“But what is the Inquisition of the present day in Rome? It is the very same that was instituted, at the council of Verona, to burn Arnold of Brescia; the same that was established at the third council of the Lateran, to sanction the slaughter of the Albigenses and the Waldenses, the massacre of the people, the destruction of the city; the same that was confirmed at the council of Constance, to burn alive two holy men, John Huss, and Jerome of Prague; that which, at Florence, subjected Savonarola to the torture; and at Rome condemned Aonio Paleario, and Pietro Carnesecchi. It is the self-same Inquisition with that of Pope Caraffa, and of Fr. Michele Ghistieri, who built the palace called The Holy Office, where so many victims fell a sacrifice to their barbarity, and where at the present moment the Roman Inquisition still exists. Its laws are always the same. The Black Book, or Praxis Sacræ Romanæ Inquisitionis, is always the model for that which is to succeed it. This book is a large manuscript volume, in folio, and is carefully preserved by the head of the Inquisition. It is called Libro Nero, The Black Book, because it has a cover of that colour; or, as an inquisitor explained to me, Libro Necro, which, in the Greek language, signifies, The Book of the Dead.”—Pp. 106, 109.
Dr. Achilli mentions some cases illustrative of the atrocious wickedness of the inquisitors: one of these will strikingly exhibit “the mystery of iniquity” in their system. He says, “During my residence at Viterbo, my native town, where I was public professor and teacher in the church di Gradi, I was one day applied to by a lady of prepossessing appearance, whom I then saw for the first time. She requested, with much eagerness, to see me in the sacristy; and as I entered the apartment, where she was waiting for me, she begged the sacristan to leave us alone, and suddenly closing the door, presented a moving spectacle to my eyes. Throwing off her bonnet, and letting loose in a moment her long and beautiful tresses, the lady fell upon her knees before me, and gave vent to her grief, in abundance of sighs and tears. On my endeavouring to encourage her, and to persuade her to rise and unfold her mind to me, she at length, in a voice broken by sobs, thus addressed me:—
“‘No, father, I will never rise from this posture, unless you first promise to pardon me my heavy transgression.’ (Although much younger than herself, she addressed me as her father.)
“‘Signora,’ replied I, ‘it belongs to God to pardon our transgressions. If you have in any way injured me, so far I can forgive you; but I confess I have no cause of complaint against you, with whom, indeed, I have not even the pleasure of being acquainted.’
“‘I have been guilty of a great sin, for which no priest will give me absolution, unless you will beforehand remit it to me.’
“‘You must explain yourself more fully; as yet I have no idea of what you allude to.’
“‘It is now about a year since I last received absolution from my confessor; and the last few days he has entirely forbid me his presence, telling me that I am damned. I have tried others, and all tell me the same thing. One, however, has lately informed me, that if I wished to be saved and pardoned, I must apply to you, who, after the Pope, are the only one who can grant me absolution.’
“‘Signora, there is some mistake here, explain yourself: of what description is your sin?’
“‘It is a sin against the Holy Office.’
“‘Well, but I have nothing to do with the Holy Office.’