Now, vulgar Christian, compare this with the former declaration of Weishaupt, where he appeals to the tenor of his former life, which had been so severely scrutinised, without diminishing his high reputation and great influence, and his ignorance and abhorrence of all those things found in Cato's repositories. You see this was a surprise--he had formerly proceeded cautiously--"He is the best man," says Spartacus, "who best conceals his faults."--He was disappointed by Celsus, _who had promised him his assistance on such occasions_ three years ago, during all which time he had been busy in "forming himself." How far he has advanced, the reader may judge. One is curious to know what became of the poor woman: she was afterwards taken to the house of Baron Bassus; but here the foolish woman, for want of that courage which Illumination and the bright prospect of eternal sleep should have produced, took fright at the _disciplini arcani_, left the house, and in the hidden society of a midwife and nurse brought forth a young Spartacus, who now lives to thank his father for his endeavours to murder him. A "_damned priest_," the good Bishop of Freyfingen, knowing the cogent reasons, procured the dispensation, and Spartacus was obliged, like another dim-sighted mortal, to marry her. The scandal was hushed, and would not have been discovered had it not been for these private writings. But Spartacus says "that when you think him sunk to the bottom, he will spring up with double vigour." In a subsequent work, called _Short Amendment of my Plan_, he says, "If men were not habituated to wicked manners, his letters would be their own justification." He does not say that he is without fault; "but they are faults of the understanding--not of the heart. He had, first of all, to form himself; and this is a work of time." In the affair of his sister-in-law he admits the facts, and the attempts to destroy the child; "but this is far from proving any depravity of heart. In his condition, his honour at stake, what else was left him to do? His greatest enemies, the Jesuits, have taught that in such a case it is lawful to make away with the child," and he quotes authorities from their books.[7] "In the introductory fault he has the example of the best of men. The second was its natural consequence, it was altogether involuntary, and, in the eye of a philosophical judge" (I presume of the Gallic School) "who does not square himself by the harsh letters of a _blood-thirsty lawgiver_, he has but a very trifling account to settle. He had become a public teacher, and was greatly followed; this example _might have ruined many young men_. The eyes of the Order also were fixed on him. The edifice rested on his credit; had he fallen, _he could no longer have been in a condition to treat the matters of virtue so as to make a lasting impression_. It was chiefly his anxiety to support the credit of the Order which determined him to take this step. It makes _for_ him,