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DEALINGS WITH THE INQUISITION: OR, PAPAL ROME, HER PRIESTS, AND HER JESUITS.

DEALINGS
WITH THE INQUISITION:
OR,
PAPAL ROME,
HER PRIESTS, AND HER JESUITS.

WITH IMPORTANT DISCLOSURES.

BY THE
REV. GIACINTO ACHILLI, D.D.

LATE PRIOR AND VISITOR OF THE DOMINICAN ORDER, HEAD PROFESSOR OF THEOLOGY, AND VICAR OF THE MASTER OF THE SACRED APOSTOLIC PALACE, ETC. ETC.

"Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken and we are escaped."—Ps. cxxiv. 7.

"It is time for thee, Lord, to work; for they have made void thy law."—Ps. cxix. 126.

SECOND EDITION, ENLARGED.

LONDON:

ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO.

25, PATERNOSTER ROW.

1851.

LONDON:
R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL.

PREFACE.

The first edition of the ensuing pages having been disposed of very shortly after the publication of it, the Author has availed himself of the opportunity afforded him by a second being called for, to make several important additions, which will be found in the Appendix; and to subject the whole to a minute and careful revision: nor can he send forth his work again before the Public, without expressing the heartfelt gratification it has given him to find the simple narrative, which has been written "for conscience sake," so generally appreciated in the very light in which he was most anxious for it to be viewed; viz. as the humble instrument of use in the cause of religious freedom and gospel truth; a cause sacred in itself, and indissolubly connected with the moral and political prosperity and happiness of the whole family of the human race.

DEALINGS
WITH THE INQUISITION.

CHAPTER I.

MY REASONS FOR GIVING THE HISTORY OF MY IMPRISONMENT TO THE WORLD.

It was in the month of July, 1842, that I was released, by order of Pope Gregory, from my first imprisonment in the dungeons of the Inquisition. On this occasion, one of the Dominican monks who serve the office of Inquisitor, inquired of me, with a malicious look, whether I, also, intended, one day, to write an account of the Inquisition, as a well-known author had done before me, with respect to Spielberg, in his celebrated work, "Le mie prigioni." Perceiving at once the object of this deceitful interrogation, which was only to afford a pretext for renewing my incarceration, at the very moment when liberty was before me, I smiled at my interlocutor, and exclaimed, "How is it possible, Padre Inquisitore, you can imagine I can have any idea of vindicating myself, on account of the imprisonment I have undergone? No, be assured, whatever injustice you may have committed towards me, I shall attempt no vindication. You know full well that in this country there exists no tribunal higher than your own: even that of conscience is silent here, and prostrate before you. Should I make my complaint elsewhere, and appeal to the justice of another land, how could I hope, unknown and unfriended as I am, that my story would be listened to? Distrust is natural to man. One only Tribunal remains; from that neither you nor I can escape; and it is to that same Tribunal that I shall be able to summon the Pope and his Cardinals. Nay, setting aside the idea of my own appeal, they will be summoned there by the great Judge himself. I believe in the declaration of Scripture, 'We shall all appear at the judgment-seat of Christ.' And it is there, Padre Inquisitore, that our cause will be tried, and the justice of your decrees adjudicated. Moreover, I shall not, at the present time, describe my imprisonment; not because I have not sufficient materials, but because it shall not be said that I seek to avenge myself, in publishing to the world what you study to hide. This time I shall make it my business to write concerning my liberty, rather than my confinement. The latter, indeed, might gratify the merely inquisitive; but the former will be a source of satisfaction to many kind hearts. If I speak of my imprisonment alone, I merely enjoy the advantage—perhaps a useless one—of engaging for awhile the ear of the public; but if I treat of the liberty I have gained, O Padre Inquisitore, the holy and the real liberty I have achieved, then indeed I may hope to see around me those generous spirits who, also escaped from their imprisonment, flock to the true standard of liberty—to the word of God."

At these words the Inquisitor appeared perplexed, and, abruptly remarked: "You say you shall not write an account of your imprisonment this time; have you then any idea of returning here?"

"At any rate, you may rest assured, that should I ever again be shut up in the Inquisition, no consideration will then prevent me from giving a full account of all I may have seen or heard, as soon as I am released."

"Oh! another time you would not get away so easily."

"I can readily imagine it. Indeed, I do not know how it has happened that I have got off so cheaply in the present instance, with only three months' confinement. But in case you should lay hands on me again, would you then, Padre Inquisitore, permit me to give a short account of my treatment?"

"Only let us see you back, and then it will be time enough to talk about it," replied the Inquisitor, with an air of spiteful derision, that sufficiently indicated what kind of treatment I might expect.

Now, as it has happened that my return did take place, I feel myself authorized, and indeed called upon, to keep my word. The Inquisitor no doubt resolved that if I ever again fell into his power, I should not a second time escape; and his purpose was very near being realized. Every precaution was taken to render my confinement more severe, and every means of escape provided against. And as it was imagined that the prisons of the Inquisition were less secure than those of the Castle of St. Angelo, I was speedily removed to that fortress. In fact, everything indicated a determination, on the part of the Church of Rome, to keep me in perpetual incarceration; so that I should altogether have despaired of ever knowing the blessing of liberty again, had my chance of obtaining it rested on the will of my enemies. Often, no doubt, the Inquisitors have said among themselves, "Ah! this time our prisoner will have no opportunity to write his narrative." And I, on the other hand, kept repeating to myself, "This time I shall effect my escape, even better than the last: they trust in their gaolers, and in their doors of iron; and I in that invisible hand which throws open the doors, and lays the gaolers asleep."

They had apparently as much reason and probability on their side as I had on mine. Their prognostications, however, completely failed, while mine were realized; a proof, at any rate, of the superior value of my principle, compared with their own. How often may they not have been tormented with the thought that I might possibly effect my escape! And all the while I had no intention of the kind. I shall show, hereafter, how many offers of assistance were made, both to myself and to my friends, in case of my attempting flight, which they, as well as myself, had the resolution to refuse. In short, the Inquisitors were miserable, lest they should fail in their promise to retain me in their custody whenever they caught me again. Why should not I observe mine towards them? Since our first contest is decided, the performance of it naturally follows.

But ought this to be my sole motive why I should give an account of my imprisonment? No, indeed, there are others of a better and a higher nature; and the principal one of all arises from the reverence I feel for the truth, to my devotion for which my imprisonment bears testimony.

The Church of Rome, which has become the church of Satan,[1] incessantly boasts itself as the sole Church of Christ, under the title of Catholic and Apostolic; and, according to its old practice of lying, it has endeavoured to persuade the world that we, the people of Rome, are so penetrated with its doctrines, and so attached to its rites, that the denomination "Roman" may be considered synonymous with that of "Papist." And in order that it may not belie itself, it has established a sacrilegious tribunal, wherein the Romans are taught that neither human reason nor divine authority ought to stand in their way of promoting its views; and that, if they are but faithful to the system it has framed, all imaginable sins will be pardoned them; nor will the means of leading a life of pleasure be withheld;—but, on the contrary, if they express an opinion adverse to this priestly sect, every species of malediction will be showered upon their heads; they will be imprisoned, persecuted, and even put to death; their families consigned to want or exile, and their very names loaded with infamy and held in execration.

An actual hell seems indeed to be at the command of this Church, and it may be known by the name of the Inquisition.

What direful evils have not been reported respecting this institution! and few indeed of them have been overcharged. I do not intend here to repeat concerning it what may be found in various historical relations. The "History of the Spanish Inquisition," by Llorente, and the "Mysteries of the Inquisition," by Fareal, afford abundant information on the subject. But, without consulting history, so universal is the present detestation of the Inquisition, that its name alone is sufficient to excite in the minds of all rational beings a sentiment of horror and repugnance, little inferior to what Christians experience with respect to hell itself; with this difference—that with the idea of hell, however terrible, is associated that of eternal justice, which punishes only sin; while the Inquisition, based on extreme wickedness, strives to persecute virtue and to punish good actions. No one complains of the existence of hell; not even the unhappy wretches who are confined there can impugn the justice of the eternal Legislator; but every voice is lifted up against the Inquisition, and every unfortunate being who may be thrown into its dungeons will raise his cry against so detestable a tribunal. Let us suppose a soul released from the horrors of hell; such a one would doubtless abundantly praise the Divine mercy; but should any one be freed from the Inquisition, even on the score of mercy, still he would complain of the injustice that had confined him there, though it were for a short time only, and would detest it ever after accordingly.

The Inquisition is truly a hell invented by priests. To unmask and to destroy their infernal work is, therefore, the main object I have before me, in writing this account of my imprisonment.

It has of late years been pretty generally believed that the Inquisition at Rome—thanks to the civilization of the age—had been altogether abolished, or at any rate so greatly deprived of power as to be merely employed in settling points of controversy, censuring books, or granting dispensations: very few had any idea that it still exercised in the present day the power of imprisoning those among the Italians who, although they believed in the Bible, had no faith in the Council of Trent. Who would then ever have credited that under the pontificate of Pope Pius IX. and the constitution he had granted, there would have been found any vestige of it remaining? For my own part, I can truly aver, that having been absent seven years from Rome, I could not have believed it possible. How could the Chamber of Deputies and the Inquisition be compatible with each other? A Chamber of Priests alone could be expected to support so execrable a tribunal.

Impressed with this idea, it was about the beginning of last year that I left London for Rome. I well knew that the Inquisition had existed in full vigour during the whole period of the pontificate of Pope Gregory; but I naturally thought it was extinct under Pius IX. Indeed I felt quite persuaded that the Inquisitors, not only in Rome, but throughout the whole of the Papal States, had no longer any opportunity for the exercise of their abilities; that the localities of the Holy Office, throughout all the States of Rome, were converted to other uses; that all its prisons were thrown open; that the immense host of secretaries, officers, clerks, familiars, of every description, who were its spies and agents, were altogether dismissed, and that its very name would no longer be known in Rome.

On the 5th of February, 1849, the Constituent Assembly met at Rome; on the evening of the 8th, it was solemnly decreed that the temporal power of the Pope should cease, in consequence of his flight from the city, and his desertion of his subjects; and the new Government assumed the title of the Roman Republic. The day following, this decree was proclaimed from the Campidoglio, and in a moment the aspect of all things was changed. The Rome of the popes became the Rome of the people. The papal arms were torn down, ecclesiastical rights and privileges abolished, onerous taxes done away with—everything was altered. To the priests, no other possession remained than the Church; and even of this the property was vested in the popular authorities.

A fortnight after the new Government had been in power, it was arranged that the deputies, the triumvirate, the military, and the people, should assemble together, on the Sunday, in the Church of St. Peter, to offer up their solemn thanksgiving in a "Te Deum." I was myself present on the occasion, accompanied by some friends; and we all of us, from our hearts, offered up our thanks to the Lord, for having delivered our country from the heavy yoke of the pontifical government; and to my thanksgiving I added a prayer for the overthrow of the popish religion—the most pernicious and corrupt system of moral slavery that has ever been invented by the ingenuity of man.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "let us pray that the infamous government, which, for worldly ends, has violated everything that is most sacred—our religion—may never more be re-established. Let us supplicate that the idolatry of popery may be abolished, and that, from the present period, the worship of statues and pictures, expressly forbidden by God in the second commandment of the Decalogue, may be discontinued, throughout the whole world. Let us pray that the 'mystery of abomination' may at length be taken away, and that to all the people may be discovered and made known 'the man of sin,' the son of perdition, the adversary; he who exalts himself above every one, and is called a divinity or god, who sits in the temple of God, as God, showing himself to all, and asserting that he is God. Let us pray that the holy name of Jesus Christ may be no longer profaned and blasphemed by a class of people who have unworthily usurped it, and, as it were, solely to abuse it. And let us pray that the holy Word, the Gospel of the Redeemer, be no longer persecuted in Rome, and incarcerated in the Inquisition."

At these words my companions started. "Is it true then," said one of them, "that the Bible itself is persecuted by the Church of Rome, and that the followers of the sacred Evangelists are incarcerated in the Inquisition?"—"By the way," exclaimed another, "can you tell me what has become of the Inquisition? Is it shut up?" "I imagine so," observed a third. "I should like to ascertain the fact," was the remark of the fourth. "Let us go to it," was the general cry; "let us go and see whether it be shut or open, and let us endeavour to penetrate into its recesses."

