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Often and often has her tone of mind reminded me of the French saying, "Tout connaître ce serait tout pardonner!" I think that of all the human beings I have ever known or met George Eliot would have made the most admirable, the most perfect father confessor.
The confessor asked none of those questions which our author simply qualifies as infamous, and, with a very mild course of catechism and slight dose of devotion, that Rubicon of maturity was passed. Not far beyond it waited a terrible trial, perhaps as great a sorrow as the whole life was to bring.
When I went to Uekeritze to see young Tittlewitz, there even befell me as follows: Claus Pieper the peasant stood in his yard chopping wood, and on seeing me he flung the axe out of his hand so hastily that it stuck in the ground, and he ran towards the pigsty, making the sign of the cross. I motioned him to stop, and asked why he thus ran from me, his confessor?
"What is he saying?" I repeated to myself as I saw the confessor speaking to her now and again. I could bear it no longer, and I was on the point of going away when I saw her rise from her knees. Donna Ignazia, looking like a saint, came to kneel in the church, but out of my sight.
If she had had sound feet, she ought to have journeyed to Santiago di Compostella; but, since her condition precluded this, a visit to Altotting in Bavaria would suffice. But Kuni by no means desired any mitigation of the penance. Not even to her kind confessor did she reveal this design. The girl who had relied upon herself from childhood, needed no explanation, no confidante.
If love existed between two souls she could not understand why any convention of society should stand in the way of its fulfilment. Arthur Stuart in his role of spiritual confessor and consoler had never before encountered such a phase of human nature. He had listened to many a tale of sin and folly from women's lips, but always had the sinner bemoaned her sin, and bitterly repented her weakness.
This address roused Rhodolph from his despondency, and inspired him with the energies of despair. He had succeeded in obtaining a few troops from his provinces in Switzerland. The Bishop of Basle, who had now become his confessor, came to his aid, at the head of a hundred horsemen, and a body of expert slingers.
#Thomas Bradwardine# was consecrated after election by the monks of Christ Church after the death of John Ufford, the king's nominee, who died of the Black Death before consecration. Bradwardine had been the king's confessor. He was educated at Merton College, and was one of the best geometers of his time, besides being the author of an important tract against Pelagianism.
"What would you have, sir, we poor folks die of ourselves." But if the peasant's whole passivity lies in this saying, the whole of the free-thinking anarchy of the brat of the faubourgs is, assuredly, contained in this other saying. A man condemned to death is listening to his confessor in the tumbrel. The child of Paris exclaims: "He is talking to his black cap! Oh, the sneak!"
One day she sends word to her confessor that he will be "sent for on the following night to attend a sick person, but that he must on no account leave his house;" and it turns out that assassins were lying in wait for him in the street, and that the pretended sick man was a lure to draw him out. Another time a youth of sixteen, Jacopo Vincenzo, is lying dangerously ill in the Piazza Campitelli.
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