“I have examined the exterior of many monasteries, and have been admitted into the interior of some, so as to be allowed to converse with the nuns at the grating: my wife has been admitted into the intima penetralia of others. The impression left on her mind, as on my own, has been the same—that there is no possibility of escape; and that the nuns must remain, in general, not because their home is happy, but because they have no means of leaving it. It is often indeed said, and great care is taken to propagate the idea, that their home is happy—that their occupations are innocent—that their hearts are peaceful; while all within is a paradise of holiness and happiness, the very type and shadow of our home in the heavens. It is carefully reported, that this fulness of happiness, this repletion of peace, this secret and holy communion of sister with sister, and total separation from all the ties of a family, and all the cares of life, is the real magic that binds, as by a spell, the hearts of novices, and the minds of nuns; so that they would not exchange their nunneries for the noblest palace—their simple repast for the most joyous, festive scenes—their life of dull monotony for the most brilliant society; or the companionship of the sisters for the society of the most affectionate of husbands. All this is so often said, that in Italy it is as familiar as a household word; but all appeared otherwise to us. We felt, that if, indeed, they were so happy, there was no necessity for such lofty walls to keep them there; that if, indeed, all within was such a perfect paradise, there was no need of such pains to prevent their deserting it; that if all was a type of heaven, it seemed strange to have such bars of iron, and such gratings of iron, to compel these spirits of holiness to remain in the enjoyment of it. In England, these lofty walls and iron bars bespeak a prison, to confine the criminal and prevent his escape; and, certainly, in Italy they look as if designed for the same purpose. And it is nothing else than rank hypocrisy, to say that these lofty walls and iron bars are designed for any other purpose than the enforced constraint and imprisonment of the inmates of the monastery. To so cruel and tyrannical an extent is this imprisonment carried, that no nun is permitted to speak with any one, even through the grating, unless in the presence of a second nun as a spy, to prevent any plan of escape, or aught else concerted with the stranger, or any conversation passing to the prejudice of the monastic life, or to the unveiling of the secrets of the nunnery. It is all a part of the system to surround the inmates with every imaginable check and restraint, to preclude the hope and prevent the possibility of escape, and so secure the nuns as prisoners for life, and recluses for ever. At one nunnery, where we were conversing with two nuns at the grating, having visited them in company with the relations of one of them, I observed that the iron was double, the two gratings being some inches apart, so that even hand could not touch hand through them. I asked the reason of such double defence, begging to know whether, as all was such a paradise, it was designed to keep the ladies in, or to keep the gentlemen out. I was merrily answered on the instant, ‘O, Signor, one grating will keep the ladies within, and the other will keep the gentlemen without!’”—Pp. 177-180.
Mr. Seymour obtained information of the most appalling character, from persons who possessed intimate acquaintance with these “Female Inquisitions” at Rome. Their testimony, therefore, could not be invalidated. He states on this point,—“A gentleman, who holds an official station in the papal court, and who, from the nature of his office, has been obliged to accompany the cardinal-vicar in his visitation of some of the nunneries, communicated to us, in private, the impressions created on his own mind. He was a man of years and experience—was the father of a large family, was a very domestic, amiable and religious man, for a Romanist—and certainly was the most respectable character, as an Italian gentleman, it was our good fortune to meet in Italy. He and his wife communicated many things which we could not otherwise have learned, and frequently, by introductions, put us in the way of ascertaining matters in which they themselves could not prudently appear. He used to say, that when the novices became nuns at an early age, as eighteen or twenty, they seemed to be sufficiently happy for two or three years; at least, that for that time there seemed to be nothing remarkable; but that when they became old enough to see and understand well what were the consequences of the step they had taken, and that now there was no hope before them, they soon gave way to sorrow and despair. He spoke with deep feeling of the effect of this on the spirits and appearance of the young ladies. He stated that the broken-hearted look—the shades of indelible sorrow—the lines of settled and unalterable sadness—the expression of resentment or despair—that characterised many of these young creatures, used to affect his heart, sadden all his best feelings, and trouble his very dreams. He could not think or speak of the subject without such feelings that tears would come into his eyes; saying, that it was inconceivable the number of nuns that went to an early grave under this system. Those who awoke to the reality of their state, and thought of all the ties of home and affection, and their exchange of all freedom for the dull monotony and useless employments of the cloister, soon pined and saddened, and sinking into despair, died of madness; while some others, like gathered flowers, plucked from their native gardens, where they might long have bloomed and gladdened the scene, soon faded and withered and died. He always said that this was the melancholy destiny of the greater portion; and that nothing on earth could induce him, with the knowledge he possessed, to allow one of his daughters to take the veil; for that the majority of nuns at Rome died of madness before they were five-and-twenty years of age!”—Pp. 181-183.