The service being concluded, every one hastened to leave the church. We directed our steps towards the far-famed Holy Office, which is to the left of St. Peter's, behind the colonnade. It was built by Pius V. about the middle of the sixteenth century, on account of the old building in the Via di Ripetta having been destroyed by fire, by the Romans, after the death of Paul IV. We had no difficulty in entering; there were no guards to prevent us; and we saw no one in our way. All was silent, but nothing was in disorder. "Oh! there is nobody here," said one. "And yet," observed another, "the place does not appear to be abandoned. Let us knock at the door." "But, unquestionably," was the remark of all of us, "there can be no one there. Not the Inquisitors themselves would have the hardihood to attempt to carry on their proceedings under the present Government. A Republic and an Inquisition would indeed form a curious anomaly!"

We had not yet finished our disquisition on the absurdity and even the impossibility of such a coalition, when, aroused it should seem by the noise made by our party, a Dominican friar made his appearance at one of the doors. His countenance expressed doubt and apprehension, and his step was uncertain. He cast his eyes around, and as he saw that we were, for the most part, young men, he appeared greatly to doubt our prudence and moderation. Who knows what his sensations were at first seeing us! With a faint voice he asked what we wanted; and understanding that we were desirous to inspect the place, and more especially to visit the prisons of the Inquisition, he hesitated, drew back a few paces, and excused himself, saying that he had not the power to conduct us about, as he was only there with his superior. In fact, he was a lay-brother, and servant to the most reverend father, the Commissioner General of the Inquisition.

I knew this friar very well, but he was not aware of my presence, as I did not at first address myself to him.

"Frate mio," said I to him, "I do not wonder that you are afraid of us, since every thing must be an occasion of dread to those whose lives have been an incessant source of reproach to them. Nevertheless, I own I am surprised that up to the present hour, when the Government and the people have sung the Te Deum for the Roman Republic, you and your superior, with as many as surround him, should have the assurance to show yourselves in this place, if not to continue your former evil practices, at least to testify your readiness to do so. And tell me, my dear Dominican, for by this time you have sufficiently recognised me, do you not think I deserve to be called your friend, if I save you from the outrage to which you have rendered yourself liable this day? Neither I nor anybody else could answer for your life, if it were known that, through your means, the Inquisition still existed in Rome. Tell me without hesitation, who and how many are here."

"All," replied he, "are here at present who were here originally. There are the same number of officials, and they occupy their usual quarters. The head commissioner is in yonder apartment, with his whole suite, and at this very moment they are at table."

"Pray," demanded I, "are his companions with him?"

"One is there; the other is away."

"Are the keepers of the prison here?"

"Yes, all three."

"Then there are still prisoners?"

At this interrogation the poor Dominican, who, among many bad, might be termed a good man, made no other reply than shrugging his shoulders, leaving me to guess his meaning. It was too evident that there were still prisoners remaining, and that the hateful tribunal still existed in full power!

My friends insisted on visiting the building: I dissuaded them, however, from attempting it, assuring them that no one of its inmates would open the doors to us, without our using a degree of violence which would be highly unbecoming. The monk had already left us, and we descended the stairs we had previously mounted. The great gateway of entrance was no longer unoccupied: the porter was there with some other persons; among them I recognised one of the gaolers, whom I well remembered, as he was the same that kept me in custody, in the year 1842. Two others also I knew, who were spies of the Inquisition. The gaoler was courteous enough in his way.

"Good day, Signor, how fares it with you?"

"And how fares it with you?" I returned. "Are you still gaolers of the Inquisition? Have they not yet dismissed you?"

"No, we have not been dismissed, we are still in the exercise of our functions; we are all paid as usual, and as long as that is the case, you know, we are bound to continue our service."

"It is an evil employment: how is it that you are not ashamed to be found in it? Besides, it is a dangerous one now. The very name of the Inquisition is sufficient to compromise any one, at the present juncture. Take my advice, my friend, and before you are turned out by force, depart of your own accord. Should the people be given to understand that the Inquisition still continues, that all its officials are still in this place, judges, commissioners, clerks, keepers, spies, and consequently dungeons and prisoners, I assure you, the building would soon be set fire to, and those consumed who belong to it."

I have entered into this minute detail, to show that the Inquisition, as it existed in former times, still continued under Pius IX.; and that when he took flight with his cardinals, he left it on the same footing as usual. Indeed, I am not wrong in asserting that Pius IX. and the cardinals gave strict orders that no one belonging to the Inquisition should quit his post on pain of certain expulsion. A further proof of this is, that after our visit to the Inquisition all the inmates remained at their post, until the Triumvirate sent to turn them out by force, and took possession of the place with all that it contained.

It is a fact, then, that Popery is always the same; barbarous, as in the middle ages, in which it took its rise; ferocious, as in the time of Gregory VII.; increasing in cruelty more and more, as under Innocent III., Boniface VIII., Paul IV., Pius V.; and stolid, as since the restoration in 1815: always seeking to connect itself with kings, and to model its cabinet on the plan of that of Austria and of Russia. Popery always has the same spirit, and the same laws; though, with respect to its habits and temper, it not unfrequently wears a mask. Thus, Pius IX. put on the show of liberality; but this pope, believed so liberal by many, was always secretly combined with the Jesuits and the Inquisition.

It is, therefore, to unmask and to expose Popery, as it is at the present day, that I undertake the writing of this work; that the world may know that in Rome, and in the Roman States, excepting during the five months of the Republic, the infamous and hateful Inquisition has always been in existence. The fact is, that Christianity suffers more now than in former times, under this harsh slavery. Religion, being an affair between God and man, cannot be bound, limited, or prescribed, by human laws; she must be free as thought itself. To this conclusion the civilization of the present day has arrived; and all sound philosophy teaches, that what we wish for ourselves, we ought to allow to others. In matters of religion, every one desires the enjoyment of the most complete liberty. None are more tenacious on this point than the priests of Rome themselves: they complained bitterly when the Turkish Government, and that of the Czar, forbade them the performance of their rites, or the attempt to gain a proselyte. Do not they desire their liberty most ardently, in all those countries where the Greek Church is predominant? What would they not say to the Genevese if they attempted, in their own city of Geneva, to subject the papist to any privation or restraint? All the world knows how they swarmed to the British parliament, to obtain the famous emancipation. And even that was not enough for them: how incessantly have they not since presented themselves before it, with fresh demands and renewed audacity? The papists, throughout the whole of England and Scotland, desire to possess the liberty to talk, to write, to preach, and to assemble themselves together. In every quarter they desire to build churches; and found colleges, schools, and houses, for the seclusion of men and of women. In this country are to be found priests of various orders; and numerous companies of Jesuits have established themselves in different parts of the British dominions, whence they send forth their missionaries to every part of the habitable globe. All these desire to possess the most unrestrained liberty. And I by no means blame either those who seek or those who grant it.

I maintain, however, that these very priests, who, in other countries, seek not only to be in entire freedom themselves, but even to rule arbitrarily over others, refuse, in their own, to grant the least liberty of thought to any one whosoever. The Roman clergy insist on their right to speak and to act in England, in Scotland, and in Ireland, in the same manner as they do in Rome; but they do not allow either the English, the Scotch, or the Irish, to act as they please in the Papal States. It is known to every one how many new churches the Roman Catholic priests have built in various places in this island, in addition to those they already possessed; but to the English, on the other hand, in Rome, not even a single church is allowed; and it was made a great favour that they were permitted to assemble for Divine worship in a humble building beyond the gate of the Piazza del Popolo, outside of the walls of the city.

So habituated are the Roman Catholic clergy to act in this manner, that the complaints and remonstrances of the whole world have no influence whatever upon them, either in changing their conduct, or in rendering them ashamed of it. So many years have they practised their iniquity, that they have lost the power of blushing; and such is the evil consequence of their habits, that they no longer feel the least pang of conscience, either at the continual neglect of their own duties, or their perpetual invasion of the rights of others.

Viewing things in this light, no one, I may venture to hope, will blame me, if I speak out boldly of many things which have lately taken place. Doubtless I shall incur the severe censure of the Papal Court, which will rise up against me, and loudly pour forth its heaviest maledictions. Truly, instead of the furious outcries in which the partisans of the Pope have hitherto indulged, I would counsel them to endeavour to answer me in a more worthy manner, and with the same pacific spirit by which I shall be guided in my writing. As to their clamour and their upbraidings, nay, even their slanders, they will excite in me no more fear than my imprisonment occasioned me; neither will any extent of abuse they may try to cast upon me, remove from their own heads the disgrace of the accusations I shall bring against them, and the truth of which I challenge them to disprove. I shall call things by their proper names, and shall distinguish persons according to their actual merits, or otherwise; but, that no one may conclude that I am instigated by a spirit of vindictiveness, or a desire to injure the reputation of those at present belonging to the Court of Rome, I shall be careful to speak of individuals as little as possible; for as no base motive inspires my pen, so I do abhor, above all things, to defile my paper with unworthy matter.

In treating of any subject of a dishonourable nature, I shall spare the names of some who may be connected with it, and endeavour to act with charity towards those who are yet living. Nevertheless, I propose in these pages to give a warning for the time to come; I shall unfold in them the iniquity of the present day, in order that they may serve as a lesson for the future. It will however be necessary, occasionally, to state openly through whose fault such things as I may relate were effected. I should be sorry for it to be thought that I undertook this work to gratify any bad feeling; my sole motive has been to make the truth evident, that all may apprehend it. It was for hearing and speaking the truth, that I incurred the hatred of the papal Court. It was for the truth's sake, that I hesitated at no sacrifice it required from me; and it is for the truth, and for that alone, that I lay the present narrative before the public.

It is of little importance what outcry may be raised against me. Abuse is the only reply that has hitherto been offered me; but I disregard it and return it not. If any one writes in opposition to me, all that I ask is a fair opportunity of replying to him; I know my own fallibility to be great, and I have always hitherto been disposed to acknowledge an error, when it has been pointed out to me by candour and common sense. I refer principally to matters of religion. If any one opines that my language is not consonant with Scripture, I should desire that I might be called upon to explain it; because as I write to elicit the truth, whoever corrects in me an error, also promotes the same object. And this is my rule of conduct with respect to others. The time is now arrived for the full development of the truth; mankind, wearied of being so long enchained, by the opinions of others, in the darkness of error, now make the most strenuous efforts to free themselves from their mental bonds. It is a struggle between the oppressors and the oppressed. Those who continue to advocate the right of oppressing, will be hated by society, as well as those who desire to preserve the privilege of lying. Falsehood is no longer a venial offence; it is a serious crime, and when resorted to by persons in authority, it is always for the purpose of oppression. The motto of the present age is Liberty and Truth.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I speak of the Church of the Pope and of the Cardinals, of the Priests, and of the Jesuits; not of the few true believers to be found here and there, even in Rome, hidden from the eyes of the world, and who may truly be called "first-begotten children, whose names are written in heaven."

CHAPTER II.

OF THE SUBJECTS TREATED UPON IN THIS NARRATIVE.

The title of this work has reference chiefly to my six months' imprisonment in the Inquisition, at Rome; consequently, it will principally treat of the Roman Inquisition, both as it exists at present, and as it existed in the more flourishing times of the Roman Court.

Is the Inquisition of the nineteenth century, as it existed under Gregory XVI., and as it now exists under Pius IX., the same as the Inquisition of the sixteenth century, under Paul IV. and Pius V.? This is the important question which every one asks, and to which it is fitting that I should reply.

How, it will be next demanded, is it that the Inquisition, which for three centuries has waged war against civilization in all countries where popery has flourished,—how is it that it has existed so long, loaded as it has always been by the protests, the complaints, the threats, and the execrations of all people? To this question, also, I shall reply.

What advantage, it may then be asked, has popery actually derived from the Inquisition, on account of which it has incurred so much odium on all sides? This is a fair subject of inquiry, and I shall lend my hand thereto, and state my views thereupon. But at the very outset we shall have to pause in amazement at the incongruous spectacle presented to our contemplation in French and Austrian soldiers marching side by side with the Jesuits, and becoming the tools of this same institution.

Let all those who have not hitherto sufficiently observed these things, during the progress of the late events, observe them now; note them well, and learn to draw a right inference from them. It is for us to transmit to posterity the record of what has passed in our own times. Why should we refrain from speaking of it? Through fear of offending the two powers who have, in the affairs of Rome, so basely granted their aid to support the despotism of the pope? I am not accustomed to disguise my sentiments. I call him base, who commits a base action, were he my own brother.

