However it were, after the Papal restoration, about 150 individuals were thrown into prison, accused of being the accomplices or the abettors of these crimes. Some of the accused, perhaps the guilty, were never taken, having fled from the country. About eighty were condemned to the galleys for life, the remainder to death.[450] Forty of the unfortunates have already been executed, and the rest will meet the same fate when the Pope shall find executioners as clement and humane as himself;—the garrison of Ancona having to a man refused to be any longer the accomplices of the Papal revenge.
What is of more importance than all this, is to place before the eyes of our readers and civilised Europe the manner in which political trials are conducted in the Roman states, in order that they may be aware of the justice, charity, and humanity which characterise the acts of him who blasphemously calls himself a god upon earth, the representative of Christ.
Whoever has the misfortune to incur the displeasure or the hatred of his Holiness, his ministers, a policeman, a sbirro, the bishop, the curate, a monk, or any other of such rabble, which form an integral part of the biform Papal government, is thrown into a dungeon, helpless, comfortless, alone, and during several months hears and sees nothing else than the grating sound of the rusty bolts, and the inauspicious face of his guardian, who comes to bring his miserable pittance of food, and to ascertain that the victim cannot make his escape. After a longer or shorter space of time, but never shorter than three or four months, according to the hatred or fear the prisoner has inspired, or the interest possessed by his friends without, he is brought before a cancelliere o giudice processante, a sort of scribe, by whom he is interrogated.[451] In that examination all the care of the man of police—we cannot call him a magistrate—is directed to elicit from the victim a confession of his crime, or the name of his accomplices, if he is supposed to have had any. Promises of liberty, favour, and recompence, are held out to him as an inducement to dishonour or perjure himself. These examinations are repeated every three or four months; and when at last the man of the law has, after some years, obtained what he wished, or despairs of obtaining it, the process is announced to be closed, and the judgment is going to be delivered. Then, and not till then, the accused may confer with a legal adviser, generally assigned to him, ex officio, by the tribunal; and some little space of time is granted to him to prepare his defence. But how can he defend himself? He knows neither the names of his accusers nor of the witnesses who have made the accusation good. He is not allowed to confront and cross-examine them. Even his answers to the different questions put to him by the cancelliere are noted down, not as actually given by him, but as it was desired that they should be given, in order that he may appear a criminal, the only result which the judges wish to obtain. When the advocate has delivered his defence, the secret tribunal pass judgment without even seeing the face of the prisoner; and this judgment is without appeal. Such is the general practice observed in political trials. Robbers are a little better treated. In the peculiar case which we are considering, we have to add, that, as far as has transpired, all the witnesses who were called to give evidence against the accused belonged to the adverse party—the party of the Jesuits, thirsting for revenge, and eager to shew their devotion to the sect. It may be easily understood that those witnesses were not very scrupulous as to the charges they brought against the accused, being assured, as they were, that their names would never be made public, and that they would not be confronted with the prisoner, nor be cross-examined by anybody.
And nevertheless, it was upon such testimony that the tribunal of the Consulta, composed of cardinals and prelates, condemned sixty unfortunate young men to suffer the last punishment of the law. We must further observe that, had those men who composed the tribunal, which they call Sacred, been judges, and not persecutors, had they had any sentiment of humanity in passing the sentence, even though the crime had been proved, they would have borne in mind the time and the motives which led the culprits to commit the murder, and would not have added another red page to the annals of their Church, already overcharged with innocent blood.[452]
Sinigallia, in which the executions were the most numerous, had not yet recovered from the horror inspired by such a bloody tragedy, and had not dried its tears for the cruel fate of its butchered citizens, and especially for the innocent and unfortunate Simoncelli,[453] when, to complete its miseries and insult its grief, there appeared a Papal ordinance, granting to the Jesuits £40,000 sterling to erect a college in the desolate city. Ah! so they reign in the Papal states!