Surely no one can read this testimony concerning the condition of nuns at Rome, without the deepest emotion and horror. The system that requires it must be inhuman and execrable; and those who administer it, though titled dignitaries in a priesthood, must be fearfully guilty. It may be said that the ladies are carefully taught in their seclusion the duties of religion, and directed to its divine consolations. But Mr. Seymour further remarks on the morals and religion of the Roman nuns. Referring to the testimony of his friend in the “papal court,” he says, “Now all this, though very different from our notions on the subject, seems very natural. There are some monasteries where the inmates have many privileges and many comforts, and can enjoy the world in a measure. There are some, too, where the nuns occupy themselves in the education of the young, and this gives an object of interest to their hearts and to their minds. But all these are the higher order of nunneries. The great majority of the nunneries of Italy are very different. There are no occupations for mind or body—there is no object before the mind; so that, with thousands, the heart is left to prey upon itself. For the greater part of the day, the sisters are left to themselves, to brood over the remembrance of the past, or to talk to each other about nothing. There they live, with far less enjoyment for the present, and infinitely less hope for the future, than those ladies of an eastern harem, on whom we think with so much compassion. They have no objects in which they can take an interest; they have no persons on whom their affections may be placed; and they have no means of being practically useful to others.
“Such a state of existence is not conducive to the growth of a true and healthful religion in the soul. Accordingly it is found, that wherever there is religion in a nunnery, it runs into that wild and prurient thing that we rightly call ‘monomania,’ and results in the most extravagant claims to visions and revelations. It is the religion of madness; or perhaps, more correctly speaking, it is madness taking the direction of religion.
“Once, my wife and myself, in company with a married couple of Italians, were in consultation with two nuns related to our friends, one of whom was stating that no man except the Pope himself was ever permitted to enter that monastery. This she spoke of as a privilege of which they had some right to be proud. But while she was speaking, the confessor made his appearance! He was a good-natured, merry-looking man, of about thirty-five years of age. I have often been struck with the fact, that in almost every instance the confessors of these nunneries were younger men than myself, even when I was married. On his withdrawal, I asked the nun, of what use was the confessor? She replied that it was necessary for the nuns to confess their sins. I said, that I understood they had entered the nunnery to escape the sins of the world; and I asked, as all temptation to sin was thus supposed to be excluded, what kind of sins had they to confess. The question perplexed them not a little, and they could answer me only by laughing. I persevered, however, and at length they told me, that the nuns had so many quarrels and differences among themselves, that it led to much that required confession and absolution! I thanked them for the information, and only remarked that this showed that, after all, the lofty walls and iron bars of a nunnery were no protection against sin.
“It is a curious fact, that in all the lives of holy and sainted nuns that have been given to the world, the arch-tempter is always described as tempting them through the passions. He invariably is made to appear in the form of a very handsome young man! It is equally observable, that in the lives of holy monks and sainted friars, the arch-enemy is usually said to have appeared in the form of a very lovely young female! All this is very natural; and it shows, that even within the walls of both the monastery and the convent, the monks and the nuns are sometimes thinking of other subjects than those of heaven!”—Pp. 183-186.
Although the internal economy of nunneries is generally concealed with the utmost vigilance from the public, yet many things transpire at Rome, from time to time, that indicate the state of morals among their occupants, and to demonstrate the wickedness that is practised by them in secret. Mr. Seymour states some fearful facts. He remarks,—“Every one who knows anything of Italy, and especially of Rome, is aware that the most debauched and profligate characters in the land are among these inmates of the cloister. At present, the question concerns the moral character of the nunneries. So many things have of late years been stated—so many narratives of vice have been published—so many personal histories of victims to the system have been given—and so much has been said and written as to the dangers of the confessional, that I feel justified in saying a few words as to the moral state of the nunneries in Italy.