That Austria and France have dishonoured themselves, in lending their services to the pope, in the bombardment of the three principal cities in his dominions, in order to bring them back to the rule of the Jesuits and the Inquisition, is a fact that admits of no question. The people of these two countries may seek to excuse themselves, by throwing the blame on their respective governments; but I am of opinion that the army, however employed by the government, represents the nation, more especially in the case of a Republic. I shall offer, therefore, a few observations on this subject, which may serve to elucidate more problems than one. Such as, Whether the papacy be a religious or a political system? Whether the papacy can reform itself, now that it is reduced to extremities? Whether the overthrow of papacy would injure the cause of real religion in Italy? And here we shall have to define what papacy really is, and in what respect it differs from pure and primitive Christianity. We shall also give a brief statement of the doctrines of the Church of Rome, its conduct as respects the Holy Bible, and the reasons that have influenced the popes to prohibit the reading of that inestimable treasure. This will bring us to consider, whether it be possible for a system of nominal Christianity to exist, in an enlightened age like the present, contrary to the institution of Christ himself, and to the doctrines of His Apostles? Whether the Italians, especially those of Rome and the Roman States, can be compelled to maintain such a system, in opposition to the convictions of their own judgment; and whether the civilized nations of Europe could, in the present day, calmly look on upon a religious persecution? Whether liberty in matters of religion ought to be confined to mere liberty of thought, or whether it should not extend to liberty of speech, and forms of worship? Whether, while all other nations seek this liberty for themselves, to the Romans alone every reasonable demand for it should be invariably refused?

All these points will be fully treated of in the present work; and no degree of discussion or opposition that it may draw forth will be unacceptable or displeasing to its author; for in disquisitions like those which I propose, it is desirable that every voice should be heard. Should my arguments or my representations be contradicted? So much the better: the public will decide which is in the right. I have no objection to be attacked, or even to be overcome, should it be fairly shown that I am in the wrong. When I throw down the gauntlet I desire it should be taken up, and I am pleased when I meet with a resolute antagonist. Should I declare, for example, that the popes and their adherents have been guilty of uttering falsehood, I must prove it, or I am myself the culprit. But should I establish the truth of my assertion, I have then a right to demand that the popes and their adherents should be stigmatized as false, accordingly.

Am I to be told that a pope is not to be censured because he is infallible, or in other words, because he is pope? If the fact of his falsity be established, is he to be held guiltless through reverence to the imaginary keys of St. Peter? And with respect to these keys, what is to be understood by them? Are they really given to the popes? and how, and for what purpose? Well may it be said that one question leads to another. Suppose I happen to have no more respect for the popes than they have shown, and still show, towards those whom they call heretics; I shall feel myself at liberty to tell the whole world what my opinion of them is, and why I am led to entertain it. On all other matters I make it a sacred rule to explain my views with all possible clearness, and on every occasion to tell the entire truth. Why then am I to conceal or palliate it in this? How many have failed in their object in consequence of concealing a part of the truth; how many others, through declaring it little by little, have had their lives sacrificed before they had concluded! No such temporising will be mine; I am resolved to declare it entirely, at once, and without reserve or disguise, whatever may be the result. It is a great and holy cause which I have undertaken to advocate, and one in which I have already learned to suffer without a murmur. And what could my enemies inflict upon me worse than they have done already? I verily believe they indulge the hope of getting me a third time into the Inquisition. Should it be realized, my life would unquestionably be forfeited to their revenge. But shall I be terrified at the thought? Assuredly not; fear has never yet been allowed to take root in my breast. Should I again fall into their hands, let them do with me as they think fit. In the mean while they cannot, at any rate at present, prevent me from doing what best pleases myself; that is to say, what my duty calls upon me to do; what my most sacred obligation as a minister of the religion of Christ demands of me. I shall declare the truth to the world; before God, and in the face of man I shall make it known: and at the present juncture are there not thousands, nay millions, disposed to listen to it?

Now since it is an incontrovertible fact that I was imprisoned in the Inquisition from July 29, 1849, to January 19, 1850, on this topic I shall also write and disclose every particular connected with it. Six months of close imprisonment, under the most barbarous of tribunals, without any sufficient cause, is not a circumstance to be lightly passed over; neither ought I to be silent with respect to the cruelties and injustice to which any one, however innocent, may be subjected under its tyranny.

The story of my imprisonment presents a new feature in the annals of the Inquisition. Secure of their privilege, satisfied with the possession of their prey, which they were persuaded no earthly power could force them to surrender, they delayed my condemnation, partly because the tribunal was not yet entirely re-organized, owing to the absence of the Pope and the Cardinals, and partly because—in consequence of the fact of my imprisonment being well known, and many persons of high consideration having declared themselves interested in my favour—they feared their designs might be frustrated, were it made public that I had received my final sentence. Their only course, therefore, was to condemn me to suffer in secret. But hundreds were continually inquiring as to my fate, and it would therefore have been highly impolitic, in the priestly party, to afford any opportunity for commenting upon it.

In cases of this kind the principal object of the subtle Inquisitors is to gain time; and in the mean while to spread abroad vague and uncertain reports, relating to further accusations than those originally alleged, in order to distract the attention and confuse the minds of the friends of the party accused. And this measure was speedily adopted with regard to myself. A report was circulated that I had been guilty of other crimes than those for which I was placed in the Inquisition. We shall soon see what these crimes were, and how quickly they vanished away. The fact was, that I was detained captive in order to grace the triumphal car of Pio Nono, on his return to Rome. I was expected to acknowledge, once more, the sovereign and the pontiff, in him whose temporal supremacy and spiritual infallibility I had alike denied. I was to humble myself before him, confess my guilt, abjure my present creed, implore forgiveness; and then, after many supplications for mercy, I might, if really repentant, hope to be permitted to vegetate, during the remainder of my days, in nominal freedom and positive bondage.

Such probably were the intentions of my persecutors, which were in a single moment rendered vain and hopeless by my quietly withdrawing myself from their protection, when they least expected it. It will be well that I should explain the system usually observed by the Inquisitors, and show their manner of calculating, which, except in the present instance, has perhaps been hitherto infallible. A prisoner to escape from the Inquisition, without being retaken! escape too from the Castle, in which he was placed for greater security!—was ever such a thing heard of? Certainly this was a triumph for the nineteenth century of which the sixteenth could not boast. I shall treat then concerning my escape; not only of the fact itself, but of the causes that rendered it possible to be effected. I shall show the motives that induced the French to restore me to liberty; and the manner in which they granted what I had full right to demand at their hands.

A few pages will be given to the transactions of the French with regard to myself, which I shall accurately detail, in order that no future historian may deceive the world by a false account.

But before my departure from the Inquisition, there are two circumstances on which I shall dwell more at large, under the impression that those persons for whom I chiefly write, will be greatly interested in a minute account of all that took place on those occasions. I refer to my examination before the Judge of the Inquisition, and my conference with the Theologian of the same establishment, who was sent to endeavour by his arguments to bring me back to the Church of Rome. How such an idea ever got into their heads I cannot imagine. They knew that I had abjured their system in consequence of a thorough conviction of its falsity. They knew that for ten years I had studied the subject night and day. They were not ignorant that such attempts had been made before, and that they had always proved unsuccessful. Papal Rome had had to lament the defeat of many of her champions, who had leagued together to overcome me.

I was greatly surprised to see this Theologian, and still more so to hear that he had been sent by the Cardinal Vicar, by order of the Pope. Our conference, then, which took place privately, in a corner of the rich saloon of Julio Romano, in the Castle of St. Angelo, is now destined to become public, and I shall with great satisfaction undertake the office of making it so, in order that not only all that passed between us may be known, but that the manner of it may also be understood.[2]

The Romish priests always expect that persons placed in the Inquisition will lose courage, and become unable to exert any strength of mind. And this persuasion they naturally indulge in, from the established fact, that the major part of those who are incarcerated within its walls do become enfeebled, even to wasting away, and begin to implore compassion. But they do not call to mind how many others are to be found in the annals of the same Inquisition, who have displayed the most heroic fortitude, have resisted all the vain arguments of their fallen and corrupt Church; and, full of zeal, have opposed the truths of the Bible to their decrees, the Gospel to tradition, the true Word of God to the vain conceits of men.

My imprisonment was also intended to deprive me of the benefit of any communication with my friends. Such were the orders issued from the first, and they continued in full force throughout the whole period of my confinement; the gaolers were threatened with punishment if they allowed the least communication with me whatever. Nevertheless, though how it happened I cannot tell, I certainly was visited by many. Meanwhile, I enjoyed full liberty of mind, and was too sensible of the importance of my mission to rest from the work of God. Within those walls I not only served as a witness of the Truth, I was also an expounder of it. With my Bible in hand, I discoursed of religion to all who came into my presence; satisfied, each time, that I was exalting the name of Christ, in casting down that of the Pope; and that I was building up again the pure religion of our fathers, on the ruins of the superstitions introduced by the priests. I was full of faith in the declaration of the Lord that Babylon should be destroyed, that a voice should cry: "Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues."[3]

This voice, I repeated to myself, shall be mine; I will execute the command of the Eternal Judge, I will warn my brethren. Yes, I will warn them in the name of God, and in the power of Christ, to take vengeance on this shameless harlot.

"Reward her even as she has rewarded you, and double unto her double, according to her works: in the cup which she hath filled, fill to her double. How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her; for she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow. Therefore shall her plagues come in one day; death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the Lord God who judgeth her. And the kings of the earth, who have committed fornication and lived deliciously with her, shall bewail her, and lament for her."[4]

In this manner I communed with myself, and thus I made known my sentiments to others. Neither did my opinions remain confined within the walls of my prison; frequently they made their way abroad, without being conveyed by any messenger from myself; nor was I permitted to approach any stranger from without. I mention this lest any one should be compromised, among those who are at present under the clutches of that barbarous tribunal.

May what I have to relate tend to the glory of God, and to the welfare of souls; and may it lead to the shame and dishonour of those instruments of wickedness, whose business it is to do the work of Satan. Those who do not blush at their evil deeds will have to endure the disgrace of hearing themselves spoken of with reproach; and perhaps on this account alone they may be induced to desist from the commission of further offence. I do not altogether despair of producing some salutary effect in them, through the means of this publication: if nothing further, it will at least strike their minds, enter into their hearts, and may possibly, as I sincerely desire, lead them back to a state of moral health.

My story will be told with simplicity, and my observations given with freedom. My chief care will be to give no just cause for reproach. If many, as will probably be the case, differ from me, it will give me little concern. If they should be my friends, I shall request them to specify their objections—I might, perhaps, sometimes profit by them. At any rate I deem it expedient to open my whole mind to my readers, and to disclose, in all sincerity, what I believe in matters of religion; in order that no one may be mistaken in me, and that with regard to the tendency of my mind and operations there may not be two opinions. So that, should my name survive the tomb, posterity may know that it was I who preached religious reformation to my native country.

If I had published this declaration before I fell a second time into the hands of the Roman Inquisition, I should have been spared the trouble of making so many explanations to the Pope and the Cardinals, with respect to my change of opinions. They would then have had a more clear and definite idea of what existed in the interior of my mind, and would not have deceived themselves with the hope that I was not so attached to the truth as to resist their artifices as firmly as, through the grace of God, I was enabled to do. And they would then necessarily have had a less confident hope that, through their instigations, that return which St. Peter speaks of in his Second Epistle (chap. ii. ver. 22,) might have taken place; a return, which the Theologians of the Inquisition would have denominated a wonderful one, to the arms of the Holy Mother, the Church of Rome.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] A complete account of my conference with Dr. Theiner will form the subject of a future work.

[3] Rev. xviii. 4.

[4] Rev. xviii. 6-9.

CHAPTER III.

MY CREED.

The first time that I was laid hold of by the Inquisition, I blamed myself for not disclosing more fully what my belief was at that period. Already for several years, I had received the doctrines of the Bible: I had become a theologian of the true primitive Church. I cannot, however, say that as yet I was a firm believer, since I had not abiding in me the spirit of the Gospel of Christ; which is neither the fruit of our reading, nor the work of our own intellect, but is given us immediately from God. I was a Christian in mind, but not in heart. If Christianity, as some suppose, were a mere opinion, a belief, it would suffice, in order to become a Christian, to admit the truth of the Scriptures. The absurdity of which is manifest, from the consideration that, in this case, the first Christian would have been no other than the devil, since he was the first to acknowledge the truth of Christianity. I understood and acknowledged the truth, although I was not yet fully actuated by it; I possessed the understanding of faith, but not faith itself; I could instruct others in its precepts, but was not myself capable of obeying them. This, I apprehend, was a state necessary for me to undergo, preparatory to the great change—as the state of the chrysalis is essential to the production of the butterfly. I stood midway between the old and the new man: the old man was already buried, but the new man had not yet come to life.

What, then, would have been my profession of faith, at this period? That of a theologian, who draws his arguments from the Bible; that of a man who, aware not only of the errors of others, but of his own also, renounces, condemns, and endeavours to get rid of them, by every possible means. This profession of faith I had not yet publicly avowed, but in many ways it might have been surmised; and putting together the various opinions I had already made known, it was not difficult to form a pretty correct idea as to the whole of my religious persuasions. I by no means wanted the courage—I wanted only a fitting opportunity to declare myself.

