CHAPTER XXI.

THE INQUISITION AT ROME AND DR. ACHILLI.

Rome, the seat and centre of papal intrigue, continued to maintain the Inquisition. Travellers have remarked, however, that the abominations and horrors of that tribunal have never appeared in so shocking a point of view in that city, as in Spain and Portugal. This, though matter of fact, has not arisen from the superior clemency and humanity of the Italians, or from the greater benevolence of their religion, but from peculiar circumstances. The avarice of the popes has dictated the necessity of a less sanguinary policy at Rome, while it has been enriched by multitudes of foreigners of the higher ranks, who had been attracted as visitors to Rome, to view the monumental remains of its ancient greatness and glory. But a feeling of dread would have prevented the approach of many, if the tribunal in that city had made a public exhibition of its victims. Persecution and punishments were, therefore, not permitted to the same extent in Italy as in Spain and Portugal; though deeds of cruelty, at which humanity shudders, were perpetrated in the private dungeons of the Inquisition.

Many serious persons were led to suppose that the suppression of the Inquisition at Rome had followed its abolition in Spain. This, however, was far from being the case, as appears from the various accounts given by recent writers, especially Dr. Achilli, concerning the state of that institution in Italy.

Pope Pius IX. knew that the regular staff of ministers and officers of the Inquisition had been maintained, with its confessors, familiars, and guards, requisite for carrying out its sentences, by his predecessor, Gregory XVI. And although there had recently been no public executions, from what was discovered in the palace of the Inquisition, when it was taken, on the flight of Pius IX., it is clear that only a very brief period had elapsed since its horrid sentences were carried into execution on many a miserable victim.

Pius IX., the present pope, although regarded by many as far surpassing in benevolence almost every former pontiff, has been a zealous supporter of that tribunal. Hence, “A Narrative of the Iniquities and Barbarities practised at Rome in the Nineteenth Century, by Raffaelle Civeci, formerly a Cistercian monk,” published in 1847, declares, “in Rome the Inquisition avowedly exists. In other parts of Italy it has changed its name, but not its character; for a government, in a degree not less galling, tyrannises over the consciences of men. Dominicans have given place to commissioners and inspectors, without renouncing their right to search out the secrets of all hearts, under the veil of a supposed sacrament, satisfied to find victims on whom to place their iron grasp. Whoever affirms that the bloody persecutions of the Vatican have ceased, asserts a falsehood.”

Salvatore Ferretti, a native of Tuscany, but who has been several years in London, editor of L’Eco di Savonarola, appeals,—“Has Pius IX. even abolished the infamous tribunal of the Inquisition at Rome? the following will answer this in the negative. ‘Deceived by the display of benignity and mercy upon the part of the new pontiff,’ says L’Indicatore, ‘we spoke, in the seventeenth number of our journal, 1846, of the unfortunate Archbishop Cashiur, who for twenty-one years has been confined in the dungeons of the Inquisition at Rome, guilty of no other crime than having proved the infallibility of a pope to be fallible. We hoped, if not for his entire liberation, at least for some indulgence towards the unhappy man, from the high clemency of Pius IX.’ Instead of this, our correspondent informs us that poor Cashiur is, by order of Pius IX., more severely treated than ever. The few concessions which had been made to him by Pope Gregory, have been taken from him by Pius IX. The pretext is, that the archbishop had had a dispute with brother Pius, a monk of the order of St. Dominick, and gaoler of the Inquisition; but the true motive, says our correspondent, is, ‘that it is wished to conceal from the whole world the existence of the infamous tribunal; and the sight of Cashiur, although disguised, taking his walks accompanied by his keeper, would indicate the existence of the Inquisition.’ O Rome, when wilt thou dare to raze from its foundations this infernal edifice? The sole remnant of the barbarism of the middle ages still exists within thy walls, and thou wilt call thyself civilised!

“What is consoling is the fact that Italy will not be slow to invoke the benefit of a religious reformation. There is only a Luther wanting to raise the first cry of alarm. It cannot be doubted that the papal religion in Italy is maintained only by the tortures of the Inquisition and the bayonets of Austria!”

Raffaelle Civeci gives the following statement regarding the way in which the inquisitor-general at Rome destroyed certain monks who, having found a Bible in the library, were desirous of introducing its study into their monastery. “The general, in order to crush the design, deemed it expedient to put in practice the celebrated maxim, divide et impera. The monk Stramucci was sent to the monastery of San Sevetinonelle Marche, where, owing to the insalubrity of the situation, or some other cause, he was, from a robust man, reduced to a skeleton. D. Andrea Gigli, curate in the monastery of Chiaravalle, was called to Rome. He was then in the enjoyment of excellent health, but in a short time his appearance was strangely altered, and after gradually sinking for two months, he was one morning found in bed a corpse. We were in the same college, and I was an eye-witness to the fact. D. Eugenio Gabrielli, who was in the flower of his youth, was, in the same manner, gradually declining for six months, and then, like the former one, died of what was called consumption. The Abbot Bucciarelli, a man of herculean stature, slept with his fathers after an illness of only three days. The Abbot Berti was, after two months, attacked by a slow fever, and expired after ten days’ illness. D. A. Baldini, at the expiration of thirty-four days, was seized with violent spasms and inflammations, and went to rejoin, in heaven, those martyrs who had preceded him. The other six, through a special interposition of Providence, escaped death; but all had to sustain, for many months, a dangerous struggle with this last enemy. Only D. Alberico and myself remained untouched by this mysterious agency, but we lived in daily expectation of sharing the same fate!”

Poison is known to have been administered, by the agents of the papal court, to obnoxious individuals; and these unhappy monks appear to have been carried off by that shocking means. Various forms of murder were practised also within the dungeons of the Inquisition, as it was commonly apprehended at Rome.