When the Jesuits re-entered Naples in 1849, the superior held a sort of levee, when the generals of the army, the first magistrates of the kingdom, and all the civil and military authorities, went to pay their respects to those very humble monks. The addresses which were delivered on the occasion in praise of these men of Providence, these messengers of God, these restorers of all moral and sainted institutions, were, from their hyperbolical style, amusing in the extreme; and it is curious to find that some of them were repeated almost literally (plagiarism seems to become very fashionable now-a-days) by some bishops to Louis Napoleon, the saviour of society, the man of Providence, the pearl of chastity and virtue—just as was done to the fathers themselves.
If in Rome the Jesuits must shew deference to the chair of St Peter, in Naples they are masters of the situation. St Ignatius has superseded even St Januarius, and both have almost obliterated the name of Christ. The superstition and bigotry of that part of the peninsula exclusively under the sway of the Jesuits is almost incredible; and the government, conducted on those principles, has reached the highest point of immorality and corruption, and is held up by every honest person, no matter of what party, to the execration and contempt of Europe; while, to leave no doubt as to the influence which predominates there, the Pope, the Jesuits, and the priests, their abettors, represent Ferdinand II. as a model of Christian perfection, and the kingdom of the two Sicilies as the best governed in the world; the Roman states being of course excepted.
Unfortunately, the wretched Neapolitans, and the noblest and best amongst them, have to pay with their liberties and their lives for the eulogium awarded by the Jesuits to the merciless Bourbon. The policy of the Neapolitan governments is a disgrace to civilisation. A band of ruffians, under the name of police or government, seize upon all persons who have had the misfortune to displease them; their victims are thrown into prison, and are accused of imaginary crimes; while the accusers, changing themselves into witnesses, often into judges, in order to make good the charge, keep them chained for three or four years in Ischia, as in the case of Poerio and Dragonetti, and finally pass a sentence of death upon them, in order to give the pious and clement Ferdinand and his Jesuit confessor the merit of having commuted the infamous sentence into a horrid and perpetual imprisonment; and to all this complication of iniquities they give the name of a state trial. Such is the Neapolitan government under the conduct of the sons of Loyola.
But the malignant spirit of the Jesuits, in breaking forth from Naples and Rome, has lately made an inroad into a province which, till then, had been spared its pernicious influence. Among all the other provinces of Italy, Tuscany had been favoured with a comparatively just and tolerant government; and this, it was openly asserted, was owing to the absence of the Jesuits from the country. Now, whoever has followed the march of events there, must have been struck by the wide difference that exists between the former policy of the government and the new one introduced after Leopold II. had been some time at Gaeta, under the influence of Antonelli and the Jesuits. From that moment all things changed in Tuscany. The priests re-acquired an influence which they had never possessed since the time of Leopold I., and made it subservient to their unworthy ends. Madonnas became again miraculous. Feasts and processions were got up with the greatest pomp, and were numerously attended by all those who had anything to hope or fear from the government. A furious war was declared against all doctrines but those harmonising with the strictest ultra-Popish principles. Books and newspapers were interdicted, and no efforts were spared to bring the enlightened, lively, and intellectual people of Tuscany to limit their literary pursuits to the perfect knowledge of the Catechisms.
The influence of the too notorious Bocella, by his own confession a Jesuit, was, above all, fatal to the country. While he was the chief adviser of the Grand Duke, the Grand Duchess went in procession to worship a miraculous Madonna at Rimini, and Leopold himself ordered a sumptuous and extraordinary feast for another Madonna in Florence, to whose church he repaired in state. But at the same time, the most respectable citizens of Florence, Count Guicciardini and others, were prosecuted and exiled for the heinous crime of reading the Bible; and two unfortunate and inoffensive creatures—the Madiais—have been condemned to the punishment of malefactors (hard labour), for having in their possession the sacred volume, and for discussing and endeavouring to prove its veracity. Later still, an ordinance of the Grand Duke re-establishes capital punishment, which had long since been abolished; while another ordinance of the minister of police expels from the hospitable soil of Tuscany hundreds of unfortunate Italians, who had sought there a refuge against the ferocious and relentless persecution of the Roman Court. Such are the effects of the influence of the Jesuits.
