of all parties display in maintaining a position they have once taken up in any controversy, that they may not incur the ignominy of defeat. “The supporters of the _Augustinus_ are heretics,” the Jesuits had said from the beginning; and the Jansenists, in order that the book might be declared orthodox, had indignantly repelled the accusation, and declared themselves good and devout Roman Catholics—and they maintained to the end their first declaration. Alas! how many eloquent pages Arnauld, Nicole, and Pascal have written, to prove themselves the votaries and slaves of the idol of Rome! Not to interrupt our narrative, we have brought the reader far beyond the epoch we are considering. We must now look a little back, and see how the Jesuits had become so powerful a brotherhood. We have already seen what arts they used, and what doctrines they propounded, to get a footing in different countries, acquire an influence over persons of their own persuasion, and a preponderance in the Court of Rome. But as the doctrines and practices by which they had obtained their ends were no longer suited, or, at least, were not the most efficient, for the times, they now changed both doctrines and practices with wonderful promptitude. When the order was established, the Court of Rome had itself to struggle for existence, and was on the verge of being stripped of its ill-gotten and ill-used authority. The politic Charles V. lent it soldiers—the Jesuits, theologians for the contest. Lainez, Salmeron, Lejay, and Canisius, rendered it as good and unequivocal services as the imperial armies. But such men as those were no longer needed. Not only had the flood of the Reformation been stayed, but Rome was in the utmost exultation at having reconquered many lost provinces; and, as theological controversies were now raging in the camp of her adversary, the Papacy, though emboldened to assert pretensions which, a century before, she would never have dreamt of mentioning, relaxed that activity which she had for a moment displayed, and returned to her former life of intrigues and indolence. However, the great contest with the Protestants had left among the Roman Catholics a tendency, a wish, we do not say to become better Christians, but to make a greater display of their religion. All the external practices of devotion which, in their eyes, constituted the true believer, were more eagerly resorted to; and, above all, the confessional was frequented with unprecedented assiduity. To have a confessor exclusively for one’s self was the surest sign of orthodoxy, and became as fashionable as it is now to have a box at the opera. Sovereigns, ministers, courtiers, noblemen—every man, in short, who had a certain position in society, had his own acknowledged confessor. Even the mistresses of princes pretended to the privilege—and Madame de Pompadour will prove to her spiritual guide that it is dangerous to oppose the caprices of a favourite. The Jesuits saw at once the immense