Dr. Achilli, for many years “Deputy Master of the Sacred Palace,” and himself a victim of that court at Rome, in a recent work, entitled, “Dealings with the Inquisition,” testifies to the continued enormities of that horrid tribunal. He says, “This disgrace to humanity, whose entire history is a mass of atrocious crimes, committed by the priests of the church of Rome, in the name of God and of His Christ, whose vicar and representative the Pope, the head of the Inquisition, declares himself to be—this abominable institution is still in existence, in Rome and the Roman states. The Inquisition existed in full vigour during the whole period of the pontificate of Pope Gregory. Pius IX. put on a show of liberality; but this pope, believed so liberal by many, was always secretly combined with the Jesuits and the Inquisition.”

Many were the victims of that atrocious court, sacrificed with fiendish cruelty in the secret dungeons of the Holy Office. Appalling proofs of this were discovered on the opening of the Inquisition, on the flight of the pope, in February, 1848. The celebrated Father Prout, a Roman Catholic priest, present on the occasion, in a letter to the London Daily News, therefore, describes the scenes that were witnessed by the citizens, at the opening of the dungeons of the Inquisition. “In one part,” he states, “you see a quadrangular court, surrounded by strongly barred dungeons; in another, a courtyard, along which extends a triple row of cages, resembling the port-holes of a three-decker; in another, skeletons in recesses; in another, a vault full of skulls, and piles of scattered human remains, directly under a perpendicular shaft four feet square, which ascended perpendicularly to the floor of the building above, and was covered there with a trap-door; and in another, two large subterranean lime-kilns, if they may be so called, shaped like a bee-hive, in masonry, filled with layers of calcined bones, forming the substratum of two other chambers on the ground floor, in the immediate vicinity of the very mysterious shaft above-mentioned. These horrible sights may be seen by every one in Rome. To-morrow,” says Father Prout, “the whole population of Rome is publicly invited by the authorities to come and see, with their own eyes, one of the results of entrusting power to clerical hands.”

Father Prout is believed also to have written the following paper, which was published, as a “Memorial regarding the tribunal of the Holy Office, at the time of its suppression in February, 1849:”—

“In consequence of a decree of the Roman Constituent Assembly, by which the suppression of the tribunal of the ‘Holy Office’ was resolved, the government ordered that the fathers of the Dominican order, then inhabiting that vast locality, should remove to the convent called ‘Della Minerva,’ the chief seat of their order. They were in number eight, exercising the functions of commissary, chancellor, &c. The doors were then carefully sealed by the Roman notary Caggiotti, to prevent the abstraction of any object, and a keeper was appointed to the premises. These precautions taken, the inventory was commenced. The first place visited was the ground-floor of the edifice, where were the prisons, and the stables, coach-houses, kitchens, cellars, and other conveniences for the use of the assessor and the father inquisitors. This part of the building was to be immediately prepared for the reception of the civic artillery, with the train belonging to it.

“Some new doors were opened in the wall, and part of the pavement raised; in this operation, human bones were found, and a trap-door discovered, which induced a resolution to make excavations in certain spots pointed out by persons well acquainted with the locality. Digging very deep in a place, a great number of human skeletons were found, some of them placed so close together, and so amalgamated with lime, that no bone could be moved without being broken. In the roof of another subterranean chamber a large ring was found fixed. It is supposed to have been used in administering the torture. It still remains there. Along the whole length of this same room, stone steps, rather broad, were attached to the wall—these, probably, served for the prisoners to sit or recline on. In a third under-ground room was found a quantity of very black and rich earth, intermingled with human hair, of such a length that it seemed women’s rather than men’s hair; here, also, human bones were found. In this dungeon a trap-door was formed in the thickness of the wall, which opened into a passage in the flat above, leading to the rooms where examinations were conducted. Among the inscriptions made with charcoal on the wall, it was observed that many appeared of a very recent date, expressing in most affecting terms the sufferings of every kind endured in these chambers. The person of most note found in the prison of the Inquisition was a bishop named Kasher, who had been in confinement for upwards of twenty years. He related that he had arrived in Rome from the Holy Land, having in his possession papers which had belonged to an ecclesiastic there. Passing himself for that person, he succeeded in surprising the court of Rome into ordaining and consecrating him a bishop. The fraud was afterwards discovered, and Kasher, being then on his way to Palestine, was arrested and brought to the prison of the Holy Office, where he expected to have ended his days—less, as he expressed himself, to expiate his own fraud, than the gross blunder of the church of Rome, which had no other means of concealing his character of bishop, its own absolute laws preventing his being deprived of it.

“The inventory of the contents of the ground flat being finished in a few days, it was then thrown open to the impatient curiosity of the public. The crowd that resorted to the scene was very great, and the public indignation rose so high, that there was a loud and general cry for the destruction of an edifice of such detestable memory. This feeling was so strong, that on a Sunday afternoon, in March, faggots were thrown into the cellars and other under-ground rooms, with the intention of setting fire to the building; and this would have been accomplished, had not a battalion of civic guards rushed to the spot from the Piazza di S. Pietro. To the truth of all that is here related, thousands, both Italians and foreigners, who visited the place can testify; and there exists also a detailed account of everything, written and solemnly attested with legal forms.

“Passing to the upper flat, the attention of the government was especially directed to the chancery and the archives; the first containing all the current affairs of the Inquisition; the second jealously guarding its acts, from its institution until now. Before commencing the catalogue of the contents of the chancery, it was resolved to remove such papers as might disturb or compromise the tranquillity of those persons who had relations with the Holy Office.

“Attention was especially directed to the book called ‘Solecitazione,’ (containing reports,) and to the correspondence. This was done by order of the government, which thereby gave another proof of that moderation which its enemies deny to it. It appears, from a careful examination of these documents, which remain for the inspection of such as desire proofs, that the past government made use of this tribunal, strictly ecclesiastical in its institution, also for temporal and political objects, and that the most culpable abuse was made of sacramental confession, especially that of women, rendering it subservient both to political purposes and to the most abominable licentiousness. It can be shown, from documents, that the cardinals, secretaries of state, wrote to the commissary, to the assessor of the Holy Office, to procure information as to the conduct of the suspected individuals, both at home and abroad, and to obtain knowledge of state secrets by means of confession, especially those of foreign courts and cabinets. In fact, there exists long correspondences, and voluminous processes, and severe sentences, pronounced upon La Giovine Italia, La Jeune Suisse, the masonic societies of England and Scotland, and the anti-religious sects of America, &c. There is an innumerable quantity of information and processes on scandalous and obscene subjects, in which the members of regular religious societies are usually implicated.