What will become of Lombardy, already so wretched, now that Austria has decided on re-establishing the Jesuits there on an extended scale, it is disheartening to contemplate; while, on the other hand, it is cheering in the extreme for an Italian, and for every true friend of civil and religious liberty, to see the conduct of the Piedmontese government towards the Jesuits and the priesthood.
The Jesuits, after their expulsion, were never permitted to re-enter the kingdom, and the priests are now subjected, like other citizens, to the laws of the land, and are obliged to submit to that equality which they consider as a disgrace to their privileged caste. For it must be borne in mind that the priest, and the conscientious one more than others, considers himself a superior being, a man far above any layman, even though he were a king. He imbibes this idea from childhood, when he begins to dress in a peculiar garb, and is accosted by a respectful appellation. According to the canonical law (and in Italy that law is universally respected and strictly enforced, except, indeed, in Piedmont), the moment an infant assumes the garb of a priest, and receives the first order (tonsura), he is no more subject to the civil authorities; he is henceforth only amenable to the ecclesiastical court, and whoever strikes him, incurs de facto excommunication. After he has been consecrated priest, he pretends, or in reality believes, that it is in his power to oblige the Almighty to descend from heaven into his hands, and that at his bidding the flesh and blood of the Divine Redeemer is transubstantiated into bread and wine, and in that form goes to sanctify his breast. Again, he believes, or feigns to believe, that it rests with him to open or shut the gates of heaven, and that he has the power of bestowing everlasting beatitude or dooming to eternal damnation, according as he absolves from sin or refuses absolution. In fact, he puts himself in the place of God, of whom he calls himself the Anointed, and whose name he often usurps. When we consider all this, we do not wonder that the priests cannot endure equality of rights with other citizens. We are rather astonished that serious and enlightened people of this country can for a moment entertain the idea that the Irish Roman Catholic priests are sincere when they ask for equality of rights. Look to Piedmont; there the Romish priesthood enjoy this equality—nay, more than equality. Their religion is acknowledged to be the religion of the state; and many are the writers who have lately been condemned for disparaging it. They possess, also, some other less considerable privileges over the other citizens; and yet they are far from being satisfied. On the contrary, they accuse the government of tyranny. The bishops are in open rebellion against the sovereign; priests and curates oppose the laws of the country. The pulpit, the confessional, are made subservient to their hatred of the new state of things; and all this because the legislature attempts, not to deprive them of any right, or subject them to any incapacity, but to introduce equality, and to subject ecclesiastics of all sorts to the common law. The rage of the priesthood at this sacrilegious audacity on the part of the parliament, in seeking to assimilate them to other men, is such, that they have launched a solemn act of excommunication against all those who shall read the newspapers advocating such infamous measures. The Jesuits are at the bottom of all this, and their intrigues brought Piedmont but the other day to the brink of ruin. Fortunately, public opinion declared itself so strongly, and the king shewed such firmness, that their machinations proved abortive. It must be remarked in all this, that when the liberal newspapers reproach the clerical party with their acts or words, they always stigmatise them with the name of Jesuits—so universally is the abhorred name coupled with all that is bad, cunning, and criminal!
Appalling and ominous of incalculable consequences is the influence which the Jesuits have acquired in France—in that country which has prostrated all its past glory and its dignity as a nation, at the feet of an unscrupulous, merciless tyrant; endeavouring, at the same time, to forget its ignominy in the intoxication of feasts and champaigne. The Jesuits and priests are the firmest supporters of Louis Napoleon; and it is worthy of remark, that the bishops who are known for their ultramontane principles and their adherence to the Jesuitical discipline are those who lavish the highest eulogiums on the unprincipled usurper. This affords us another instance of the worldly spirit of the Popish clergy, and may be a salutary lesson for the future. For our own part, indeed, we are inclined to recognise in it the hand of Providence consummating the speedy downfall of the Popish religion. The conduct of Pius IX. has already extinguished in Italy the last lingering sentiments of respect and devotion towards the Papal religion. The Italians had hopes for a moment that Pius would reconcile them to the religion of their forefathers, by shewing that it is not a religion of blood and persecution, but of love and brotherhood, eminently liberal and national. They had hoped that Popery, to which Italy owes all its misfortunes, would now change, and restore to it part of its former glory. And this idea prevented them from renouncing altogether religion such as it is preached to them. But now that no doubt remains as to the true spirit of Popery, now that no one can reasonably entertain the least hope that it will ever change from what it has been—an institution founded on superstition, cemented with blood, and maintained by the axe of the executioner—now that the last testing experiment has shewn to all the world its utter helplessness against free physical force, it may be truly said that Popery has been irrevocably doomed in Italy. It may linger yet a while by the aid of despotic bayonets, but never again will the Italians, of their own free will, repose their faith in the religion of the Popes.