Every action, to be well performed, ought to be done in its proper time and place. The true reason, therefore, why I had not avowed my full sentiments was, that a fitting opportunity had not yet presented itself.

But Rome was not ignorant of my real opinions. Surrounded as I was with spies, although leading a private life in Naples, separated from the Dominicans, apart from society, and buried among my books, the Papal Court still found no difficulty in becoming acquainted with my state of mind, and was displeased thereat; and since there appeared but little hope that I should retrace my steps, it would have been very glad had I, at that time, come so far forward as to afford a pretence for my apprehension.

The Inquisition, ever since the year 1833, had been endeavouring, by means of its emissaries, to discover in my conduct some ground for accusation. But either through want of ability, or from not being so malicious as it required, they brought nothing against me that the Holy Office could take hold of. Their accusations, as far as I could learn, were vague, uncertain, and frequently contradictory. Among my accusers were two cardinals. One of them stated that during all the time I had lived with him, (I think it was during Lent, in 1835,) although he had studied my character with great attention, he never could make me out satisfactorily; that he had listened to above forty of my sermons, and never found in them a single expression to which he could object;—but that in my private conversation he had often detected much bitterness against the Court of Rome, and, in many points, direct opposition to the Council of Trent; and that, although not himself altogether a disciple of Bellarmine, he felt shocked at the severity of my attacks upon that celebrated writer: neither, he continued, did I spare the other two historians and annalists of the Church of Rome, Orsi and Baronio; that I spoke highly of Fra Paolo Sarpi to Cardinal Pallavicino; that I ridiculed the sanctity of Gregory VII., and went so far as to say that it would be well to take the opinion of the Countess Matilda on that point. The other cardinal who accused me, expressed himself as follows:—

"I have nothing to say against Father Achilli myself, but my vicar has told me that he is unstable in his faith. I think him a dangerous character: it would be best to make a friend of him, by kind treatment. I see no middle path; we must either make him a bishop, or shut him up in the Inquisition."

This worthy cardinal was generally considered to be rather deficient in judgment. I am of a contrary opinion. Indeed, when I read his letter, among other documents respecting my cause in the Inquisition, I judged him to be more crafty than many of his brethren.[5]

Among other accusations brought against me, there was one written by two Dominicans, who had formerly been my pupils in theology; and these friars deposed that I manifested a continual spirit of opposition to many of the doctrines of the Church of Rome, and that they entertained but little doubt that I should shortly renounce it altogether,—which, indeed, I had already done. I was also accused, by them, of paying no respect to authority. Another Dominican asserted that I did not believe in the power of the keys to absolve the penitent; and that I explained in a perfectly new manner the words of Christ addressed to Peter: "And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven," &c.;[6] that my explanation, he continued, was as follows:—"I will give unto thee," signifies a promise that Jesus Christ makes to Peter, and not a power which he confers upon him, as the Church of Rome asserts. "The keys" signify knowledge, whereby we unlock and arrive at the mysteries of science, &c. "Of the kingdom of heaven," signifies of my church upon earth; on which account we say in our prayers, "Thy kingdom come." Thus, "I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven," means, I promise to give unto thee the knowledge of my church; that is to say, to place thee within it, to give thee fully to understand its principles and its doctrines, and the spirit with which it is animated. That the following passage, "Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven," is to be interpreted by another, "Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever ye shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven."[7] And this, again, by the following, "Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained."[8] "Ye"—it being no longer said to Peter alone, but to all the apostles; yea, to all the disciples also, which includes all believers. Wherefore St. Augustine exclaims, "What is said to St. Peter is said to all:" Quod dictum est Petro dictum est omnibus. To you believers, what ye bind shall be securely bound, and what ye loose shall be entirely loosed.

This interpretation had given such great uneasiness to the poor friar, that he found it necessary to disburthen his conscience, by relating the whole to the Inquisitors. I do not recollect on what occasion, or in what place, I told him all this: it is, however, perfectly true; and I imagine, in his own mind, the friar did not disagree with me; though he found it extremely difficult to reconcile it with the tenets of the Church of Rome, which preach that Jesus Christ, in these words, confers upon Peter, and upon him alone, the authority of the keys; by which is to be understood the power of excommunication, and of absolution, to whomsoever he thinks proper, and for whatever cause he may judge expedient; and that this power is still possessed by the heirs of St. Peter, the popes of Rome.

My opinions on these heads were extremely unpalatable to the Church of Rome; and the more so from the consequences that might attach to them. Other accusations were also preferred against me, with reference to the famous dogma of Transubstantiation. It was asserted that I did not appear to believe in the literal sense of the words of Christ, respecting the bread and wine of the Last Supper.

All this, however, was very imperfectly related by my accuser, so that I think no great effect was produced by his disclosures on the minds of the reverend Inquisitors.

Much clearer was the account of a poor nun, written, as she set forth, at the instigation of her confessor. With great simplicity, she related a conversation she had held with me in the confessional, respecting the two sacraments, which entirely occupied the spiritual thoughts of this poor sister, Confession, and the Holy Supper. With respect to the first, she stated, that of all the confessors she had ever heard of, I had the most strange and singular method. I would listen, she said, with the greatest patience, to the disclosure, not only of her sins, but of her thoughts and feelings as well; in short, of all her deficiencies; and that I was very earnest in directing her conscience with respect to what she ought to do, according to the dictates of the Spirit; but that when we were arrived at that point when I ought to have given her absolution, I invariably turned my back, saying that it belonged to God alone to give absolution for sins committed against himself; that we can only absolve each other for the offences we may have mutually committed against each other; and that the priest and the bishop can, in the name of the church, absolve such sins as are committed against the church, but nothing further.

"One day, I said to him," added the nun, "'I believe that Confession, as the church teaches, is a sacrament instituted by Christ for the remission of all sins whatsoever. Is it not so?'—'I think not,' replied he, 'because I do not find any passage in the Holy Scriptures where the institution of this sacrament is spoken of.'

"'And the injunction of St. James,' I said, '"Confess your sins to one another?"'

"'They are of the same signification as those that follow, "and pray one for another." Do you imagine that only nuns and monks are to pray for the remainder of mankind? "Confess your sins to one another," signifies that it is your duty to confess to me the sins you have committed against me; and I, on the other hand, will do as much towards you, if ever I should offend you.'

"'Then it is unnecessary that I should reveal to a confessor the sins I may have committed against the laws of God?'

"'Not only unnecessary, but the practice is pernicious, if you believe that the confessor can, on the part of God, pardon you. We read that this power is granted by God to his Christ, who says, "But, that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins," &c. God can delegate to another, in an extraordinary mission, authority to announce to others that he has pardoned them, as we read in the case of Nathan, with respect to David. But whom do we ever read of, that was appointed by God to act as a confessor, and to give absolution in his stead? Jesus Christ has given to believers the power to remit their own offences, entirely, and for ever; and this he has done because he is constituted the Head of the Church, that is to say, of the people who are believers; to which people God has promised remission of sins, through faith in Jesus Christ.'

"'Then,' said I to him," continued the nun, "'how shall I be assured that my sins are forgiven me, unless a prophet is sent to tell me so, as he was to David?'

"'Oh! you will know it,' replied he, 'through evidence of your own faith, if you can truly say to yourself, "I believe in the remission of sins." Is not faith more convincing than words? Man's words may deceive you, but not the word of God. If you were to hear from me, what you have so often heard from others, "I absolve you from your sins," what assurance would you have, that you were really absolved? What am I, but a sinner, like yourself? Do you apply for health to a sick man, or for wealth to a poor one? Oh! how is it possible that you can prefer to be so continually deceived? Poor deluded being, come out of this darkness, and open your eyes to the light.'

"'Then,' I replied, 'my father, according to your idea, I ought never to confess to any one. How, then, could I partake of the Holy Supper?'

"'St. Paul,' he returned, 'has said, "Let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread and drink of that cup." St. Paul nowhere tells us that it is first necessary to confess to a priest.'"

Here terminated the first part of her account, which was entirely confined to Confession. The second part related to the Communion, and was as follows:—

"One day I was at confession: my heaviest crime was a want of faith in the sacrament of the Holy Supper. I accused myself of having entertained doubts as to the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.—'What do you understand by the real presence?' demanded he.

"'The substance presented before us of the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ.'

"'If such be your opinion, you are deceived,' he pursued; 'this substance cannot exist in the bread and wine. You know that this sacrament is instituted by Christ, to eat and to drink. Hence the precept, "Eat and drink;" and, again, the penalty for non-observance: "If ye eat not of this bread and drink not of this cup, ye have no life in you." Understand well that the body of Christ was not made to be eaten, nor his blood to be drunk. The natural body of Christ was offered in sacrifice once only,[9] which is enough for our sanctification, if you believe St. Paul speaks the truth.'

"'I believe it, indeed,' replied I, 'but I also wish to believe in the Holy Mother, the Church of Rome.'

"'My good daughter,' he said, 'if these two should be opposed to each other, to which of them would you give credence,—to St. Paul, or to the Church of Rome?'

"'I should certainly be more inclined to believe St. Paul, since he speaks through Divine inspiration.'

"'The case is plain then,—St. Paul and the Church of Rome are in opposition. The apostle calls that which we eat in the sacrament, bread, and that which we drink, wine; whereas the Church of Rome pretends that the bread and the wine vanish away, at the appearance of the body and blood of Christ.'

"'But then,' I rejoined, 'where is the sacrament; where is the communion of the body and blood of Christ?'

"'Clearly in the bread and in the cup. You believe St. Paul—listen to his words: "The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ?"'[10]

"To be candid," added the nun, "this doctrine led me away for a time; and in communicating in future, I intended to eat of the bread, and to conjoin myself by faith only, to our Lord Jesus Christ. From which period I could no longer adore the sacrament, for I could not help saying to myself, This is merely bread; it can have no particular signification shut up there;—and so all my devout prayers to this same sacrament were suddenly put an end to. I experienced a sort of repugnance in bending my knee, as I passed before the altar; 'If it be merely bread,' I thought, 'it is an act of idolatry to worship it;' and at length I felt shocked to see others prostrate, and adoring this bread, and offering up prayers to it, as if it were God. Afterwards, I confess, I experienced much suffering when other confessors undertook to lead me back to my old belief. It was necessary to prohibit me from thinking on the words of St. Paul, of which no one was able to give me a satisfactory explanation; unless I should call the reply of a certain reverend father (to whom I confided my difficulty) a satisfactory one, when he assured me that he thought it wiser not to trouble his head about such matters, lest he should have to find the best argument and the most satisfactory explanation within the walls of the Inquisition."

This poor nun, who was at that time converted by my arguments, was afterwards compelled to denounce me to the Inquisition, which she had done through fear of being herself shut up in it, had she refused; as it obtains possession of the greater part of its victims by threatening those who will not denounce them, with imprisonment themselves. And I have no doubt that she was so threatened more than once.

From these and similar accusations was my process got up, before the Inquisition, in the year 1842. Here then was my profession of faith, warranted on very respectable authority. I was very glad to see an account of it; and, to say the truth, I felt not a little proud of it. I hastily put together these few notices, and hid them for future use. I was annoyed that I had not time to read more of the voluminous process, and to extract from it other portions. I should perhaps have found a complete series of accusations, which might have completely laid open my entire Christian belief. In fact, there were denunciations with respect to what I had taught in the schools, in the confessional, and in the pulpit. Doubtless the opportunity was not lost of accusing me of frequently controverting the doctrines of Thomas Aquinas, respecting the pretended propitiatory sacrifice of the Mass, the number of the Sacraments, the value of Indulgences, the torments of Purgatory, and other doctrines of that time, handed down to us as dogmas of religion.

If these accusations were joined to others, which I saw in the volume at the Inquisition, chiefly from Naples, with respect to my preaching, then indeed there could have been nothing wanting to satisfy the Holy Office that I was a heretic, in every sense of the word, and richly merited to be consigned to the flames.

The Dominicans, to whom, in honour of their founder,[11] has hitherto been granted the great privilege of being the chief agents in the Inquisition, hold Thomas Aquinas and his doctrines in the highest esteem and veneration, insomuch that their principal school is called after his name. There is no degree of praise that they have not lavished on their master, on whom they have even bestowed the title of Angelic; and they have represented him, as all the world knows, with a radiant sun in his breast, as symbolic of his wisdom, and a dove at his ear, to indicate the presence of the Holy Spirit, revealing to him the truth. Among other pleasant stories recorded of him, is one which relates that the crucifix addressed him in a set speech, in approbation of his doctrine, saying, "O Thomas, thou hast written well concerning me!" The Dominicans swear to follow implicitly the theological and philosophical views of Thomas Aquinas; and it is indispensably requisite to take an oath to that effect, before admission into their colleges. At the present juncture, all who do not agree with the Jesuits, flock to the schools of the Dominicans. Indeed, I am of opinion that these two parties divide among themselves the whole Church of Rome: those who are not Jesuits, or Molinists, are Dominicans, or Thomasines. Other schools of theology are of little account, and are scarcely known, having no followers beyond the immediate establishments; such as the Benedictines, the Augustines, the Carmelites, and others.

