting and godly craving for the love of the opposite sex, and as long as “man is born of woman,” just so long that inspiration will live in the bosom of mankind, and just so long as Roman Catholicism endeavors to force humanity to purge itself of this blessed longing, just so long the mark of deception, depravity and ungodliness will be left upon the brow of this Romish demon.

This chapter is one that must be written in a delicate manner, which prohibits me from becoming emphatic and explicit, for should I allow myself to write exactly what I have seen, and the truths that exist in regard to Romish hellishness, and the deeds of the unmarried cussedness of Catholicism, I would have to resort to language that would be unchaste, but I have in mind a story that was told some time ago, by a young lady, who had spent a number of years in a convent, which I will relate word for word as she gave it, and which will be only the history over and over again of thousands–yea, tens of thousands of girls who have had the same experience as this poor mortal, only perhaps had new agonies added to their lives.

The history of this girl’s life in a convent is more than pathetic, from the fact that her father on his deathbed requested that she be placed in a convent by her mother, which was done, and her sufferings, the reader will see, were not a fault of hers, but the fault of her parents, who had been raised to believe in the diabolical teachings of Roman Catholicism, but who did not know that these teachings were only echoes of the dark ages of paganism, therefore you will see that this poor girl’s history is laden with a sadness for which she is not to blame, and the fault can only be laid at the fountain head, as her parents were sincere in their belief, and did not, of course, realize that they were helping to ruin their darling girl’s future.

I will now relate her history, as near as possible, the way she gave it, which will be symbolic of the history of thousands of other girls, and which is absolutely true. Her story follows:

“When one becomes an inmate of a convent, they become a prisoner, as every act is scrutinized by the mother superior, and you have no privilege any more than if you were a convict and placed behind the bars for some heinous crime. With this exception, however, you are allowed to receive letters from a priest without having the letter opened and read before it reaches you, as there is always some mark to distinguish a letter received from a priest, but all letters that you write and all letters that you receive, unless they bear the mark indicating that they have been sent by a priest, are carefully read, and if the contents of either the letter you write, or the one that has been written to you does not meet with the arbitrary opinion of the “mother superior,” they are destroyed, and you never have the opportunity of sending the one that you have written, or to receive the one that has been written to you, unless they can pass the inspection of the “mother superior,” who is nothing more nor less than an agent of the Pope of Rome, as she receives her instructions from the priestcraft, and they receive their instructions from the Pope of Rome.”

When an inmate of a convent receives a letter from a priest it is handed her without being opened, as the “mother superior” is instructed not to open such letters, and is told that all such letters, of course, relate to the spiritual welfare of the nun.

In these letters the priest will tell the nun what day he will call to give her ageneral confession. As soon as such a letter is received the nun informs the “mother superior” that on a certain day Priest So-and-So will visit her, and, of course, this “mother superior” gives the permission, and on the day that the priest is to arrive, this nun is excused from all duties for that day, and when the priest arrives he is shown into what is called theRetreat Parlor; and no matter how long he remains there, no one will disturb him. He is supposed to betalking with his penitent on the welfare of her soul. Ah, could any one look through the door, they would find this priest with his arms about the form of this fair penitent, or perhaps in a far more compromising position!

Right here the reader may ask if these nuns are willing to submit to the embraces of these priests?

I will allow this girl to answer this question in her own language, and her answer is this:

“I answer that in fifteen out of twenty cases–No! But she is there helpless; the priest has seen her somewhere in the garb of a nun and has taken a fancy to her, and whether she be willing or not, he compels her to allow him to satisfy his hellish passion!”

This girl continues by exclaiming: “Oh God! Great God! When I think of this system–this system born of the devil and nurtured by hell–and realize that under the cloak of religion it is stealing away our liberty, entering into our homes, ruining our womanhood and girlhood, and painting childish purity with the brush of immorality, and defiling everything with which it comes in contact, I then become a mad woman, and I become as a venomous serpent, wanting revenge for what has been done to me, and it seems as if I cannot remain quiet, but, closing my eyes and ears to everything, as I have no redress, I am compelled to warn thousands who may come after me, of their fate, should they take up convent life, which is a hell upon earth and a blotch as black as the shadows of hell to any land.”

The same lady who related the above, and a great deal more which I cannot tell in this chapter, gave an account of the sufferings of another nun, who was in the same convent with her, and I now learn that the same story that I will now relate has been told to others.

Reader, you must bear in mind that convents have many tortures outside of the torturing conscience on account of having the virtue of their inmates destroyed. The teachings of Catholicism lead people to practice self-infliction upon their person in order to appease a living God, as they seem to worship a living God the same as the pagans would worship a God of stone, or a ferocious God in the form of some carnivorous beast, and in order to atone for their sins, these inmates of the nunneries are taught that they must bear self-infliction; in fact, Catholicism teaches her followers that in order that any of them shall receive absolute pardon, that they must resort to heathenish practices.

