It is not possible, said I to myself, that this command should be of apostolic date. I had not yet fully examined the question, but had already decided it in my own breast. On this point, however, I ventured not to speak to others. In fact, I altogether left off confessing. I remember the last time that I related my offences to a priest, I felt as much repugnance in doing so as the most timid child could have experienced. My penitentiary was a certain Doctor Semeria, formerly a Dominican, but then living in Viterbo, as a simple priest: a man learned in many sciences, and one who had been professor of theology; but that which redounded to his credit in my eyes, was his goodness of character; his Christian simplicity, and his gravity of demeanour; which obtained for him universal love and esteem. My friend, while I was yet a child, was my confidant; he knew all my secrets when I chose him for confessor; I did nothing without consulting him. To such an one I had no difficulty in opening my heart, and disclosing all the operations of my mind; but I found that I could not do it truly and fully, unless in familiar conversation. The trust I had in him vanished in the formality of confession. More than once, in the course of it, I have been obliged to interrupt myself, and rise from my knees, because in that attitude I lost confidence in my friend, who, perceiving my embarrassment, would often kindly forestall me, and say, "Let us converse without restraint." Confession had at length become so odious to me, that I could no longer bear it myself, nor endure the practice of it in others. People were continually wanting to confess to me, and I always found some pretext for not hearing them. From the earliest period of my ministry I had been obliged to apply myself to this branch of duty. I was not yet twenty-four, when I was sent, by the Bishop of Viterbo, to confess even nuns. In 1830 I was appointed by Cardinal Gazola, Bishop of Monte Fiascone, to officiate for a month as confessor and preacher in two of his monasteries. The good old man chose me for his own confessor likewise, (I shall have occasion to speak of him again;) Cardinal Gamberini would have me, afterwards, at Orvieto. This man, reputed a first-rate lawyer, was made prelate, then Bishop of Orvieto, afterwards cardinal, and lastly, Minister of the Interior in Rome. He had never been a theologian himself, nor was he much their friend, but a sworn enemy of the Casuists. The priests in the neighbourhood were all ignorant men; his own Theologian, for every bishop has to appoint one, was anything but what his title and office required. "I wish to confess myself to you," the Cardinal said to me, one day; "I trust you will not deny me this favour."