The Inquisition revealed

by Thomas Timpson

“‘That a greater number of witnesses should be required to convict a criminal than were before necessary; and,

“‘That the auto da fé should not be held publicly as before; but that the sentences of the tribunal should be executed privately, within the walls of the Inquisition.’

“In this particular, the constitution of the new Inquisition is more reprehensible than that of the old one; for, as the old father expressed it, ‘Nuno sigillum non revelat Inquisitio.’ Formerly, the friends of those unfortunate persons who were thrown into its prison, had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing them once a year walking in the procession of the auto da fé; or, if they were condemned to die, they witnessed their death, and mourned for the dead. But now they have no means of learning, for years, whether they be dead or alive. The policy of this new mode of concealment appears to be this,—to preserve the power of the Inquisition, and at the same time to lessen the public odium of its proceedings, in the presence of British dominion and civilisation. I asked the father his opinion concerning the nature and frequency of the punishments within the walls. He said he possessed no certain means of giving a satisfactory answer; that everything transacted there was declared to be sacrum et secretum. But this he knew to be true, that there were constantly captives in the dungeons; that some of them are liberated after long confinement; but that they never speak afterwards of what passed within the place. He added, that of all the persons he had known, who had been liberated, he never knew one who did not carry about with him what might be called ‘The mark of the Inquisition;’ that is to say, who did not show, in the solemnity of his countenance, or in his peculiar demeanour, or his terror of the priests, that he had been in that dreadful place.

“The chief argument of the inquisitor to prove the melioration of the Inquisition was the superior humanity of the inquisitors. I remarked, that I did not doubt the humanity of the existing officers; but what availed humanity in an inquisitor? He must pronounce sentence according to the laws of the tribunal, which are notorious enough; and a relapsed heretic must be burnt in the flames, or confined for life in a dungeon, whether the inquisitor be humane or not. ‘But if,’ said I, ‘you would satisfy my mind completely on this subject, show me the Inquisition.’ He said, it was not permitted to any person to see the Inquisition. I observed, that mine might be considered as a peculiar case; that the character of the Inquisition, and the expediency of its longer continuance, had been called in question; that I had myself written on the civilisation of India, and might possibly publish something more upon that subject; and that it could not be expected that I should pass over the Inquisition without notice, knowing what I did of its proceedings; at the same time, I should not wish to state a single fact without his authority, or at least his admission of its truth. I added, that he himself had been pleased to communicate with me very fully on the subject, and that in all our discussions we had both been actuated, I hoped, by a good purpose. The countenance of the inquisitor evidently altered on receiving this intimation, nor did it ever after wholly regain its wonted frankness and placidity. After some hesitation, however, he said he would take me with him to the Inquisition, the next day. I was a good deal surprised at this acquiescence of the inquisitor, but I did not know what was in his mind.

“When I left the forts, to come up to the Inquisition, Colonel Adams desired me to write to him; and he added, halfway between jest and earnest, ‘If I do not hear from you in three days, I shall march down the 78th and storm the Inquisition.’ This I promised to do. But having been so well entertained by the inquisitors I forgot my promise. Accordingly, on the 26th of January, I was surprised by a visit from Major Broomcamp, aide-de-camp to his excellency the viceroy, proposing that I should return every evening and sleep at the forts, on account of the unhealthiness of Goa.

“This morning, the 28th, after breakfast, my host went to dress for the Holy Office, and soon returned in his inquisitorial robes. He said he would go half an hour before the usual time, for the purpose of showing me the Inquisition. I fancied that his countenance was more severe than usual; and that his attendants were not so civil as before. The truth was, the midnight scene was still on my mind. The Inquisition is about a quarter of a mile distant from the convent, and on our arrival at the place the inquisitor said to me, as we were ascending the steps of the outer stair, that he hoped I should be satisfied with a transient view of the Inquisition, and that I would retire whenever he should desire it. I took this as a good omen, and followed my conductor with tolerable confidence.