“Passing from the chancery to the archives, which is in the second floor, it appeared, on first entering, as if everything was in its usual place; but on further inspection it was found, with much astonishment, that though the labels and cases were in their places, they were emptied of the packets of papers and documents indicated by the inscriptions without. Some conjecture that the missing packets have been conveyed to the convent ‘Della Minerva,’ or were hidden in the houses of private persons; while others suppose that they were burnt by the Dominican fathers. This last hypothesis receives weight from the circumstance that in November, 1848, shortly after the departure of the Pope from Rome, the civic guard came in much haste to the Holy Office, from having observed great clouds of smoke issuing from one of the chimneys, accompanied by a strong smell of burnt paper. But whatever were the means, the fact is certain, that, in the archives of the Inquisition, the most important trials were not to be found; such, for instance, as those of Galileo Galilei, and of Giordano Bruno, nor was there the correspondence regarding the reformation in England, in the 16th century, nor many other precious records. There remains, however, nearly complete, a collection of decrees, beginning with the year 1549, down to our own days. They were divided year by year, each volume containing the decrees of one year. Of these, of all that was contained in the chancery and archives of the Holy Office, a catalogue has been taken, with every legal formality of certification. It ought to be added that, after the above-mentioned threat of setting fire to the Holy Office, it was unanimously decreed by the Assembly that, instead of destroying that vast edifice, it should be portioned into dwellings for poor families of Rome. In consequence of this decision, the government was obliged to remove all the papers in the chancery and archives, along with three libraries existing in the Holy Office, to the Palazzo dell Apolinare, which was the residence assigned for the Minister of Finance.

“Of these three libraries one was private property, the other two belonged to the Inquisition. It must not be omitted to notice that the Holy Office had its independent revenue, arising from gifts of state property, chiefly bestowed by Sixtus V. and Pius IV., amounting clear to about 8,000 scudi. This sum was chiefly spent in paying the monks attached to the Inquisition, some of whom received considerable salaries. In the above income is not included the money exacted from prisoners as board; the account of what was paid, for example, by the famous Abbess of Monte Castrelli, was found to be 3,000 scudi. The authorised paid agents of the Holy Office, called ‘Patentali,’ were well remunerated; indeed, this was a system by which many persons were demoralised and corrupted, whose birth and education should have removed them far from such a base and guilty traffic, but who were tempted, perhaps, by necessity.

“To conclude, in a few brief categories we may sum up the results of this inquiry:—

“1. That the court of Rome availed itself of the tribunal of the Holy Office for temporal and political ends.

“2. That to succeed in its purposes, the Holy Office had especially recourse to confession, of which it made the most enormous and abominable abuse, not only violating secresy, but tampering with its integrity.

“3. By means of confession, the most odious licentiousness was insinuated in the confessionals. With this branch, the Holy Office occupied itself with extraordinary diligence, but without finding a remedy for the causes of such scandal.

“4. That the Holy Office corrupted all classes, buying information and secrets.

“5. That the ecclesiastical nuncios at foreign courts are in constant correspondence with the Holy Office, and from possessing means of procuring intelligence quite peculiar to themselves, keep the court of Rome informed of the most hidden political secrets.”

Enormous as the abominations are which are thus testified concerning the Inquisition, they are only identical with what are recorded in the former part of this work; and this testimony is confirmed by the following paragraph in a letter from a friend at Rome, April 3, 1849, addressed to the Rev. E. Bickersteth:—

“The day before yesterday, the palace of the Inquisition was opened to the public. People crowded to see that horrible place, where so many good Christians have been tormented, under the pretext of being heretics. There were then seen the horrid dungeons where the victims of the papacy have been incarcerated.

“It seems that the inquisitors, in hopes of an intervention to bring back the Pope and cardinals to Rome, did not take sufficient care to remove certain objects which might betray their cruelty to the people. There were then to be seen in the lower dungeons, which are the worst, the squalid remains of the dresses, not only of men, but of women and children. On the walls are to be read expressions of grief written with charcoal, and some with blood. A trap-door was to be seen, and a burial with human bones. But a subterranean cave occasioned special horror, covered with remains of bones and earth mixed, including human skulls and skeletons of different forms and sizes, indicating persons of different ages. The only things which have not been found, with the exception of some things which might have been used for the purpose, are the instruments of torture, which were used to make the guilty confess. It seems that these they have been careful enough to destroy, if indeed they may not be found walled up in some corner; and for this end the government have determined to have the walls broken into, to discover what may be hid there. All who have seen those remains of clothing and bones, feel justly indignant at the inhumanity of those assassins, who, under the cloak of religious zeal, permitted every kind of cruelty. Would that those who wish to excuse that hellish tribunal, and who do not believe what others say to be truth, would come and see them with their own eyes. I wish that the friends and defenders of popery in England would come and touch these things with their own hands, and then tell me of what papal ministers are not capable, when they have the heart to perpetrate such barbarities. I shall urge the government to leave this place in statu quo for some time, so that my friends among the English may verify, with their own eyes, all that they hear said concerning this ‘Palace of the Inquisition.’”