Brought up myself in this school of Aquinas, I was early imbued with his doctrines. Five years I studied the writings of this author, so celebrated for learning and scholastic subtlety. Unquestionably, Thomas Aquinas was not the original framer of the Romish doctrines: they were already produced, and he did no more than defend and explain them. The most ingenious of theologians, he possessed a rare faculty of persuasion; so that if instead of the doctrines he undertook to defend, he had had others placed before him, still more opposed to the truth, he would equally well have reconciled them at once to the Holy Scriptures, and to the teaching of Aristotle. In his Summa Theologiæ is to be found all that can be most interesting to Rome, except il diritto nuovo of the Council of Trent. I have always admired the ingenuity of this writer, but very early I experienced considerable difficulty with respect to some of his theories.

Having completed my course of study, I was appointed, in my twenty-fourth year, to the duty of teaching. The first book on which I had to display my ability was this very Summa Theologiæ of Thomas Aquinas. Many opinions were formed as to how I should acquit myself on the occasion. It was predicted by some who had heard me strongly object to various points in the Thomasine doctrines, that I should not prove very faithful to them. The General of the Dominicans hesitated to confide to me a school belonging to the order, after he had heard that in my examination I had shown but little respect for the scholastic doctrines; and he wrote to a certain cardinal, who had sought to engage my services, as professor of theology, in a seminary: "I would willingly accede to the request of your Eminence, with respect to the Lecturer Achilli, were I not obliged, for certain reasons, to examine him a little further as to his orthodoxy."[12] After the lapse of a year, however, he granted me permission to officiate at Viterbo, where, for a considerable length of time, I was professor of various sciences, at the Seminary and Bishop's College, as I was also of theology, in the College of the Dominicans.

My labours in these situations obtained for me, from the very beginning, considerable reputation, and not a few friends gathered round me. Still I had many enemies, and chiefly among the friars,—a class of gentry who to a very little good, adjoin a large share of evil. Few among them are respectable in character; the major part of them being lazy vagabonds, who, to avoid every species of exertion, either physical or mental, and to pass their whole lives in sloth and ignorance, adopt the frock and cowl, which at once authorize them to receive food, clothes, and lodging, without any trouble or labour on their part. Altogether they constitute the worst part of society, and only serve to demoralize it by their bad example. As I could never endure them, and shunned all intercourse with them, it was natural that I should incur their hatred and censure.

It appeared that those among the friars who disliked me, feared me no less; since in all their attempted persecutions, they studiously avoided coming forward and avowing their hostility. However this may be, out of the cloister I was equally beloved and protected. Many bishops had a regard for me, and several cardinals. Pope Gregory XVI. looked upon me with a favourable eye, and spoke of me to the general of my order; and his predecessor, Leo XII., had recommended me to the Master of the Sacred Palace, as his Vicar, in the year 1827.

In the mean while my enemies grew more and more uneasy every day, and were more and more disappointed. Did they attack me on one side? They were speedily put to confusion. On the other? It frequently happened they inflicted injury on themselves alone. Often, I believe, they despaired altogether of accomplishing their evil intentions towards me. One only method remained, by means of which, secretly and securely, and without danger of being discovered by myself or my protectors, they might effect their object; and this was the Inquisition: for in that place no one, not even the dearest friend, can afford protection or support. There every accusation has to be fully entered into. The accuser gives his name to the tribunal, which for its own part affects to be ignorant of it. The same with the witnesses. Rarely does it happen that they are examined a second time. Their first deposition is sufficient.

They began in this manner with respect to myself, in order to undermine the edifice they were determined to destroy; and the first attack against me was made at Viterbo, in concert with certain parties in Rome, and some of the Dominicans from Naples, who were also invited to lend their assistance.

But observe the foolishness and blindness of men! They who wielded this powerful weapon against me, thought to destroy me with it; instead of which, they were the means of giving me fresh life. They undertook to explain to others my profession of faith, which I had not yet been able to make out clearly to myself. They reared the structure in the most solemn manner, before the Inquisition, that they themselves might no longer doubt, and that the memory of my conversion from Papacy to pure Christianity, which began about the year 1830, from which epoch the earliest of my accusations are dated, might for ever be preserved. May the Lord be praised!

Why do not my present enemies publish these facts in the manner in which they took place? I should like to see the secret accusations against me openly detailed. Instead of falsely framing charges of immorality which never existed, let them state my real crimes. They might show "that in point of religious belief I could not depart from the Holy Scriptures; that my Christianity did not extend beyond the Bible; that I was greatly opposed to the later doctrines of the Roman Church; that my theology had existed eighteen centuries, neither more nor less; and that every article that did not conform itself to this old theology, I neither owned for doctrine, nor for Christianity." Such was the epitome with which a Dominican friar of Naples wound up a lengthened declamation, to prove that I was, reader, guess what—a Neoterico—a Novatore.

To say the truth, if the Commissioner of the Inquisition had communicated to me the substance of the above, I should have leaped for joy. But in the opinion of the friar, these premises were terrific. A heretic, according to the Bible! A Novatore, according to primitive Christianity! These titles were for me a source of pride and gratification. The Inquisitor thought it far better that I should not be made acquainted with the charges. He did not foresee that I might read them without his permission. But since I had read them, and retained them perfectly in my memory, it frequently happened that I made use of them, in my replies to him. For example, when he asked me Quid sentis de fide? I remember my answer was:

"To those who are good Latin scholars, this question may be considered in three points of view: you might intend to ask me what I think concerning faith? or, what do I think I ought to believe? or, lastly, what is it that I do believe? I will readily reply to all these points. 1st, What do I think concerning faith? That it is a gift from God, by which we are made believers in the truths that He has revealed.—2d, What do I think I ought to believe? The truth alone; which He has revealed to us, according to what is written in the authentic book of Divine Revelation, and interpreted according to the spirit and common sense of Christendom.—3d, What is it that I do believe? The answer is already given."

"Then," rejoined the Inquisitor, "you believe nothing but what you find written in the Bible?"

"Certainly."

"And you think that all that was said and done by Jesus Christ, is recorded in that book? How is it then that St. John tells us, that if that had been the case, the whole world would not have contained the books that would have been written?"[13]

"I am glad, Father Inquisitor, to hear you quote a text from the Evangelist, which, if I interpret it aright, leads us to infer that Jesus did many other things which we do not know; and not, as you imagine, that we know them from other sources; and that, as they are told to us from these sources, so we ought to believe them. I do not believe, Father Inquisitor, more than I find written, because I know that to be sufficient; I am satisfied that I am not deceived; and besides, I believe that no one should add to what is written from Divine inspiration. You have quoted St. John, I now quote him in my turn, and I select that passage in which, speaking of his Revelation, he affirms as follows:—

"'If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: and if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part, out of the book of life.'[14]

"Is it not clear, from this, that we are instructed neither to add to, nor to take away from, what is written? The faith, therefore, that I profess, is the same that was defined by Jesus Christ himself, emanating from him eighteen centuries ago. This law was never abrogated in order to engraft new doctrines upon the old, or to make us falsify our original belief. Are you of opinion, Father Inquisitor, that we can possess a different faith from our forefathers? I speak of those early Christians, who, in this very country, renounced idolatry to follow Christ; of those very men to whom the apostle addressed the invaluable testimony: 'Your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world!' In all other matters I am willing to go with the nineteenth century; but as regards religion, I do not depart from the first. I do not know, Father Inquisitor, what your opinion is, but I am firm in the belief that all Christians ought to be similarly minded; and that the Church should return to its first state, both as regards discipline and faith."

Such then, at that time, was my profession of faith; in which I was continually, through the operation of various circumstances, being perfected; not a little assisted by the machinations of my enemies themselves. It is true, I had not yet sufficient courage to seek for occasions of trial; but on their occurrence, I invariably experienced such grace and favour from God, that in no instance was the opportunity lost of deriving due profit from them. And since it has been ordained by Providence that I should bear solemn testimony in favour of the pure and true religion of Christ, and publicly make avowal of my faith before men, and before God, so it was expedient that I should, in the first instance, make declaration of it in the face of my enemies, and of that very tribunal before which so many had sacrificed their lives, in defence of the same holy cause.

I did not at that time perceive the lofty designs of this all-wise Providence: my eyes were not open to behold the hidden destiny which, nevertheless, was in store for me. I walked in darkness, and only knew that I should not lose my way, because I was assured that a Divine hand would be my protection and my guide.

At present, however, through the mercy of the Lord, I see my way more clearly. By his power I have been snatched from the abyss of perdition, delivered from the malice of my enemies, and conducted to a land where there is liberty of belief, and where man lives honourably, in obedience to the laws of truth and justice.

My first step, on finding myself a free man in a free country, was to make a full and unqualified declaration of my religious faith, that there might not remain the least shadow of doubt, as to my entire secession from the Church of Rome.

Every one acquainted with me knows that I never attempt to disguise what I feel; should prudence occasionally enjoin me to be silent, it is only for a very short time that I can listen to her dictates. My energy increases before an opposing barrier, until, like a rushing torrent, it levels and destroys every object it meets with. Thus, no sooner did an outlet present itself for the manifestation of my opinions, than they eagerly pressed forward, and swept away all opposition that stood in their way.

I was full of wrath against the Church of the priests, ever since I discovered the deceit in which I had been educated; and still more so, on account of having myself been instrumental in propagating her doctrines and her errors. This wrath I had hitherto been obliged to restrain within my own breast; but when I arrived in Corfu, in the year 1842, I found an opportunity for giving way to it, of which I quickly availed myself. My tongue was not idle, and my pen was more active still.

I regret that I have not kept copies of several letters I wrote at that time to divers cardinals at Rome, which, although full of stern reproof, were written without bitterness, and in a conciliatory spirit; and I still remember them with pleasure, because I know that they evinced how strong my feelings were upon the subject.[15]

I shall, however, present to my readers, in the Appendix to this work, copies of two letters which I wrote about the same period to Pope Gregory XVI., as well as of one which I subsequently addressed to his successor Pius IX.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] On one occasion I was left alone by the Inquisitor, above an hour, in one of the apartments of the Holy Office, while he was preparing my process. He had left on the table a bundle of papers, containing the correspondence of the Inquisition with its agents, and from which my accusations were drawn: I therefore deemed myself at full liberty to peruse these documents, and obtained from them much important matter, relating to my own affairs.

[6] Matt. xvi. 19.

[7] Matt. xviii. 18.

[8] John xx. 23.

[9] Heb. x. 10.

[10] I Cor. x. 16.

[11] Domenico di Guzman was the first Inquisitor, under Innocent III. (1215), to whom he suggested the great project of destroying, by an armed force, all the Protestants of that period, chiefly known under the denominations of Albigenses and Valdenses. This friar, in conjunction with the pope, founded an order of knights, whom he frequently led on himself, and who were renowned for their massacre of these good Christians, who, retaining the Gospel, rejected the new doctrines of the Fourth Council of the Lateran.

[12] Letter from Father Velzi to Cardinal Galeffi (1825).

[13] John xxi. 25.

[14] Rev. xxi. 19.

[15] Since the publication of my first Edition, I have discovered among my papers a copy of one of these letters, which will be found in the Appendix. It is addressed to Cardinal Lambruschini, at that time Secretary of State, on occasion of his having urgently required of the Papal Consul, at Corfù, that he should endeavour to induce the Ionian Government to have me sent out of the country. As, however, my real motive for quitting Rome was well known, the Cardinal's remonstrance only served to render the Government more determined to protect me.

CHAPTER IV.

THE INQUISITION IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

We are now in the middle of the nineteenth century, and still the Inquisition is actually and potentially in existence. This abominable institution, the history of which is a mass of atrocious crimes, committed by the priests of the Church of Rome, in the name of God and of His Christ, is still in existence in Rome and in the Roman States, with the Pope at its head.

I have heard of some avowed or concealed papists, belonging to Great Britain, who, on occasion of the public demonstrations that took place in the principal cities of the kingdom, on account of my liberation, had the boldness to deny that I had ever been incarcerated in the Inquisition at all; or that any such establishment existed in Rome, at the present period. I shall not take up my own time, or that of my readers, in arguing with these persons, any more than I should with those who might deny that it was noon-day, when the sun was in its zenith.