“He led me first to the great hall of the Inquisition. We were met at the door by a number of well-dressed persons, who, I afterwards understood, were the familiars and attendants of the Holy Office. They bowed very low to the inquisitor, and looked with surprise at me. The great hall is the place in which the prisoners are marshalled for the procession of the auto da fé. At the procession described by Dellon, in which he himself walked bare-foot, clothed with the painted garment, there were upwards of one hundred and fifty prisoners. I traversed this hall for some time with a slow step, reflecting on its former scenes; the inquisitor walked by my side in silence. I thought of the fate of the multitude of my fellow-creatures who had passed through this place, condemned by a tribunal of their fellow-sinners—their bodies devoted to the flames, and their souls to perdition; and I could not help saying to him, ‘Would not the holy church wish, in her mercy, to have those souls back again, that she might allow them a little further probation?’ The inquisitor answered nothing, but beckoned me to go with him to a door at one end of the hall. By this door he conducted me to some small rooms, and thence to the spacious apartments of the chief-inquisitor. Having surveyed these, he brought me back again to the great hall, and I thought he seemed now desirous that I should depart. ‘Now, father,’ said I, ‘lead me to the dungeons below; I want to see the captives.’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘that cannot be.’ I now began to suspect that it had been in the mind of the inquisitor, from the beginning, to show me only a certain part of the Inquisition, in the hope of satisfying my inquiries in a general way. I urged him with earnestness, but he steadily resisted, and seemed to be offended, or rather agitated, by my importunity. I intimated to him plainly, that the only way to do justice to his own assertions and arguments, regarding the present state of the Inquisition, was to show me the prisons and the captives. I should then describe only what I saw; but now the subject was left in awful obscurity. ‘Lead me down,’ said I, ‘to the inner building, and let me pass through the two hundred dungeons, ten feet square, described by your former captives. Let me count the number of your present captives, and converse with them. I want to see if there be any subjects of the British government to whom we owe protection. I want to ask how long they have been here—how long it is since they beheld the light of the sun, and whether they ever expect to see it again. Show me the chamber of torture; and declare what modes of execution or of punishment are now practised within the walls of the Inquisition, in lieu of the public auto da fé. If, after all that has passed, father, you resist this reasonable request, I shall be justified in believing that you are afraid of exposing the real state of the Inquisition in India’. To these observations the inquisitor made no reply, but seemed impatient that I should withdraw. ‘My good father,’ said I, ‘I am about to take my leave of you, and to thank you for your hospitable attentions, (it had been before understood that I should take my final leave at the door of the Inquisition,) and I wish always to preserve on my mind a favourable sentiment of your kindness and candour. You cannot, you say, show me the captives and the dungeons; be pleased, then, merely to answer this question, for I shall believe your word:—‘How many prisoners are there now below, in the cells of the Inquisition?’ The inquisitor replied, ‘That is a question which I cannot answer.’

On his pronouncing these words I retired hastily towards the door, and wished him farewell. We shook hands with as much cordiality as we could at the moment assume; and both of us, I believe, were sorry that our parting took place with a clouded countenance.

“From the Inquisition I went to the place of burning, in the Campo Santo Lazaro, on the riverside, where the victims were brought to the stake at the auto da fé. It is close to the palace, that the viceroy and his court may witness the execution; for it has ever been the policy of the Inquisition to make these spiritual executions the executions of the state. An old priest accompanied me, who pointed out the place, and described the scenes. As I passed over this melancholy plain, I thought of the difference between the pure and benign doctrine, which was first preached to India in the apostolic age, and that bloody code which, after a long night of darkness, was announced to it under the same name. And I pondered on the mysterious dispensation, which permitted the ministers of the Inquisition, with their racks and flames, to visit these lands before the heralds of the Gospel of peace. But the most painful reflection was, that this tribunal should yet exist, unawed by the vicinity of British humanity and dominion.

“I was not satisfied with what I had seen or said at the Inquisition, and I determined to go back again. The inquisitors were now sitting on the tribunal; and I had some excuse for returning, for I was to receive from the chief-inquisitor a letter, which he said he would give me, before I left the place, for the British resident in Travancore, being an answer to a letter from that officer.