As stated above, the same lady whom we speak of in the first part of this chapter, relates her experience with a sister nun, who endured self-torture, believing that it was an outward demonstration of godliness. Her story follows:

“I call to mind a case of cruelty under the guise of devotion that happened in our convent. A consecrated penitent, Sister Madeline, had been for some time a victim of consumption. She was a beautiful girl, and her exquisitely sweet voice could be heard in church every Sunday, taking part in the high mass. Poor Sister Madeline! How many humiliations she received! How often she was censured for leaving her work unfinished when she was not able to do it, and how I have pitied her as she tried to eat the bread and dripping we had for supper. Failing in the attempt, I would notice the tears gather in her eyes. Oh, how often I longed to be able to obtain some little delicacy for her! but dared not ask for it. Her gentle, patient, suffering face will never fade from my memory.

“One Sunday evening she and I were walking in the garden after benediction. She felt more than usually weak, and, therefore, I could offer her my arm to lean upon.

“‘Dear Sister Magdalene Adelaide,’ she said, ‘I think our blessed Lord is soon going to come for me.’

“I tried to cheer her by telling her that it might be His will to restore her again to health and strength.

“‘No, dear Sister,’ she replied; ‘and oh, I do not want to stay. I long to see my Master’s face. At night, when I lay awake in pain, I long, oh, so much, that I might go!’

“‘Sister Madeline,’ I said, ‘you have been happy here, have you not? You love your present life?’

“We had seated ourselves by this time in a little grotto made up in honor of ‘Our Lady of Lourdes.’ She buried her face in her hands, and I saw the tears trickling between her fingers.

“My own eyes filled with tears; I know not why.

“At last, raising up her head, she said: ‘I have tried my best to be contented; but oh! Sister Adelaide, it has been a bitter struggle. It is wrong in me to give way thus; but I cannot help it. May Our Lady pity me! I want you to promise, dear Sister, that you will say a rosary for me every day for a year after I am dead, and one communion every month.’

“‘I will gladly do this for you, Sister Madeline,’ I answered. ‘Tell me,’ I continued, ‘is there any particular day you prefer?’

“‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I would like your Friday communion. Promise me that on the anniversary of the feast of St. Mary Magdalene, my patron saint, you will offer your communion for me.’

“I promised her this and she seemed more satisfied.

“‘I know,’ she said, ‘that I shall have a long purgatory.’ She shuddered as she spoke. ‘And oh! I do hope the dear sisters will remember me in their prayers and communions.’

“‘Dear Sister Madeline,’ I said at last, ‘purgatory is better than hell and our Blessed Lady will intercede for you.’

“‘Yes, dear Sister Magdalene Adelaide,’ she said, ‘you are right; but oh!’ she continued, ‘I cannot help the shudder that passes through me as I think of the suffering I shall be in for years, especially after the mortifications I have practiced here, the discipline I have applied to myself, the days I have abstained from food, the prayers I have offered, the tears I have shed; and now, as death approaches, there is no other prospect before me than a long term of purgatorial punishment. Besides, the punishment will be all the greater since I have given away to an unnatural thought.’

“‘And what, may I ask, do you call an unnatural thought?’

“‘Sister Magdalene Adelaide, come close to me.’

“I rose from my chair and knelt down beside her.

“‘Dear sister, I have endeavored to bear my cross,’ she commenced, speaking with difficulty; ‘But oh! sister, I dread the end; I have so much to expiate; and oh!’ she continued, her voice now choked with sobs, ‘if only I could have my mother near me; if only I could hear her voice once more; it is so long since I have seen her. I have asked for any letter that may have come, but they tell me none has arrived, and oh! I don’t think mother has quite forgotten me.’

“I durst not trust myself to speak; my heart was too full. At last I said, ‘Dear sister, do not grieve thus; our Blessed Lady will intercede for you. Remember, in coming here your purpose, even as mine, was to make reparation for sin. You and I have both suffered. Be brave now, dear, and now that the end is near do not take away from God’s glory by fearing for the future.’

“‘I know it is wrong to grieve so much, Sister Magdalene Adelaide, but oh, I am so weak! Will you read a meditation for me?’

“I took up the book and did as she requested. Soon she fell into a sleep which lasted about one hour, and again I commenced saying my rosary beads. Presently I heard her murmur, and, listening, I heard her whisper, ‘My feet! oh, my feet!’ I arose from my chair and removed the sheet with the intention of rubbing her limbs; as I did so her feet were disclosed. A thrill of horror passed through my being as I looked at them, for they were all cut, festered and bruised; a fearful suspicion took possession of me, and, stooping down, I picked up her infirmary shoes. On examination I discovered in them pieces of broken glass; a thrill akin to horror ran through my whole frame. I held the shoes in my hands and looked at the pale, suffering face of Adeline as she lay there on her bed, and this evening the whole scene rises before me–the little infirmary with its clean, white floor, a few cheap prints of the stations of the cross hanging on the otherwise bare walls, the two or three small iron bedsteads, then the white wooden altar upon which was spread a white linen cloth embroidered with red; the two statues, one of ‘Our Lady of Dolours’ and the second of St. Joseph, the patron of happy deaths. In the center of the altar was a vase with a few cheap paper flowers.