Dr. Achilli and the Inquisition at Rome.—Popish policy by the Inquisition, at the present time, may be seen strikingly illustrated in the case of Dr. Achilli. His instructive volume records, according to its title, his “Dealings with the Inquisition.” He was born at Viterbo, in Italy, in 1803, and took the Dominican habit at the age of sixteen. In the year 1821 he was ordained a priest, and in 1826 appointed professor of various sciences in the Seminary and Bishops’ College at Viterbo. He filled the chair of Theology in the college of the Dominicans till 1833, when he was elected Regent of Studies, and Primary Professor in the College of Minerva, at Rome. He was then appointed Visitor, in the Roman States and in Tuscany, of the convents of the Dominicans, among whom he continued till 1839, when, disgusted with his order of monks, he left it by permission of Pope Gregory XVI., and preached four years at Naples. He returned in 1841 to Rome, where he was imprisoned for a hundred days in the Inquisition. From this he was liberated, in July, 1842, on renouncing, for perpetuity, all his honours and privileges; and the Holy Office decreed his dismissal from all branches of the ecclesiastical ministry. In October he left Italy and became a British subject, being employed as a professor of theology in the Malta Protestant College, especially for the training of young men, converts from Rome, for the evangelical ministry in Italy. In 1848, he came to England; but the revolution in Rome, and the flight of the Pope, led him to return to that city, to advance the cause of Christ, by preaching and circulating the Scriptures. He left London, January 8th, 1849, and entered Rome, February 2nd; on the 5th the Constituent Assembly met, forming a republic. On the 24th of June, Dr. Achilli married the daughter of Captain Hely; and on the 3rd of July the French army took possession of Rome, after a siege of three months, restoring the government of the Pope, under a triumvirate of cardinals. The prisons of the Inquisition were immediately crowded with their victims. No less than sixty priests, who had ministered consolation to the wounded and dying patriots, were seized and imprisoned; and, by the authority of the cardinals, aided by six French soldiers, three officials of the Inquisition arrested Dr. Achilli at midnight, July the 29th, and immured him in their dungeons. But the great wall of the Holy Office having been destroyed in the siege, he was removed next day to the Castle of St. Angelo. His imprisonment was soon known, and the religious community in England was roused at the outrage, so that the Council of the Evangelical Alliance presented strong appeals to the British and French governments on his behalf, and sent two gentlemen as a deputation to Rome. They were not allowed to see him; but, on account of this excitement, he was treated with comparative mildness: yet, it seemed, that he was designed to be sacrificed on the return of the Pope. The French government, perceiving their national honour tarnished by this imprisonment, contrived his liberation; and, notwithstanding the vigilant hostility of the cardinals, he was requested to give evidence before a military commission, and brought out, by two French soldiers, under this pretence, and furnished with all the means of escape in a military dress, January 19, 1850!

Dr. Achilli’s imprisonment in the Inquisition, and his liberation by the contrivance of the French general, produced a powerful sensation throughout Europe. It led multitudes to contemplate, and even to execrate the Romish Inquisition, as ruinous to individuals, and hostile to the best interests of nations. And by the exhibition of the abominable character of that court, in the records of his book,—“Dealings with the Inquisition,”—Dr. Achilli has conferred a lasting obligation on the Christian public; while it cannot fail to excite the righteous indignation of all the followers of Christ against that tribunal, and against the whole system of popery!

Dr. Achilli’s testimony, therefore, regarding his own imprisonment and the state of the Inquisition will be necessary in this place. He says, “I was imprisoned in the Inquisition from July 29th, 1849, to January 19th, 1850. Every precaution was taken to render my confinement 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, every thing indicated a determination, on the part of the church of Rome, to keep me in perpetual incarceration.

“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-organised, 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. The fact was, that I was detained captive, in order to grace the triumphal car of Pio Nono, on his return to Rome.

“The treatment experienced in this prison is certainly not so bad, in most cases, as it is in every other within the walls of Rome. The Castle of St. Angelo is chiefly set apart for prisoners of distinction. Cardinals and prelates who fall into disgrace with the Pope are confined in it. For this purpose there are a variety of apartments; in one of them are shown the iron rings that had the honour of securing the cord with which the celebrated Cardinals Caraffa, Coscia, and others, were hung. Pope Clement VII. was likewise a prisoner in this fortress, at the time of its occupation by the Imperial forces, which he himself had called into Rome. The records of this edifice, which, as everybody knows, was originally the mausoleum of the Emperor Adrian, would throw considerable light on the history of the papacy, and unfold many of the evil deeds of the popes. It has been the scene of the most unheard-of cruelties, as well as of the most shameless and revolting obscenities. The well-known orgies of Pope Alexander VI., which were celebrated partly in the gardens of the Vatican, and partly in the Castle of St. Angelo, have left a stain upon its walls which can never be effaced. Like the Pope’s bulls, it serves ‘ad perpetuam rei memoriam.’ In one of the halls are the notorious pictures by Julio Romano, of which it would be difficult to decide whether the artistical skill they display be more admirable, or the subjects they represent more grossly indecent and detestable. Colonel Calandrelli, one of the most valiant defenders of the republic, and a triumvirate after Mazzini—a gentleman equally learned in the history of his country, as he has shown himself brave in her service—has assured me that he has a work ready for publication, in which the whole history of this celebrated Castle is unfolded from authentic documents.”—Pp. 4, 25, 26, 465.

Cardinal Wiseman having attempted a vindication of the Inquisition, Dr. Achilli notices his jesuitical effort; and he asks, “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 [Bernard] and of a hermit [Peter]. 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; filled France with desolation, under Domenico di Gusman; 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 Pennefort, Peter Arbues, and Cardinal Torquemada. That 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. That same system which at this moment flourishes in Rome, which has never yet been either worn out or modified, and which, at this present time, in the jargon of the priests, is 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.

“But what is the Inquisition of the present day in Rome? It is the very same that was instituted, at the council of Verona, to burn Arnold of Brescia; the same that was established at the third council of the Lateran, to sanction the slaughter of the Albigenses and the Waldenses, the massacre of the people, the destruction of the city; the same that was confirmed at the council of Constance, to burn alive two holy men, John Huss, and Jerome of Prague; that which, at Florence, subjected Savonarola to the torture; and at Rome condemned Aonio Paleario, and Pietro Carnesecchi. It is the self-same Inquisition with that of Pope Caraffa, and of Fr. Michele Ghistieri, who built the palace called The Holy Office, where so many victims fell a sacrifice to their barbarity, and where at the present moment the Roman Inquisition still exists. Its laws are always the same. The Black Book, or Praxis Sacræ Romanæ Inquisitionis, is always the model for that which is to succeed it. This book is a large manuscript volume, in folio, and is carefully preserved by the head of the Inquisition. It is called Libro Nero, The Black Book, because it has a cover of that colour; or, as an inquisitor explained to me, Libro Necro, which, in the Greek language, signifies, The Book of the Dead.”—Pp. 106, 109.