In precisely a similar manner are the priests and Jesuits now giving the last blow to the Popish religion in France. Let the present transient moment of delirium pass over, and the French nation will reconsider the servile and ignominious part played by the clergy in the recent immoral saturnalia. It will remember that the man who had perjured himself—who had caused thousands of citizens to be butchered because they were faithful to the laws—who had been a traitor to all governments from his youth—who had never kept his word—who had been distinguished for immorality and debauchery even among the unscrupulous lions of London and Paris—that this man was exalted by the surpliced emissaries of Rome as the man of Providence, the messenger of God, the restorer of morality and religion, and the benefactor of humanity. Who, need it be asked, will once again believe them, when speaking of the things of heaven, after they have lied so impudently and deliberately in speaking of the things of this world? But till a reaction take place, the Jesuits triumph in France.
As we have had occasion to speak incidentally, in various parts of this work, of the arts and practices employed at the present moment by the Jesuits against England, and as our readers have daily so many means of ascertaining the manners of the fathers in the public prints, we do not think it necessary to add anything more in this place. We have also little to say about the actual missions of the Jesuits in both Indies. They are neither prosperous nor important, and are only distinguished by their intrigues and by the war which they keep up against all other missionaries, whether Popish or Protestant. The actual wealth of the Jesuits, though considerable, is far from approaching the fabulous amount it possessed before the suppression. If our information and calculation are correct, and we believe they are, the total number of the members to be found on the register of the Order amounts to nearly six thousand—an enormous increase since 1814, and such, indeed, as to give to reflective minds serious apprehensions. But we have nearly exhausted the space we had allowed ourselves. We must pass to the conclusion.
We are now at the end of our labours; but, before parting with our readers, we would briefly call their attention to some of the chief points in our History. If we mistake not, the perusal of our narrative, imperfect as it may be, will convince even an indifferently attentive reader that Loyola had but one end in view—one fixed idea—namely, to establish an order which should domineer over society; and that his successors have been arrested by no scruples as to the means to be employed for obtaining this end. With the exception of this fixed rule, to which the Jesuits have adhered with undeviating constancy, it may be asserted that they have no principle whatever. The dogmas of their creed, the precepts of their moral code, their political principles, all these they have changed or modified according to places and circumstances. They have been against or in favour of the Roman See, according as it served or injured the interests of the order. They have proclaimed the unlimited sovereignty of the people, and have been instrumental in bringing many unfortunate persons to the scaffold, for resisting the tyrannical power of absolute monarchs. To accomplish their ends, they have all along thought that money would be the most efficient instrument; hence their insatiable desire of wealth, to accumulate which, they violated all laws, divine and human. The riches got by illicit means have been ever expended for still more culpable purposes. A Jesuit does not desire or spend money for his own personal self; he is frugal in his habits, and parsimonious in expenditure as far as regards mere comforts; but he is no miser. He does not hide his treasures in the bowels of the earth, but spends them freely to increase the influence and power of his order. The secret agent of the Society is handsomely rewarded; the spy liberally paid. Ministers of different sovereigns are bought over by princely largesses; and even the ruling beauties of courts are bribed to serve the order with costly and suitable presents.