“Yes, it comes to me most vividly. There she lay, the sin of her past life being that she, too, had been deceived at the altars of Rome–a victim of priestly solicitation in the confessional. Even as she lay there in the last stages of consumption, traces of what had at one time been a beautiful face were clearly discernible. What had she not suffered for years! Who could tell the many weary hours of heart anguish she had passed through? And yet she was young–hardly twenty-five years old. She had given up all that was near and dear, and, for the years she had lived in the convent, she had tried to appease God’s justice for her early sin by mortifying and chastising herself in a way that can only find a parallel in the doctrines of Buddha. Oh, Madeline! poor, wounded, betrayed one! Who can wonder, as you lay there with the fever of consumption running and coursing through your veins, that, in spite of all the teachings and practices of self-denial in the convent life in which you had lived so many years, yet, when the hour of death drew nigh and your soul was hovering on the borders of the unknown eternity, your thoughts once more went back to the old home-scenes, and you longed, as only a child can, for the sight of a mother’s face, the sound of a mother’s voice, the cool, soothing touch of a mother’s hand passing over your brow? They tried to crush down the natural love that God placed in your heart for your mother, but they could not. The use of the discipline caused the blood to flow and gave you physical suffering; fasting and long prayers made you weak, and thus incapable of exercising will-power; and, when no other eye but God’s was upon you, when struggling with the desire to leave forever the hateful prison walls of the convent, the bitter tears forced their way. Then, kneeling before the statue of the ‘Mother of Sorrows,’ you pleaded with her to help and intercede for you. What comfort did you get? What hope? What consolation?None! You might make good confessions and communions, practice all the self-denials required of one in your vocation, and the only thing that the church could give you, the only gleam ofhope she could offer, was that, through your works of supererogation, your purgatory would be lessened; and now, wasted through suffering and consumption, dreading the punishment of purgatory, endeavoring in your dying state to do something to lessen its pangs, you have walked with glass in your shoes and your poor feet give evidence of the agony you endured. And this is Christianity!

“I applied cold cloths to her feet; I sat down in the dimly-lighted infirmary by the side of her bed, and, holding the fevered and trembling hand, I, in my ignorance, tried to give her some comfort. I promised to remember her in my intentions, my communions, and at the sacrifice of the Mass. I spoke to her of the mercy and compassion of Mary, the ‘Mother of Sorrows,’ and tried to give her hope by pointing to her as mediator between her soul and Christ, but I could see that she received no satisfaction, no assurance. Then her eyes closed and she dozed for a few minutes, only to wake with a moan of pain–‘Oh, my feet! oh, my feet!’ And then again, ‘If only I could see my mother!’ would issue from her parched and cracked lips.

“And so I sat through the night, soothing her as well as I knew how, and repeating aspirations for her, until the dawn crept in and the nuns’ bell rang out at 4:30 o’clock, arousing the inmates. The quietness and deep stillness still remained throughout the institution, the sisters and penitents walking in the dimly-lighted cloisters with soft tread and down-cast eyes, as if in the land of the silent dead and not the living.”

As I write I wonder how it was possible for me to endure the paganism of Catholicism for thirty years, and the only rational reason I can give for this endurance is that I, like thousands of these poor nuns whom I have just written about, was raised to believe that the teachings of Catholicism were right and the only road that lead to eternal glory; therefore I look with pity and compassion upon those black-garbed nuns when I behold them tramping the streets of our large cities, as I realize that they actually believe they are performing God’s work, when the truth of the matter is that they are only following the practices of heathen nations.

I could go on and write a thousand pages upon “The Unmarried Cussedness of the Roman Priestcraft,” and each page would be as black as the shadows of hell, but I deem it unnecessary, as I have confidence in those who may read this book that they will believe every word of what I have written, therefore it is unnecessary for me to dwell longer upon the hideousness of celibacy.

In conclusion, I desire to say that so long as Roman Catholicism demands that her priestcraft shall not wed, just so long the priestcraft will remain vultures of virtue and just so long convents will be turned into carnivals of vice.

It is only natural that such should be the case, as both the priestcraft and the inhabitants of our convents are brought up from childhood to believe in the absurdities of Roman Catholicism, and to believe that all of their many sins can be pardoned by the cungerings of this Romish doctrine.

My prayer is that the government of the United States may learn in the near future that the broad light of Protestant inspection must penetrate these recesses of darkness before we can ever have them cleansed of their immorality, and this inspection must be made often, and I sincerely believe that the time is not far distant when Protestant America will demand that Catholicism shall do away with her monasteries and nunneries, unless she submits to a rigid examination of her actions, and whenever she submits it will be because she is forced to submit, and whenever she is forced to do so, these monasteries and convents will be closed up, as Protestant America will not allow nor permit these plague spots to exist to pollute the fair name of America when she learns of their actual mission.