Dr. Achilli mentions some cases illustrative of the atrocious wickedness of the inquisitors: one of these will strikingly exhibit “the mystery of iniquity” in their system. He says, “During my residence at Viterbo, my native town, where I was public professor and teacher in the church di Gradi, I was one day applied to by a lady of prepossessing appearance, whom I then saw for the first time. She requested, with much eagerness, to see me in the sacristy; and as I entered the apartment, where she was waiting for me, she begged the sacristan to leave us alone, and suddenly closing the door, presented a moving spectacle to my eyes. Throwing off her bonnet, and letting loose in a moment her long and beautiful tresses, the lady fell upon her knees before me, and gave vent to her grief, in abundance of sighs and tears. On my endeavouring to encourage her, and to persuade her to rise and unfold her mind to me, she at length, in a voice broken by sobs, thus addressed me:—

“‘No, father, I will never rise from this posture, unless you first promise to pardon me my heavy transgression.’ (Although much younger than herself, she addressed me as her father.)

“‘Signora,’ replied I, ‘it belongs to God to pardon our transgressions. If you have in any way injured me, so far I can forgive you; but I confess I have no cause of complaint against you, with whom, indeed, I have not even the pleasure of being acquainted.’

“‘I have been guilty of a great sin, for which no priest will give me absolution, unless you will beforehand remit it to me.’

“‘You must explain yourself more fully; as yet I have no idea of what you allude to.’

“‘It is now about a year since I last received absolution from my confessor; and the last few days he has entirely forbid me his presence, telling me that I am damned. I have tried others, and all tell me the same thing. One, however, has lately informed me, that if I wished to be saved and pardoned, I must apply to you, who, after the Pope, are the only one who can grant me absolution.’

“‘Signora, there is some mistake here, explain yourself: of what description is your sin?’

“‘It is a sin against the Holy Office.’

“‘Well, but I have nothing to do with the Holy Office.’

“‘How? are you not Father Achilli, the vicar of the Holy Office?’

“‘You have been misinformed, Signora; I am Achilli, the deputy-master of the Holy Palace, not Office: you may see my name with this title prefixed to all works that are printed here, in lieu of that of the master himself. I assure you that neither my principal nor myself have any authority in cases that regard the Inquisition.’

“The good lady hereupon rose from her knees, arranged her hair, wiped the tears from her eyes, and asked leave to relate her case to me; and having sat down, began as follows:—

“‘It is not quite a year since, that I was going, about the time of Easter, according to my usual custom, to confess my sins to my parish priest. He being well acquainted with myself and all my family, began to interrogate me respecting my son, the only one I have, a young man twenty-four years of age, full of patriotic ardour, but with little respect for the priests. It happened that I observed to the curate that, notwithstanding my remonstrances, my son was in the habit of saying that the business of a priest was a complete deception, and that the head of all the impostors was the Pope himself. Would I had never told him! The curate would hear no further. ‘It is your duty,’ said he, ‘to denounce your son to the Inquisition.’ Imagine what I felt at this intimation! To be the accuser of my own son! ‘Such is the case,’ observed he, ‘there is no help for it—I cannot absolve you, neither can any one else, until the thing is done.’ And, indeed, from every one else I have had the same refusal. It is now twelve months since I have received absolution; and in this present year many misfortunes have befallen me. Ten days ago I tried again, and promised, in order that I might receive absolution, that I would denounce my son; but it was all in vain, until I had actually done so. I inquired then to whom I ought to go, to prefer the accusation; and I was told, to the bishop, or the vicar of the Holy Office, and they named yourself to me. Twice, already, have I been here, with the intention of doing what was required of me, and as often have I recollected that I was a mother, and was overwhelmed with horror at the idea. On Sunday last I came to your church, to pray to the Virgin, the mother of Christ, to aid me through this difficulty; and I remember that when I had recited the rosary in her honour, I turned to pray also to the Son, saying:—‘O Lord Jesus, thou wert also accused, before the chief priests, by a traitorous disciple: but thou didst not permit that thy mother should take part in that accusation. Behold, then, I also am a mother; and, although my son is a sinner, whilst thou wert most just, do not, I implore thee, require that his own mother should be his accuser.’ Whilst I was making this prayer the preaching began. I inquired the preacher’s name, and they told me yours. I feigned to pay attention to the discourse, but I was wholly occupied in looking at you, and reflecting, with many sighs, that I was under the obligation to accuse to you my own child. In the midst of my agitation a thought suddenly relieved me, I did not see the Inquisition in your countenance. Young, animated, and with marks of sensibility, it seemed that you would not be too harsh with my son; I thought I would entreat you first to convert him yourself, to reprimand, and to threaten him, without inflicting actual punishment upon him.’

“I shall not recapitulate my injunctions to this poor woman, to tranquillise her mind with respect to having to denounce her son. I advised her to change her confessor. But, had I really been vicar of the Holy Office, what was my duty in this matter? To receive the accusation of this mother against her own son. An unheard-of enormity! She naturally would have made it with grief and tears, and I should have had to offer her consolation. And since this horrible act of treason has the pretence of religion about it, I should have employed the aid of religion to persuade her that the sacrifice she made was most acceptable to God. Perhaps, to act my part better, I might have alluded to the sacrifice demanded of Abraham, or Jephtha; or cited some apposite texts from Scripture, to calm and silence the remorse of conscience she must have experienced, on account of the iniquity of bringing her child before the Inquisition.”—Pp. 115-119.

CHAPTER XXII.

FEMALE INQUISITIONS IN ROME.