In the month of April, 1850, during my stay in Dublin, an immense number of people, of all ranks and classes, attended the meetings that were held in my favour, to express their joy in seeing me, and the satisfaction they experienced in hearing me. The whole body of papists were considerably annoyed on the occasion, and not knowing in what manner to put a stop to the proceedings, some of them took it into their heads to spread a report through the city, affirming that I was not the Dr. Achilli, imprisoned by the Inquisition, but an impostor, who assumed his name. This poor invention, however, was not very likely to serve them, as it would have been easy for me to prove my identity. In like manner, any one who should persist in denying the present existence of the Inquisition in Rome, would soon find his statement refuted and held up to ridicule. And this being granted, can any one attempt to justify the conduct of the Church of Rome in permitting it?

I do not know what to think of the audacity of a certain writer, unquestionably not an ordinary personage, who published an article in the "Dublin Review" (July 1850), entitled "The Inquisition;" the object of which was to persuade the world that, after all, this Inquisition, respecting which so much unjust clamour (!) had been raised, contained nothing but what might honestly be considered necessary, for the present state of society, and the interests of religion. Every religion, it was stated, had been intolerant. "What by us," it said, "in the present day, is denominated intolerance, entered into the very spirit of the Jewish religion." (P. 423.) The learned writer, who, to his shame, is an Englishman, and at this present time a cardinal, leads the reader to the conclusion that the Almighty himself, the founder of the Jewish religion, has countenanced intolerance.

He then proceeds to observe: "Of the five great religions which divided the Gentile world—the Greek, the Roman, the Egyptian, the Persian, and the Indian—there is not one which can claim exemption from the charge." (Ib.) His inference, therefore, is, that it is no wonder that Christianity also is in a similar state; and this involves the farther conclusion that Christianity itself, in this respect, is a system of religion similar to these five great religious systems which divided the pagan world. This is the doctrine held out to us by a Cardinal Archbishop! According to him, Christianity, like the preceding religions, has always been more or less intolerant. With respect to papacy, it is most true that in practice it has always been more or less so, but in theory it has been always the same. In fact, Thomas Aquinas, the leading theologian and doctor of the Church of Rome, lays down the following doctrine, which his Eminence, and others of his school, seem very ready to act upon. "It is," says he, "much more grievous to corrupt faith, which is the source and life of the soul, than to corrupt money, which only tends to the relief of the body. Hence, if coiners and other malefactors are justly put to death, by the secular authority, much more may heretics not only be excommunicated, but put to death."[16]

For example, if you, reader, a Christian of intelligent mind, should deny that the bread and the wine, in consequence of a few words uttered over them, should cease to be bread and wine—you, in that case, have corrupted the faith of the Thomasine school, which is that of the Church of Rome; the reverend Inquisitor therefore speedily lays hold of you, with sufficient argument before him to condemn you to death, for the glory of God.

These barbarities were formerly common in Spain and Italy; but now!!—Is the theory of the Church of Rome, you ask, still in favour of these practices? I answer, it is not possible for Cardinal Wiseman to renounce this doctrine, and at the same time remain consistent to his principles. Is it not manifestly a contradiction? It is his duty,[17] then, as a Roman Catholic, and an Archbishop, to condemn you to death, whenever he may have the power so to do, if you refuse to believe that the bread and the wine, over which a priest has breathed the words, "Hoc est corpus meum," have not, forthwith, ceased to be bread and wine. Yes, his Eminence, faithful to his oath, and sanctioned by the theological and legal decision of the Thomasine doctors, must of necessity consign you to the flames. Are flames no longer resorted to, as attracting too vividly the attention of the public? It matters not; poison will get rid of a heretic equally well, and more secretly.

The reverend Jesuits, Busembau, Sa, Escobar, and others, readily gave their vote to that effect. When, in the year 1842, I was for the first time delivered over to the Inquisition, the General of the Dominicans, the oldest of the Inquisitors,[18] exclaimed before the council: "This heretic," speaking of myself, "we had better burn him alive." Such was the humanity of one who had grown grey among the corruptions and evil practices of his profession! His proposition, however, was not seconded, it being the first time I had been accused; but what might not have been my fate, if this old man had been living, and appointed to judge me in the year 1850? In fact, I heard last year, whilst I was in Rome, that another of these precious theologians, less fierce and furious than the Dominican, suggested a more moderate proceeding, in the following terms:—

"I should advise that Achilli be so dealt with as to prevent the possibility of his ever troubling us any more."[19] This, unquestionably, evinced no intention of setting me at liberty. And at a later period, after I had written my letters to the Pope, and published many other things in opposition to the Romish doctrines, the same monsignore, speaking of me to one of his adherents, who was more my friend than his, observed:

"I was right in the advice I gave in 1842, that Achilli should be so dealt with as to prevent the possibility of his ever troubling us any more. Had it been followed, we should not have had the present annoyance. And who knows what worse he may not have in store for us?"

I am indeed much indebted to this monsignore: I hope to do far better yet for the true Church of Christ.

What, then, is the Inquisition of the nineteenth century? The same system of intolerance which prevailed in the barbarous ages. That which raised the Crusade, and roused all Europe to arms at the voice of a monk,[20] and of a hermit.[21] That which—in the name of a God of peace, manifested on earth by Christ, who, through love for sinners, gave himself to be crucified—brought slaughter on the Albigenses and the Waldenses; filled France with desolation, under Domenico di Guzman, and raised in Spain the funeral pile and the scaffold, devastating the fair kingdoms of Granada and Castile, through the assistance of those detestable monks, Raimond de Pennafort, Peter Arbues, and Cardinal Torquemada. The same system which, to its eternal infamy, registers in the annals of France the fatal 24th of August, and the 5th of November, in those of England. The same which at this moment flourishes in Rome; which has never yet been either worn out or modified, and which, in the jargon of the priests, is still called "the Holy, Roman, Universal, Apostolic Inquisition." Holy, as the place where Christ was crucified is holy; Apostolic, because Judas Iscariot was the first Inquisitor; Roman and Universal, because from Rome it extends over all the world.

It is denied by some that the Inquisition, which exists in Rome, as its centre, is extended throughout the world by means of the missionaries. The Roman Inquisition and the Roman Propaganda are nevertheless in close connexion with each other. Every bishop who is sent in partibus infidelium, is an Inquisitor, charged to discover, through the means of his missionaries, whatever is done or said by others, in reference to Rome, with the obligation to make his report secretly. The apostolic nuncios are all Inquisitors, as also are the apostolic vicars.

Here, then, we see the Roman Inquisition extending into the most remote countries. In India, for example—who would ever believe that the Inquisition was at work there? So far from Rome! in the dominions of the English! The bare assertion would meet with ridicule. "Oh! the Inquisition in India! No, no, we cannot believe that. In name, indeed, it may be there, but never in actual reality." Fortunately, however, I have a letter by me, which I received in this country in March last. The original has been seen by many persons; among others, by Sir Culling E. Eardley, through whom, indeed, I received it. It came to hand very opportunely. It is written in English, and, if not elegant in its phraseology, it is at least sincere, and to be depended upon. It is as follows:—

"Dear and Reverend Sir,—I hope you will excuse me, if I, who am a stranger to you, take the liberty to address you the present letter. But the same God who delivered you from the brutal hands of your persecutors, (for which I congratulate you,) has given me courage to rise from my lethargy in which I was; and, kneeling before His presence, I heard a voice, saying, Write to Mr. A. [Achilli] for advice, and fly again from this Babylon. Therefore, full of confidence, I take the pen, in order to relate to you all my story.

"I am a Roman Catholic priest, and, as soon as I was ordained, being very anxious to preach the gospel to the poor Hindoos, I left Rome, on the 2d of March, 1840, being then twenty-three years of age, and was sent by Propaganda Fide to India; and there, being able to speak the English language, I was appointed, by the Roman Catholic bishop of Bombay, as military chaplain, and was sent to a military camp at Belgaum, where I was a very zealous and bigoted Roman Catholic priest, till God was pleased to open my eyes in the following manner:

"A Protestant clergyman of the Church of Scotland, named Taylor, celebrated the marriage ceremony to two Catholics; and this hurt my feeling very much; therefore I thought it my duty to write him a letter in very impolite[22] manner, as is the custom of all Roman Catholic priests to do, to which he answered very kindly, and sent me also some Protestant books to read;—of course I refused to read them, and I returned them to him. But God put into his heart to call, as he did, on me. He spoke to me a new language, which I had never before heard;—it was the language of a true Christian—(how sinner is justified before God). This language, by the grace of God, touched my heart in such a manner that I took a Protestant book and began to read. It was 'The Spirit of the Papacy,' which opened my eyes, and I began to perceive the errors of the Church of Rome. Then, quite another man, I opened the Holy Bible, and confirmed myself that the Catholic religion is in perfect contradiction to the word of God, and that the Protestant Church was the Church in which God called me; therefore I opened my mind to the Rev. Mr. Jackson, who was the military Protestant chaplain at Belgaum, and a great friend of mine. He advised me to write to Dr. Carr, bishop of Bombay, which I did; and his lordship was pleased to answer me in a very polite manner, begging me to write my sentiments about the real presence of our Lord Jesus Christ in the Sacrament, and a treatise on the spiritual power of the Pope, which I also did; and then he wrote to me to go to Bombay, where I embraced the Protestant religion; that is to say, the pure religion of the Gospel.

"A Spanish Jesuit priest, named Francis Xavier Serra, whom I never saw before, called on me, in a secular dress; and, speaking the Italian language well, he told me that he was an Italian layman, and having heard that I was an Italian too, he called on me: but he did not mention anything about religion, saying he did not care about it;—and he was very kind to me. He called on me four or five times; till one day, being a very agreeable evening, he begged me to take a round with him, which I did. And we went near the Catholic church, and to my great surprise, I was taken by four men, and forced to go to the vicar-general, where they forced me to write a letter to the Protestant minister, Mr. Valentine, in whose house I lived, stating my intention to return to the Catholic religion; which I am very sorry to say I did. They then closed me in a room, till Sunday; when the vicar took me by force to the pulpit, and dictated to me what I was to say to the congregation; and he obliged me to declare that I left the Catholic religion for worldly motives; which was quite contrary to my sentiments. When night came, they took me from the room in which I was closed, and delivered me to a captain of a French ship, as a prisoner; with the order to take care of me to Marseilles, where he delivered me to the bishop; who, with a French priest, sent me to Rome. From Rome I was sent, as a punishment, to a convent at Perugia, where I remained for five years, till I got again my liberty, and returned to Rome; this was in November 1848.

"I am sure, Sir, you are not surprised to hear the treachery made to me at Bombay by that Jesuit, and by the vicar. Besides, you must know that the vicar, whose name is Father Michele Antonio, for his bad character, had been put in gaol for six months, by the British Government at Bombay.

"Now, Sir, I live in a most miserable estate of mind, being from my heart a Protestant, yet I am obliged to observe the Roman Catholic forms; which is quite contrary to my feelings. I am very sorry that I had not in India the Christian courage which you have demonstrated just now in Rome: but you must know that they threatened me with brutal menaces, and that I was too young.

"I am at present firmly resolved to fly from this Babylon, and embrace again the pure doctrine of the Gospel; to remain in the faith, by the grace of God, till my death, and to preach it throughout the world....

"I have the honour &c.
"Your Brother in Jesus Christ,

"N. N."

"Rome, the 26th Feb. 1850."

This adventure at Bombay proves that the Inquisition is not only in existence, but sufficiently daring to carry on its operations even within the British dominions: and we see the manner in which it acts. In Bombay, the recantation of this poor priest is all that is known (as an English missionary, who was there at the time, told me): it was said, indeed, that he had since left the country; but no one knew of the treachery of the Jesuit, or of the tricks of the apostolic vicar.

Similar events occur, more or less frequently, in various parts of the world; most commonly in the Levant; since the Turkish governor does not grant his protection to foreigners, and the obliging consuls of Austria, France, and Naples generally have the complaisance to arrest whomsoever the bishops require, and send them to Rome. It is notorious that in Constantinople, in the year 1847, an Armenian priest, D. Giovanne Keosse, although an Ottoman subject and born in Constantinople, was seized in the night by four bullies from the Austrian Embassy, and hurried into a steamer, to be conveyed as a prisoner to Marseilles, and thence to Rome, to be handed over to the Inquisition. And all this took place by order of the Armenian Catholic Bishop.

