“‘How? are you not Father Achilli, the vicar of the Holy Office?’
“‘You have been misinformed, Signora; I am Achilli, the deputy-master of the Holy Palace, not Office: you may see my name with this title prefixed to all works that are printed here, in lieu of that of the master himself. I assure you that neither my principal nor myself have any authority in cases that regard the Inquisition.’
“The good lady hereupon rose from her knees, arranged her hair, wiped the tears from her eyes, and asked leave to relate her case to me; and having sat down, began as follows:—
“‘It is not quite a year since, that I was going, about the time of Easter, according to my usual custom, to confess my sins to my parish priest. He being well acquainted with myself and all my family, began to interrogate me respecting my son, the only one I have, a young man twenty-four years of age, full of patriotic ardour, but with little respect for the priests. It happened that I observed to the curate that, notwithstanding my remonstrances, my son was in the habit of saying that the business of a priest was a complete deception, and that the head of all the impostors was the Pope himself. Would I had never told him! The curate would hear no further. ‘It is your duty,’ said he, ‘to denounce your son to the Inquisition.’ Imagine what I felt at this intimation! To be the accuser of my own son! ‘Such is the case,’ observed he, ‘there is no help for it—I cannot absolve you, neither can any one else, until the thing is done.’ And, indeed, from every one else I have had the same refusal. It is now twelve months since I have received absolution; and in this present year many misfortunes have befallen me. Ten days ago I tried again, and promised, in order that I might receive absolution, that I would denounce my son; but it was all in vain, until I had actually done so. I inquired then to whom I ought to go, to prefer the accusation; and I was told, to the bishop, or the vicar of the Holy Office, and they named yourself to me. Twice, already, have I been here, with the intention of doing what was required of me, and as often have I recollected that I was a mother, and was overwhelmed with horror at the idea. On Sunday last I came to your church, to pray to the Virgin, the mother of Christ, to aid me through this difficulty; and I remember that when I had recited the rosary in her honour, I turned to pray also to the Son, saying:—‘O Lord Jesus, thou wert also accused, before the chief priests, by a traitorous disciple: but thou didst not permit that thy mother should take part in that accusation. Behold, then, I also am a mother; and, although my son is a sinner, whilst thou wert most just, do not, I implore thee, require that his own mother should be his accuser.’ Whilst I was making this prayer the preaching began. I inquired the preacher’s name, and they told me yours. I feigned to pay attention to the discourse, but I was wholly occupied in looking at you, and reflecting, with many sighs, that I was under the obligation to accuse to you my own child. In the midst of my agitation a thought suddenly relieved me, I did not see the Inquisition in your countenance. Young, animated, and with marks of sensibility, it seemed that you would not be too harsh with my son; I thought I would entreat you first to convert him yourself, to reprimand, and to threaten him, without inflicting actual punishment upon him.’
“I shall not recapitulate my injunctions to this poor woman, to tranquillise her mind with respect to having to denounce her son. I advised her to change her confessor. But, had I really been vicar of the Holy Office, what was my duty in this matter? To receive the accusation of this mother against her own son. An unheard-of enormity! She naturally would have made it with grief and tears, and I should have had to offer her consolation. And since this horrible act of treason has the pretence of religion about it, I should have employed the aid of religion to persuade her that the sacrifice she made was most acceptable to God. Perhaps, to act my part better, I might have alluded to the sacrifice demanded of Abraham, or Jephtha; or cited some apposite texts from Scripture, to calm and silence the remorse of conscience she must have experienced, on account of the iniquity of bringing her child before the Inquisition.”—Pp. 115-119.
CHAPTER XXII.
FEMALE INQUISITIONS IN ROME.
Policy of the Inquisition in the Romish Church—In Nunneries—They are Prisons—Testimony of Rev. B. White—Case of Abduction at Turin—Testimony of Rev. M. H. Seymour—Society in Rome—Italian estimate of Woman—Reasons for Nunneries—Their walls and iron gratings—Their secrecy—Testimony of an Officer—Religious temptations—Impurity in Nunneries—Instances of wickedness—Suicide of an Abbess—Popery as regarded by the Romans.
Romish policy in the Inquisition, as we have seen, is not limited to the Holy Office. Its influence and its morals are felt throughout the whole circle of society in popish countries; and its operations extend to all classes, even to the educational and public institutions. It is seen in the religious houses. We have, in Chapter XIX., some affecting examples and illustrations of the enormities and immoral practices of the celibate priests, among all ranks. And such evils are known to have been common in convents and nunneries. These have been considered as so many “Female Inquisitions.” Many of them are, in a proper sense of the term, prisons, whose unhappy inmates are altogether in the power of the priests. They are governed and regulated by rules framed or sanctioned by the “Holy Office;” and in what manner soever the recluses are treated, they have no means of redress, being entirely removed from the jurisdiction of the civil magistrate, secluded in secret apartments, to which priests only have access.
What is the general character of both priests and nuns, in Roman Catholic countries, is testified by many; and the testimony of the Rev. Blanco White, formerly chaplain to the king of Spain,—as he had the best means of information,—will be satisfactory regarding his own country. He says,—“Men of the first eminence in the church were the old friends of my family—my parents’ and my own spiritual directors. Thus I grew up, thus I continued in manhood, till at the age of five-and-thirty, religious oppression, and that alone, forced me away from kindred and country. The intimacy of friendship and undisguised converse of sacramental confessions opened to me the hearts of many whose exterior conduct might have deceived a common observer. The coarse frankness of associated dissoluteness left, indeed, no secrets among the spiritual slaves, who, unable to separate the laws of God from those of their tyrannical church, trampled both under foot in riotous despair. Such are the sources of the knowledge I possess: God, sorrow, and remorse, are my witnesses.
“What need I say of the vulgar crowd of priests, who, coming, as the Spanish phrase has it, from coarse swaddling clothes, and raised by ordination to a rank of life for which they have not been prepared, mingle vice and superstition, grossness of feeling and pride of office, in their character? I have known the best among them; I have heard the confessions of young persons of both sexes, who fell under the influence of their suggestion and example; and I do declare that nothing can be more dangerous to youthful virtue than their company. How many souls would be saved from crime but for the vain display of superior virtue which Rome demands from her clergy!