Romish policy in the Inquisition, as we have seen, is not limited to the Holy Office. Its influence and its morals are felt throughout the whole circle of society in popish countries; and its operations extend to all classes, even to the educational and public institutions. It is seen in the religious houses. We have, in Chapter XIX., some affecting examples and illustrations of the enormities and immoral practices of the celibate priests, among all ranks. And such evils are known to have been common in convents and nunneries. These have been considered as so many “Female Inquisitions.” Many of them are, in a proper sense of the term, prisons, whose unhappy inmates are altogether in the power of the priests. They are governed and regulated by rules framed or sanctioned by the “Holy Office;” and in what manner soever the recluses are treated, they have no means of redress, being entirely removed from the jurisdiction of the civil magistrate, secluded in secret apartments, to which priests only have access.

What is the general character of both priests and nuns, in Roman Catholic countries, is testified by many; and the testimony of the Rev. Blanco White, formerly chaplain to the king of Spain,—as he had the best means of information,—will be satisfactory regarding his own country. He says,—“Men of the first eminence in the church were the old friends of my family—my parents’ and my own spiritual directors. Thus I grew up, thus I continued in manhood, till at the age of five-and-thirty, religious oppression, and that alone, forced me away from kindred and country. The intimacy of friendship and undisguised converse of sacramental confessions opened to me the hearts of many whose exterior conduct might have deceived a common observer. The coarse frankness of associated dissoluteness left, indeed, no secrets among the spiritual slaves, who, unable to separate the laws of God from those of their tyrannical church, trampled both under foot in riotous despair. Such are the sources of the knowledge I possess: God, sorrow, and remorse, are my witnesses.

“What need I say of the vulgar crowd of priests, who, coming, as the Spanish phrase has it, from coarse swaddling clothes, and raised by ordination to a rank of life for which they have not been prepared, mingle vice and superstition, grossness of feeling and pride of office, in their character? I have known the best among them; I have heard the confessions of young persons of both sexes, who fell under the influence of their suggestion and example; and I do declare that nothing can be more dangerous to youthful virtue than their company. How many souls would be saved from crime but for the vain display of superior virtue which Rome demands from her clergy!

“The picture of female convents requires a more delicate pencil, yet I cannot find tints sufficiently dark and gloomy to portray the miseries which I have witnessed in their inmates. Crime, indeed, makes its way into those recesses, in spite of the spiked walls and prison gates which protect the inhabitants. This I know, with all the certainty which the self-accusation of the guilty can give. It is, besides, a notorious fact, that the nunneries in Estremadura and Portugal are frequently infected with vice of the grossest kind. But I will not dwell on this revolting part of the picture!”

“Auricular confession,” with its authorised rules and questions, seems, above everything in human intercourse, adapted to corrupt the heart of the priest, and prepare him for the most vicious practices. And the dangers to unprotected nuns cannot but be inexpressible. How can a virtuous mind contemplate this practice, in the nature of things, without revolting from it with indignation? The MIND surrendered to the keeping of a fellow-being, who probes every feeling and knows every thought!—the MIND forced into a mould, as of iron, and there held by an unholy priest!—maidens unbosoming themselves in secret to unmarried men,—to men who are trained up from childhood for the priesthood, as the sure means of a respectable livelihood! Married women exhibiting the inmost recesses of their hearts to strange men! Is there not iniquity unspeakable in this practice? It seems necessary, therefore, to complete the present work, to offer some exhibition of the state of those prisons of females, kept under the government of priests,—and especially as they exist in the metropolis of the Roman pontiff. This appears essential to the “Inquisition Revealed.”

Popish policy regarding convents, and the fact of their being secret prisons, similar to those of the Inquisition, will appear more fully from an atrocious case of priestly intrigue, in violation of the law of God, the particulars of which are given in The Times newspaper of Friday, November 15, 1844:—

“A popular French writer has recently asserted, in a work of fiction, in which he virulently, though not always unjustly, assails the policy of the Romish clergy, that the pretensions of the more unscrupulous agents of that church openly defy all the most sacred relations of mankind; that they dare to set at nought even the ties of filial duty; and that no artifices are too base for them to resort to, in furtherance of their ends. But we have met with nothing in the pages of fiction which illustrates these serious and almost incredible charges more forcibly, than an occurrence which has actually taken place in the course of the present year, in one of the capitals of the south of Europe. We feel impelled to give to these painful events, and most sinister machinations, a greater publicity than they have hitherto received; not only because it is well that the actors in such transactions should learn, that they cannot escape the animadversions of Europe, but because the case we are about to relate affords a warning not to be overlooked by our Protestant fellow-countrymen, whose families may chance to fall within the reach of the same dangerous influences.

“The post of Dutch minister at the court of Turin had been reputably filled, for some years, by a Protestant gentleman of the name of Heldivier, who resided with his family in that city, until, in consequence of some new diplomatic arrangements on the part of the Dutch government, he received, in May last, his letters of recall. Some domestic anxiety had been occasioned to this family by one of the daughters, a young lady of ardent and independent temperament, who was supposed to have formed an attachment to a young lawyer of the town, whose character and position did not make him a suitable match for her. Their departure was, therefore, hastened; but after M. Heldivier had presented his letters to the king of Sardinia, he was accidentally detained, by the illness of another of his children, for a few days, in an hotel at Turin. On the 8th of June, a display of fireworks took place, in honour of the birth of an heir to the duke of Savoy. The ex-minister and his wife were induced to attend this fête, and very reluctantly to leave their daughter, who excused herself on some pretext, at home. They were absent but a short time; yet, in the interval, the vague apprehensions they seem to have entertained were fatally verified. Their daughter had disappeared—and for ever. At that hour of the night she had quitted the hotel, alone, and without even a change of dress. The police were immediately sent in search of the fugitive. The young advocate, who was at first suspected to have had a hand in the elopement, was examined, but he proved himself to be totally ignorant of the occurrence; not a vestige of her was to be found within the jurisdiction of the authorities of the city; but this absence of all evidence raised a strong presumption that she would be found in the precincts of some convent, more inaccessible than a prison or a tomb.