The fathers were also persuaded, from the beginning, that it would greatly contribute to the grandeur and power of the order to insinuate themselves into the susceptible minds of the young, and they left nothing untried by which this might be effected. Other schemes—the conversion of heretics, the missions, the outward exercise of many of the Christian virtues—were all directed to the attainment of the same identical end—the aggrandisement of the order.
Two other principal facts are deserving of attention. The first is, that, from the beginning, the establishment of the Society was everywhere opposed, and in all places where it was finally admitted, it was subsequently, at different epochs, persecuted, and convicted of iniquitous and abominable crimes. The second fact is, that the Society of Jesus, though it may at times have disregarded its rules of internal policy, has nevertheless maintained its general primitive character; namely, its relentless domineering spirit, and the abnegation of every personal feeling in favour of the community. The Jesuits of the present day, unlike all other religious fraternities, which have invariably undergone so many modifications, are exactly the same as they were in Loyola’s lifetime. Founded by that bold, despotic, and ambitious man, it seems as if his spirit had transmitted itself into the whole Society, and presided over all its acts. The Company, so to speak, has perpetuated the life of Loyola. If we would personify the order, we might represent it, after his likeness, as an apparently humble and sainted man, deeply absorbed in the contemplation of heavenly things, while in reality revolving in his capacious and daring mind projects of unbounded ambition. There is no record in history of an association whose organisation has stood for three hundred years unchanged and unaltered by all the assaults of men and time, and which has exercised such an immense influence over the destinies of mankind.
This perseverance of the order in its principles and policy is comparable to nothing except the corresponding constancy of the world in the opinion which it formed of the Society at its commencement, and which it still retains. “The moment,” says an author of the beginning of the seventeenth century, “a great crime is committed, the public voice at once and unanimously accuses the Jesuits of being its perpetrators.” And the same sentiments with regard to them prevail to this day. In former times, indeed, that opinion was so strongly and universally received, that our forefathers, less scrupulous than we are in the administration of justice, at the simple announcement of a misdeed, brought the Jesuit before the tribunal, and sometimes unjustly condemned him for crimes of which he was guiltless. Do, then, the Jesuits, from the habit of committing crimes, bear on their countenances the indications of a criminal and wicked disposition, as is commonly the case with ruffians by procession? Or do they, by public and open misdemeanours, give the world a right to form this judgment of them? By no means. We have already said the reverse. They appear, on the contrary, to conduct themselves as the most innocent, most inoffensive, and holy of men; and, indeed, unless one has been present at the representation of Tartuffe, he would not easily recognise the Jesuit from the undisguisedly honest man. However, we would not be so illiberal as to say that all the Jesuits are knaves. Our lamented friend Gioberti, when Father Pellico said to him, “Are we, then, all assassins and robbers?” answered, “By no means. Individually, I consider you very honest fellows, and had I treasure, I would unhesitatingly intrust it to your keeping.” We would not perhaps go quite so far; but we will freely admit that the Jesuit may be individually honest, unless the interest of his order obliges him to be otherwise. For there are no considerations of religion, honesty, or virtue, which he does not feel himself bound peremptorily and at all times to sacrifice to this one supreme consideration. “The end sanctifies the means,” is his favourite maxim; and as his only end, as we have shewn, is the order, at its bidding the Jesuit is ready to commit any crime whatsoever.
Such, then, is the history of a Society dreaded and relied upon, worshipped and abhorred, which has produced little good, and infinite mischief, and which, having been hurled down from the pinnacle of splendour and glory, attempts now, with renewed vigour and unceasing activity, to regain the summit of its ancient pre-eminence. An appalling prospect, foreboding no good to the welfare of mankind! One cheering idea, however, still remains to dissipate the evil apprehension. The Jesuits, now more decidedly than ever, have identified themselves with the cause of despotism, fanaticism, and ignorance; and the day on which the tottering thrones of tyranny shall crumble under the mighty and resistless arm of progressive civilisation, they will bury deep and for ever under their ruins all traces of the influence once possessed by this most formidable and pernicious Society.
THE END.