This Keosse, who was confined in a cabin on board the steamer, found means to effect his escape, by slipping through the window, into a boat, while the vessel was disembarking a part of its passengers and goods at Smyrna. He subsequently put himself under the protection of the American consul; and the Austrian, finding himself discovered, gave up the affair, and so it ended. Keosse, however, did not feel at all sure of his safety from the grasp of the Inquisition, so long as he remained under the Ottoman Government; and being advised to go to Malta, he went there without delay, and there he remains at the present period.[23] This affair of Keosse was much talked about; several journals took it up; and some went so far as to insult the Embassy, for acting in the character of Inquisitors.

I certainly think these gentlemen must be ashamed of themselves for having lent their aid to the Inquisition of Rome; pretty much in the same manner as the French have reason to blush for having lent six chasseurs of Vincennes, to effect my imprisonment in the same place. But such is the witchcraft of this renowned harlot, that, almost without being aware of it, "all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her."[24]

We have seen constitutional Austria and republican France degrade themselves so far as to bombard our cities, to replace upon the throne—whom?—the head of the Inquisition! And Spain, that has shown so much determination in resisting priestcraft, monkery, and the dominion of the Inquisition, she also hastened to Rome,—and for what purpose? To assist in the restoration of the papacy!

But let us inquire 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 Ghislieri, who built the palace called the Holy Office, where so many victims fell a sacrifice to its 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."

In this book is the criminal code, with all the punishments for every supposed crime; also the mode of conducting the trial, so as to elicit the guilt of the accused; and the manner of receiving the accusations. I had this book in my hand, on one occasion, as I have related above, and read therein the proceedings relative to my own case; and I moreover saw in this same volume, some very astounding particulars: for example, in the list of punishments, I read concerning the bit, or as it is called by us the mordacchia; which is a very simple contrivance to confine the tongue, and compress it between two cylinders, composed of iron and wood, and furnished with spikes. This horrible instrument not only wounds the tongue and occasions excessive pain, but also, from the swelling it produces, frequently places the sufferer in danger of suffocation. This torture is generally had recourse to in cases considered as blasphemy against God, the Virgin, the Saints, or the Pope. So that, according to the Inquisition, it is as great a crime to speak in disparagement of a pope, who may be a very detestable character, as to blaspheme the holy name of God. Be that as it may, this torture has been in use till the present period; and to say nothing of the exhibitions of the same nature which were displayed in Romagna, in the time of Gregory XVI., by the Inquisitor Ancarani—in Umbria, by Stefanelli, Salua, and others, we may admire the inquisitorial zeal of Cardinal Ferretti, the cousin of his present holiness, who condescended more than once to employ these means, when he was Bishop of Rieti and Fermo.

Every one knows how the Holy Inquisition has surpassed every other tribunal by its exquisite ingenuity in torturing human nature. Must I bring examples from the Inquisition of Spain? That of Rome has her own to answer for as well. Through the mercy of Heaven, the former has come to an end; but that of Rome is still in full vigour.

I do not propose to myself to speak of the Inquisition of times past, but of what exists in Rome at the present moment: I shall therefore assert that the laws of this institution being in no respect changed, neither can the institution itself be said to have undergone any alteration. The present race of priests who are now in power, are too much afraid of the popular indignation to let loose all their inquisitoria fury, which might even occasion a revolt, if they were not to restrain it; the whole world, moreover, would cry out against them; a crusade would be raised against the Inquisition itself, and for a little temporary gratification, much power would be endangered. This is the true reason why the severity of its penalties is in some degree relaxed at the present time, but they still remain unaltered in its code.

Concerning the method of conducting a process, I read in the Libro Necro as follows: "With respect to the examination, and the duty of the examiners—either the prisoner confesses, and he is proved guilty from his own confession, or he does not confess, and is equally guilty on the evidence of witnesses. If a prisoner confesses the whole of what he is accused of, he is unquestionably guilty of the whole; but if he confesses only a part, he ought still to be regarded as guilty of the whole; since what he has confessed proves him to be capable of guilt, as to the other points of accusation. And here the precept is to be kept in view, 'no one is obliged to condemn himself,' nemo tenetur prodere seipsum. Nevertheless, the judge should do all in his power to induce the culprit to confess, since confession tends to the glory of God. And as the respect due to the glory of God requires that no one particular should be omitted, not even a mere attempt; so the judge is bound to put in force, not only the ordinary means which the Inquisition affords, but whatever may enter into his thoughts, as fitting to lead to a confession. Bodily torture has ever been found the most salutary and efficient means of leading to spiritual repentance. Therefore, the choice of the most befitting mode of torture is left to the Judge of the Inquisition, who determines according to the age, the sex, and the constitution of the party. He will be prudent in its use, always being mindful, at the same time, to procure what is required from it—the confession of the delinquent. If, notwithstanding all the means employed, the unfortunate wretch still denies his guilt, he is to be considered as a victim of the devil; and, as such, deserves no compassion from the servants of God, nor the pity or indulgence of holy mother Church: he is a son of perdition. Let him perish, then, among the damned, and let his place be no longer found among the living."

This most astounding page is followed by another, in which is given the mode of obtaining a conviction. Various means are pointed out to establish the guilt of the prisoner, and to declare him deserving the condemnation of the tribunal. For example, Titius is accused of having eaten meat on Friday or Saturday. The Inquisition does not permit the name of the accused to appear, neither those of the witnesses. The accusation is laid that Titius has eaten meat in the house of Caius. Sempronius is the accuser, and he summons the family of Caius to give evidence; but, as these have been accomplices in the same affair, they cannot be induced to depose against Titius; perhaps other witnesses may be brought, who may be equally incompetent. In which case the wary judge endeavours to draw from the prisoner himself sufficient to inculpate him. He will first inquire respecting several other families the points which he wishes to know with regard to that of Caius. He will try to learn at what other houses Titius has been accustomed to eat, in order to know concerning the house of Caius, where the meat was eaten. The accusation sets forth that on such a day, at such an hour, Titius went to the house of Caius, where the whole family were present, and that all sat down to table, &c. &c. If Titius admits all the circumstantial matters brought forward by the accuser, with respect to time, place, and persons, but is silent, or denies entirely the only crime imputed to him, he stands convicted: the accuser has no necessity to bring forward witnesses: judgment is pronounced.

This practice is still employed by the Inquisition. In the year 1842, I was accused of having spoken, in a certain house, against the worship of saints. If the judge had made my accusation known (as is the case in all other tribunals throughout the world), saying to me: You are accused of having, in such a house, spoken of such and such matters, in the presence of so and so,—I should have known my accuser by the part he would take in the question. But instead of interrogating me in a straightforward manner, I was made to give a description of the house in question, together with that of several other houses; to describe the persons belonging to it, and many other persons at the same time; to discuss the real subject of accusation, mixed up with other irrelevant matters, in order to mislead me as much as possible, and prevent me from gaining any insight whatever of the points of which I was accused, or of the persons who had accused me. Whether I confessed or not, I was to be declared guilty, or, as they term it, reo convinto.

With regard to these denunciations, the Inquisition declares that, in matters of offences against religion, it is the positive and bounden duty of every one to become an accuser. Children may and ought to accuse their parents, wives their husbands, and servants their masters. The law is, according to the decrees of several popes, that whoever becomes acquainted with any offence committed against religion, whether from his own knowledge, or from hearsay, is bound, within fifteen days, to bring forward his accusation before an inquisitor, or the vicar of the Holy Office; or, where these are not present, before a bishop. The crime, whatever it may be, not only attaches to the principal and the accomplices, but also to every one who knows of it and does not reveal it. So that if you, for example, dear reader, should unfortunately belong to the Church of the Inquisition, you would be obliged to accuse not only me, who address you, but all those who, together with yourself, listen to me: and whoever knows that you have listened to my discourses, although he himself may never have heard me, is under the obligation to denounce you to the Inquisition. The punishment for non-observance of this duty is excommunication, which excludes the party subject to it from the benefit of all the sacraments, and shuts him out from the kingdom of heaven. Moreover, besides excommunication, he is liable to be imprisoned in the Inquisition, and to suffer such other punishment as may be deemed necessary. Even the very Cardinals, and the Inquisitors themselves, are not exempt from this obligation; the Pope himself has followed the example. My letters to Gregory XVI. were immediately forwarded to the Inquisition, by his own hand. I have reason to believe that Pius IX. did the same when I wrote to him. All this we may overlook: but that a wife should be obliged to accuse her own husband, or a mother her children, is too dreadful to think of.

I will here relate a fact which it always pains me to recall to mind; and which, until the present occasion, I have never before spoken about. During my residence at Viterbo, my native town, where I was public professor and teacher in the College of 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 grant 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 nearly a year since I 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."[25]

"Well, but I have nothing to do with the Holy Office."

"How? are not you 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,' persisted 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 will soon be 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 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 Inquisitor 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 intreat you first to correct 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 tranquillize her mind with respect to having to denounce her son. I advised her to change her confessor, and to be silent with regard to him—anyhow she was not in fault. And if confession, I further remarked, be a sacrament that pardons sins, it can never be made a means of unwarrantably obtaining information as to the words or deeds of another.

But had I really been Vicar of the Holy Office, what would have been my duty in this matter? To receive the accusation of a mother against her own son. An unheard-of enormity! She naturally would have made it in 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.

Now let us see what is done by the Inquisitors. In what is called the Holy Office, everything is allowable that tends to their own purposes. To gain possession of a secret no means are to be disregarded; not even those against our very nature. For a father and a mother to reveal the thoughts of their own children, so trustingly confided to them,—a revelation which may lead to their death,—is so great a crime that we cannot imagine one more base. And yet the Inquisition not only sanctions, but enjoins it to be done, daily. And this most infamous Inquisition, a hundred times destroyed, and as often renewed, still exists in Rome, as in the barbarous ages; the only difference being, that the same iniquities are at present practised there with a little more secrecy and caution than formerly: and this for the sake of prudence, that the Holy See may not be subjected to the animadversions and censure of the world at large.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] St. Thom. 2d. 9: xi. art. 3.

[17] The bishops swear to observe the laws of the Inquisition.

[18] Father Ancarani, an Inquisitor of forty-five years standing.

[19] This most reverend personage is a man of mild temper, apparently incapable of cruelty. He was at that time one of the Counsellors of the Inquisition.

[20] Bernard of Chiaravalle.

[21] Peter the Hermit.

[22] As the style does not interfere with the sense, it has not been deemed necessary to correct the foreign idioms in this letter.

[23] We have lately learned that this worthy has again entered the Romish Church. It appears that even while he was employed in the Malta College, he was negotiating with Rome for his pardon; on what precise terms is not known, but certainly on condition of abjuring Protestantism, and declaring himself its adversary. It is said he is now at the Propaganda.

[24] Rev. xviii. 3.

[25] Every offence of which the Inquisition takes cognisance is called "an offence against the Holy Office."

CHAPTER V.

THE SUBTLETY OF THE INQUISITION.

The case of this poor woman, obliged to denounce her son, is in accordance with both the old and new regulations of the Inquisition; and the manner in which it was endeavoured to be enforced is of common occurrence. Many other means are also in use among the artifices of this Holy Office, to induce persons to betray their friends. A wife, however, who is called upon to accuse her husband, has to encounter still more difficulty than a mother under the obligation to accuse her children. Indeed, such a circumstance would never take place, if the husband could discover that it was the intention of his wife to lay open his secret thoughts before so horrible a tribunal, the consequence of which would be speedy arrest, torture, and condemnation!! The difficulty of this case could not escape the observation of the Roman Court. If it was known as a certainty, in even a single instance, that a wife, to oblige a priest, had betrayed her own husband, and that the priest had made use of the confessional to induce the woman to the commission of such an act, would any husband calmly see his wife going to confession, and not apprehend that between her and the confessor some plot might be hatching against him? A single doubt, a mere suspicion, would be enough to sow discord between a married pair; and as in Italy the physical temperament is sufficiently ardent easily to fall into excesses, it might happen that, through the agency of the priest, the husband might beat, repudiate, or even murder his wife.

How then is it to be managed that the wife shall betray her husband with the least chance of his discovering her treachery? The best method is, that she should be instructed by her confessor to go to another town, where she is not known, and there make her disclosure; keeping it secret that she is the wife of the accused, and concealing his real name, till the confessor has disclosed the affair to the Inquisition, which alone knows all the intricacies of the proceedings. And since, moreover, it might happen that the husband might know that his wife, under a false pretence, had gone to another place to see the Inquisitor, or the Bishop's Vicar, the Inquisition grants to other persons the privilege of receiving an accusation; constituting them Sub-Inquisitors for that single case, under the pledge of inviolable secrecy. This arrangement is not merely imaginary, but really takes place; and in confirmation of it, I will here, for the first time, relate another fact which happened to myself.