“Application was made to the archbishop of Turin, as the supreme ecclesiastical power of the kingdom, for leave to pursue these inquiries, or for information, if he possessed it, on the subject; for, meanwhile, the anxiety and anguish of this unfortunate family had been raised to a pitch which we shall not attempt to describe; and even the public, startled by the actual disappearance of a young lady, still a minor, the daughter of a gentleman who came amongst them as the representative of a foreign sovereign, took the liveliest interest in their extreme distress.

“The archbishop thought fit to reply to this application, that he had reason to believe that Mademoiselle Heldivier had indeed sought refuge in a convent, but that he was unable to state where she was at present. A few days more, however, brought the whole transaction to light. When the archbishop of Turin asserted that he was unable to state where the young lady was, he might have stated, and he did afterwards acknowledge, that no person living had had so great a hand in the affair as himself. For two years he had been carrying on a system of secret communication with Mademoiselle Heldivier! Thwarted by her parents in her attachment for the young advocate, she had sought to avenge herself upon them by transferring her confidence from her father to this priest—from her natural protectors, to the jealous arms of the church of Rome. The archbishop, unwilling to commit himself by a written order, had furnished his convert with one-half of a sheet of paper, cut in a particular manner; the other half was given to the abbess of the convent of Santa Croce, in Turin, with orders to receive the bearer of the corresponding fragment at any hour of the day or night. Provided with these credentials, the fugitive found shelter in the convent walls; but, by the advice of the archbishop, her flight was deferred until her father, by the delivery of his letters of recall, had, as these clerical conspirators contend, surrendered those diplomatic rights and privileges which would have been fatal to their scheme.

“The fact being thus ascertained, a strong effort was made to bring the authors of this plot to account for their action, and to yield up the young person whom they had gotten into their possession. Setting aside the odious secret arts by which this alleged conversion had been effected, and the irreparable injury done to an honourable family, the case was one which demanded the strongest remonstrances, as an unparalleled invasion of the law of nations, and of the rights of diplomatic persons. A Dutch subject—a minor—the child of a Dutch minister—is encouraged to quit her father’s abode, received into a convent, and there detained, not only by moral but by actual force, since every attempt even to search these convents was successfully resisted by the clergy. His Majesty granted him an audience; but, in answer to the prayers and demands of M. Heldivier, that his daughter might be restored to him, the only reply which the absolute monarch dared to make was, that whatever might be his own opinion on the subject, if he presumed to interfere with the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the convents, he should be excommunicated! Such an answer, on such an occasion, might have been expected from a Philip II. of Spain; and such powers as are thus recognised and established fall little short of those of the Inquisition! The principle contended for, on behalf of the church of Rome, is this—that any child, having completed the age of twelve years, may, for any cause, motive, or pretext, throw off the parental authority, and fling itself under the protection of the church. If the child be a Protestant, so much the better, since, while it abjures its filial duties, it abandons its religious faith; but, whether Catholic or Protestant, the protection of the church, thus sought and thus given, is absolute and inviolable!

“There are few countries now, in Europe or the world, where such a doctrine as this would not be demolished by the ordinary notions of civil rights and justice. But the dominions of the king of Sardinia are not one of those countries. In vain did Mr. Abercromby, our own intelligent minister at the court of Turin, and Baron Mortier, the representative of France, represent that M. Heldivier, as a diplomatic person, had an incontestable right to quit the country in peace, taking with him all his family. The inexorable grasp of the infallible church prevailed. The king of Holland appears to have taken this outrage upon the family of his minister with a most unbecoming indifference and pusillanimity; and Mademoiselle Heldivier remains in the convent of Santa Croce, where she has formally abjured the Protestant heresy, and will, probably, take the veil on the completion of her noviciate.

“We have no wish to draw any excessive or unjust inferences from this strange occurrence, which seems to belong, not only to another country, but to another age; but it exhibits an awful picture of what the uncontrolled power of the Romish clergy may still dare to effect, and a humiliating example of a government, which has allowed the ties of private right and public law to be broken asunder, because it is itself a victim to the worst form of bigotry, and the most servile subjection to spiritual oppression!”

Rome must be regarded as the fountain of the papal Catholicism. In that metropolis is concentrated the wisdom, the authority, and the perfection of that system, which has been established by the pretended “Vicar of Christ.” We are bound, therefore, to examine the institutions of him who is entitled “His Holiness,” and worshipped under the designation of “Most Holy Father!”

Nunneries abound in Rome; but they are, in reality, so many prisons, and most of them appear to be governed by the most intolerant rules, framed under the authority of the Inquisition, and administered in its spirit, as testified by the most respectable writers. Perhaps no one will be esteemed more worthy of credit than the Rev. M. Hobart Seymour, M.A., a clergyman of the highest reputation in the church of England. In his “Pilgrimage to Rome,” written after his visit to that city, at the close of 1844, and in the early part of 1845, he testifies concerning the condition and character of society among the Romans, as shall be quoted from his instructive volume.

Regarding the city of Rome itself, he declares, “Although the hotels are admirable, the best of them being under the management of foreigners, every species of filth and every kind of odour greet the visitant on his entrance among the streets of this city of the church. For filth, for odours, for indecency, for all that is offensive to the eye, to the feelings, to the habits of a cleanly and orderly people, the city of Rome surpasses almost any city in the world!”—Pp. 139.

In testifying concerning the Roman convents, he says, “The subject of monasteries, as nunneries are called in Italy, is beset with considerable difficulties. The conclusion at which we have arrived, after all the information we could obtain, is this:—that however unmixed the evils of such a system may seem—however inexcusable and unredeemable in France or England, in Germany or Switzerland,—the establishment of monasteries in Italy bears a different complexion; not, indeed, from anything in the nature or conduct of such establishments themselves, but from the state of society in Italy.