“I entertain a favourable opinion of many of these nunneries; believing that they realise that for which they are designed, namely, a safe retreat for unprotected females, and are conducted in a manner that bespeaks a moral and religious sisterhood. But I entertain a less favourable opinion of others. It should ever be remembered, however, that from the very nature of some of these establishments, there is no possibility of knowing what passes within them. Immured within those lofty walls and iron bars, none can go forth to reveal what may have passed within: so that, though possibly the most hideous forms of vice may reign throughout—though every chamber may be a polluted place—though violence and murder may stain every gallery; yet there is no voice to tell it to the world. I have already stated that an official gentleman, who, at times, was obliged to attend the cardinal-vicar at the formal visitation of monasteries, gave us some information on the subject. His wife informed my wife, that on one occasion, shortly before our visit to Rome, they found in a nunnery, which they named, and which was not ten minutes’ walk from our residence, that no less than four of the nuns were enceinte! They were immediately removed to another establishment; the reverend confessor was removed elsewhere, and the whole affair was kept as secret as possible. It would never have been known, were it not that this nunnery was one of those whose inmates are occupied in teaching the young ladies of Rome, and young ladies will talk. And matters became more canvassed, owing to the impression that the poor confessor was only a scape-goat for a higher personage, whose guilt was to be concealed by the dismissal of a subaltern.
“But there are some establishments from which even this suspicion could never go forth. They are so closely kept, that mortal eye can never see the intima penetralia. The ‘sepulte vive,’ for example, that is, the ‘buried alive,’ are establishments of this kind. The young creature, as a part of the ceremonial of admission, is laid alive in her coffin; and, when once admitted, she is, in fact, as if dead and buried to her friends; for she is never allowed to see again father or mother, brother or sister! Once a year, on an appointed day, the parents of the ‘buried alive,’ may attend at the nunnery, and the young creature within may hear their loved and familiar voices, but she must never see them; and, as no kind of intercourse is ever permitted, she can never know whether they are living or dead, except as she hears or does not hear their voices on that day. If a parent has died during the year, the abbess assembles the nuns, she tells them that the parent of one of them is dead, and desires all to pray for the soul of the departed; but she never reveals the name of the dead; so that all the nuns are left in a state of agonising suspense, till the one day comes round, and all listen to catch the tone of their parents’ voices; and the absence of the longed-for voice tells the tale of the bereaved recluse! Such, at least, is the account the Romans give of these establishments, which thus seem the very climax of cruelty, rending and agonising the hearts of the inmates, under the pretence of a desire to wean them from the world!”—Pp. 186-188.
Language fails to characterise this system of manifold iniquity and refined barbarity. But deeds even worse than these may well be imagined. Mr. Seymour observes, therefore, “But that which concerns our present subject is the veil of secresy that covers all within such establishments as these. There may be—I must not say there is—there may possibly be the most frightful vice—there may be the most ruffian violence—there may possibly be the veriest climax of profligacy—there may possibly be all this, and the public never know it. History has recorded the fact, that in the apartments of the inquisitors of Spain there were found sixty-two young women, who had been corrupted and ruined by the inquisitors, and kept there where the public can never know it. The French soldiery flung open the Inquisition, and revealed the secret.” [See Chapter XIX.] “There is no security against the same evil in a very large proportion of the nunneries; for every crime of earth and hell may possibly be rife throughout their cloisters, and the cry of innocence and outraged virtue, stifled within the walls, may remain unheard by the world without. While we were at Rome, an abbess of one of the nunneries rushed forth frantically from the opened gates, plunged into the Tiber, and there sought, in its deep waters, to drown the memory and remorse of the past! We were surprised at the pains taken to deny and conceal this fact, though known and witnessed by hundreds. The ecclesiastics could not bear to hear it mentioned!”—Pp. 188, 189.