In the year 1832 I was living at Viterbo, occupied with many duties, which precluded me from the enjoyment of a moment's leisure. In the Civic College I was, during seven years, Professor of Logic, Metaphysics, and Ethics; in the College di Gradi, during five years, I was chief Professor of Theology; in the Bishop's Seminary, I was Professor of the Holy Scriptures, which chair was founded by myself, and ceased on my departure, after I had held it for two years. I was Sub-Master of the Sacred Palace three years under Cardinal Velzi, and three years under the most Reverend Father Buttaoni; I was also yearly Preacher at the Church di Gradi, and Superior of the Monastery, with the title of Grand Vicar. And, lastly, I was Confessor to the Apostolic Delegate, who is the governing Prelate of the province; and as such I was in the habit of receiving many applications from all classes of people, who had recourse to me, to obtain favour or justice from the delegate.

One day, when I was very busy, a lady was announced, who, without sending in her name, earnestly desired to see me. I imagined she only came with some request concerning the delegate, and therefore sent word that I was too much engaged at that moment to be able to see her. The lady persisted, and I sent the same excuse. At last, finding that I was firm, the lady handed a letter to the lay-brother, sealed with a large seal, and directed to "The Very Reverend Father, Professor G. Achilli, Gradi, Viterbo." The seal was that of the Roman Inquisition, signed by the Commissary-General. The letter was as follows:—

"Very Reverend Father,—The Sacred Congregation of the Most Eminent and Reverend Cardinals, in their sitting of Wednesday, the ... have desired me to hand over to you the enclosed form of denunciation, according to which you will have the goodness to examine and interrogate the lady who is the bearer of it; avoiding to ask of her name, the place she comes from, and her connexion with the party accused; all which are already known to the Sacred Congregation. For this purpose I am authorized to invest you with all necessary authority on this particular occasion, and for this time only. I recommend to you all necessary prudence, and to be mindful of the inviolable secrecy due to the Holy Office, the slightest breach of which is punished with ecclesiastic censure, and is finally referred to the Pope.

"You will have the goodness to send back, with all diligence, after the performance of this duty, not only the formula of questions, with the answers to them, but also the present letter, of which no copy is to be taken.

"May the Lord prosper you."

"Rome, from the Palace of the Holy Office,
March 1832."

When I had finished reading the letter, I felt a curiosity to see this mysterious visitor. I therefore descended to the apartment where she was waiting for me, and I saw a lady, about thirty years of age, well dressed, and in a style that announced her to belong to the wealthier class: her accent showed that she came from another part of the country. She received me with some degree of consternation in her manner, and replied to me half trembling, and with downcast eyes, and evident anxiety.

"Signora, I have received a letter through you; the contents must be known to you. Will you inform me in what manner you obtained it?"

"From my confessor: I do not know whether directly from Rome, or through the bishop."

"Can you make it convenient to prefer your accusation another time?"

"I beseech you, let me do so at present, since to-morrow I am obliged to return home."

I considered with myself whether I could not find some excuse for not acting in this business, and so avoid all trouble by sending the Signora away; or whether I had not better sacrifice a little time to receive the accusation, and hear what it was about.

"Well, then," said I, "let us to business. I should imagine it would not occupy much time—what is your opinion?"

I then sat down before a table, and unfolded the formulary of questions, which were comprised in a printed sheet. I looked over the paper, to ascertain its tenor, and of what it treated. I thought no more of the lady; my mind was entirely occupied in considering how I should proceed, when a deep sigh aroused me, and made me turn my eyes towards her. She began to weep outright.

"What is the matter, Signora?—why do you weep?"

Tears and sobs were her only reply. I endeavoured to speak comfort to her.

"Signora, do not weep; calm yourself: reveal the cause of your affliction, and you may find relief. If you disclose your mind to me, I may, in my turn, say something that will console you; but if you do nothing but shed tears, I must send some other person to attend to you, for I have business which I cannot postpone."

She grew calmer by degrees, and I began my task. The formula was in Latin; I had to translate it into Italian: her own answers were to be written down exactly.

I was displeased to see the act begin. "In the name of God," &c.: I felt also unwilling to put my own name at the head of the document, which said, "Before me, A. B., a certain woman presented herself." I had, nevertheless, a great desire to know the whole affair, and was, in some measure, pleased that the Inquisition had, on this occasion, required my services. I had always abhorred the Holy Office, and had intended, even from my earliest youth, to expose its iniquity, as far as it was possible for me to do so, whenever an occasion should occur. "The present is a good opportunity," I said to myself, "to get at the mysteries of the Inquisition. I shall doubtless learn some curious matters, which may be useful to me hereafter."

"Now, Signora, you must remember that it is your duty to declare the truth. I suppose it is no trifling affair that has induced you to denounce a person to the Inquisition;—above all, I desire to know what may have been your motives?"

"To save me from a hell."

"Sometimes it happens that in seeking to avoid one hell, we may fall into another; that in endeavouring to silence a scruple, we may incur remorse; and that the means we take to save the soul of another may endanger our own. Tell me, from what kind of hell do you seek to be delivered by this act?"

"The hell that I experience in entering a church. It is not every one who goes there that finds it a Paradise. God is there, Jesus Christ, the most holy Madonna, saints, angels, and holy water. It is there we are baptized, confess, and receive the grace of God. I alone participate in none of these ordinances in the church; therefore it has become hateful to me, and the priests are odious in my sight."

"And how does all this happen?"

"Father, it is as I say. You will understand it all. Relieve me from this load, and I shall hope to be able afterwards to make peace with God and the saints, and be delivered from this hell."

"Well, what is the deposition—the accusation you have to make?"

"Allow me, father, to relate my story from the beginning. I cannot tell you by halves."

So saying she remained thoughtful a few moments, and then exclaimed:

"I hardly know where to begin.—I would inform you—but—"

"Courage,—relate the affair simply as it is. I wish not to know either more or less than you choose to tell me. For example, I ask neither your name, your place of residence, nor what connexion you have with the party accused."

"Ah! Father, these are the express conditions on which I consented to disclose what I have to unfold. Shame forbids me to reveal either my name, my residence, or my connexions; since, were you ever to visit the town where I, with my family, reside, you would recollect a deed of which I am sure you cannot approve. And where would be the use of concealing the place of my residence, and telling you the name of the party whom I am to accuse? It is too well known that you should not yourself immediately recognise it. Oh, is it possible that at this price alone I am to recover my peace!—at this, and at no other, to be admitted anew to the privilege of confession, and the benefit of the other sacraments! That to be a Christian, I must consent to betray another!—to betray the person whom in all the world I best love!—enjoined to do so, both by Divine and human laws?"

As she concluded, she arose, and I observed that with the fingers of her right hand she pressed upon her left, and turned round a ring that was there, on the annular finger. She then resumed:

"Where then shall we in future hope to place confidence?—how trust in the sacredness of vows pledged at the altar? Can God be in contradiction to Himself? Are there two sets of laws, the one natural and the other contrary to nature? and are they both obligatory? Ought I, at the same time, both to love and to hate? Oh! what would he say if he knew what occupies me at this moment? And can I return joyfully to him, who little suspects what I am doing, to still live with him, and call him by the tenderest names, until the day comes, or perhaps the night, when the officers of justice shall secretly enter the house, apprehend, and take him away—and to what place? To the dungeons of the Holy Office! And who would have placed him there? I, myself, by the very act I am going to commit! But if I do not do so, I am in a state of perdition, since there will be no longer pardon or absolution for me! Excommunication, from which no one can deliver me, will be my fate! And he also will be excommunicated! His soul will be for ever lost, unless it be purified in the Inquisition!—Both of us to lose all hope of salvation and eternal life! And that, because we refuse to make fitting sacrifice on earth! These, Father, are the thoughts that agitate me, that divide my soul, that have led me here, and that have since sealed my lips. What ought I to do?—what reveal? I am miserable, because I listen at once to the flesh and the spirit; and whichever way I force myself to act, I am always divided against myself. Oh! why are not you, who are called fathers, husbands as well? then, as other men, you would have wives to love; and you would better comprehend these matters, and would see the value of the text, 'Do not to others what ye would not that men should do unto you.'"

"Let us come to an end, Signora. You have promised the Inquisition to make an accusation, and that as a matter of duty, or rather, from scruples of conscience. When you made this promise, you no doubt imagined you did what was right."

"No, Father, I do not deceive myself; I never thought I was doing right. In every point of view I considered I was doing wrong. Nevertheless, I judged it necessary; as it is necessary to have an arm or a foot cut off, that is in a state of gangrene. I looked upon it as a castigation from the Almighty; as if my house had been burned, or a heavy beam had fallen on my shoulders. I thought that God was angry with me on account of my sins, and that to appease Him I must sacrifice to Him what was most dear to me. I have often felt as if I should not survive so dire an event; the mere idea of it is afflicting to me beyond expression. Father, I am here to make a sacrifice of myself upon the altar, I regret to say it, of the Inquisition."

"And do you desire, Signora, that I should be the priest on the occasion? It is an office I have never performed. My hand is more ready to be stretched out for good than evil. I should feel remorse in sacrificing you. I thought that you were come to make your deposition voluntarily, or your own free-will; and even in that case I should have had some hesitation in receiving it: I repeat, I have never undertaken the office of an Inquisitor. In the present instance, I will by no means lend my aid to an act of violence. I am a minister of a God of Peace, of Christ, who died for our sins; and it is on condition of believing in what He has done for us that we obtain pardon. I do not find that any sacrifice is required of us, to be reconciled to God, unless it be the sacrifice of our spirit on the altar of faith. 'A humble and a contrite heart,' says David, 'O God, thou wilt not despise.' I find throughout the whole of the Bible a continual invitation to seek God; and to find Him there is but one way, which is Jesus Christ. He has said, 'I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man cometh to the Father but by me.' Moreover, He says to us, 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' And this is more particularly addressed to sinners, whose duty it is to go to Christ, and it is ours to endeavour to invite, to lead, to bring them to Him. Do you understand me, Signora?—to Him, and to Him alone, and not to the Inquisition."

"Ah! my Father," here exclaimed the Signora; "what balm you pour into my wounds! Your last words have restored me to life. It is to Christ then, and not to the Inquisition, that I shall trust my husband. Yes, my husband it is whom I am called upon to accuse, because he had spoken ill of the Pope, the Bishop, and the Priests; and had on one occasion declared that if he could be assured that the Pope was St. Peter himself, he would nevertheless spit in his face if he could. I told my confessor of this, not to accuse my husband, but to learn what course I had better pursue with him; adding, that at times he was so excited as scarcely to know the meaning of the words he uttered: but, without further inquiry, my confessor enjoined me to denounce him to the Inquisition. Finally, however, he proposed that I should do so to the Bishop; but as I would consent to neither proposition, he obtained permission from Rome that I should come to you at Viterbo, to prefer my accusation, without disclosing my name, or that the party accused was my husband. But you have shown me how far better it is that I should recommend him to the love of Christ, than to the wrath of the Inquisition. It appears that you agree with me, that in religion there cannot be any law contrary to nature. Oh, how often have I repeated on this occasion, what my husband so constantly asserts, that the priests have a religion and a morality contrary to nature! To compel a wife to accuse her husband! Is it not a demoralization? A bad wife may do so through motives of revenge; a good one would rather accuse herself. It is a base thing, in any case, to accuse a person secretly, without giving him any opportunity of exculpation, or allowing him to know who is his accuser. It is a crime that no moral duty can justify. Even the contemplation of such a step has driven me to the brink of self-destruction. But my confessor assured me that, in that case, both my husband and myself would be undoubtedly damned. And in confirmation of this, I once read, in some old work, a story of a certain woman who had refused, before her death, to make one of these disclosures; and in consequence, not only was her soul condemned to the torments of hell, but her body also found no rest in the grave, being continually forced to leave it, until, being conjured with holy water to declare the cause of its disquiet, it replied that it was so punished because it had not obeyed the injunction it had received, to accuse certain heretics to the Inquisition; but as all present earnestly prayed to the Madonna, it was granted to this unhappy body to return to life, for the space of half an hour, that it might prefer its accusation to the Inquisition; after which, it died anew."

"And do you believe this story?"

"I was unwilling to do so, but the Priest showed me that the book was printed con licenza de' superiori. To tell the whole truth, my idea was, to obey our Holy Church, in this barbarous law, and then to commit suicide, leaving behind me a letter to my husband, explaining the motives that had led me to the act. But God be praised, I shall now neither accuse him, nor put an end to my own existence. You have doubly saved my life, in saving my honour and my conscience. God will reward you for the charity you have shown me. I shall return to my home and to my family. But what must I say to my confessor?"