“The social state of that beautiful land is as sad and melancholy, as its skies are bright and joyous. In the addresses of the preachers at the several receptions of novices and nuns, at which we were present, there was one pervading idea—one, too, not lightly put forth or incidentally alluded to, but running through the whole discourse, and forming the main substratum of everything else. I allude to the idea, that it was very difficult for a young female to preserve herself pure and holy from the sin and vice of the world, except within the walls of a monastery. These preachers had never witnessed the social system of England, or other lands; they had seen only that which pervaded Italy, and especially that of Rome. They were unmarried men, who knew nothing of the purity, the modesty, the virtue, that belongs to a high-toned state of female society. They had seen only the remains of the loose, wanton, and licentious spirit that breathed through every part of Italy during the last century; and every one who has the means of observation or information, seems to feel that the judgment of these men, though overstrained, as applied universally, is too correct in the main, as applied to the tone of society in Italy, and especially in Rome.

“I was much struck with this idea, when put forth so strongly, as expressing the conviction of those men; and it soon appeared to be a very general feeling among the laity as well as among the clergy. And I was surprised at finding that, even among the women, who had themselves borne the most respectable and irreproachable characters, there was a strong conviction, that however objectionable the life of the cloister, it yet was the safest life for a female. My wife had much communicated to her by ladies, who were mothers of families, and were conversant with the difficulties that surrounded them. And the general impression was, that the state of society was so ill-arranged—that the tone of feeling was so loose—that moral principle was so lightly valued—that regard for female purity was so little cherished—and the whole frame-work of the social system so loosened and disjointed, that there was neither a due respect for female character, nor sufficient protection for female purity. Living under governments essentially despotic—living under laws that are framed only to screen the authorities—living in lands where justice can be bought and sold, like any other marketable commodity—living among a people ever ripe for any and every revolution—living in this state, they live suspicious of each other; and being without commerce, without education, without employment, they too often make vice and intrigue, and at all events pleasure—the business, and education, and employment of life. In such a state of things among the men, women become regarded by them merely as a means to an end, merely as a means to minister to the pleasures of the hour; till too often she sinks into that state in which character is an incumbrance, and modesty is unknown.

“This is a dark picture, though a faithful one, of Italian society. It was drawn for us by Italian hands, in the freedom and frankness of private intercourse; and strongly illustrates the ground of their great predilection for monasteries. A young Italian lady, before her marriage, is not permitted to stir out of the sight of her mother; and no acquaintance with men, and no intimacy even with her own brothers, in the sense in which we regard acquaintance or intimacy, is permitted. The mothers seem to act as if they thought it was morally impossible their daughters should not fall, if only they had a moment’s opportunity; as if they thought their daughters were seeking the opportunity, and were restrained only by the strict superintendence of parental presence. This is a state of society unknown in England, and almost as unintelligible as unknown. And, strange to say, all the warm and affectionate intercourse of brothers and sisters, and all the frankness and confidence of respect and protection that characterises the intercourse of unmarried persons in society in England, are things utterly unknown and unintelligible in Italy.”—Pp. 168-171.

Nunneries, therefore, in the present state of society, in the opinion of Mr. Seymour, are necessary in Italy. He says of them, “There are two very cogent motives towards the maintenance of nunneries in Italy; one, as a means of safe and secure seclusion from the hideous forms of vice and immorality that characterises Italian society:—the other, as an easy and convenient means for settling and providing for the unmarried daughters of the land.

“The feeling, that the life of the cloister is the only safe and secure protection for an unmarried female, is warmly cherished and most deeply seated; and it is carefully fostered by the parents, in order to induce their daughters to remain in the cloister. It is no less carefully cherished and fostered by the priesthood, to conceal the penetralia of conventual life; and so far is this carried, that if a novice, having taken the white veil, should, at the conclusion of her noviciate, refuse to take the black veil, she would be regarded as a reckless, wilful girl, who preferred a life of exposure to the worst temptations of the world, to a life of holiness and peace in a nunnery. Her parents and relations would refuse to receive her; or, if they did receive her, it would be as a fallen and unhappy one. And as, in England, a family would weep and mourn over one of their number who had fallen into sin, and shame, and sorrow, bringing ruin upon herself and disgrace upon her family; just so, in Italy, would a family regard the girl who had finished her noviciate, and refused to proceed further. She would be kept from contact with her other sisters; she would be removed out of sight, that no stranger should see her; her name would never be heard in conversation; and, even in her own family, it would never be breathed, save in those low and whispering tones in which we speak of those that have fallen. With such a prospect before her, as a matter of certainty, it ceases to be any cause for astonishment that the young novice should persevere, and lay aside the white veil, and assume the black, becoming a recluse for life.”—Pp. 173, 174.

Mr. Seymour’s representation of the condition of nuns is most affecting; but only in accordance with what is declared by others who are competent to form a correct opinion. He says, of the wretched victim of this system, “At the last day of her noviciate she is nominally free, and then, on assuming the black veil, she becomes a prisoner for life. If she escapes from the monastery, or attempts to fly, the law proclaims her an outcast, and all the ministers of justice pursue her as a felon, and she is seized and punished as a criminal, and confined, if possible, still more closely than before. I cannot say precisely what are the provisions of the law respecting such runaways, but the notion that it is a sin deserving death is carefully propagated, and the belief generally prevails that imprisonment in a dungeon for life is the destined penalty within the walls of a convent. The terrors of the law are thus one great security against any attempt at escape from a nunnery. And, besides this, escape is next to impossible; for the monasteries are so constructed, that the inmates are as much prisoners within them, as criminals are prisoners in the public gaols. The windows are barred; the gates are chained; the walls are lofty. Exteriorly they always present this sad appearance, and interiorly it is necessary to pass through one, two, and sometimes three massive gates or doors, made as strong as wood and iron can make them, and locked and chained as securely as art can effect. It has always appeared to me, when examining these monasteries, that it was physically impossible for a young female to make an effectual attempt to escape. She cannot escape; and if she could, she would immediately be seized by the police, and remanded to some worse punishment in her prison.

“I have examined the exterior of many monasteries, and have been admitted into the interior of some, so as to be allowed to converse with the nuns at the grating: my wife has been admitted into the intima penetralia of others. The impression left on her mind, as on my own, has been the same—that there is no possibility of escape; and that the nuns must remain, in general, not because their home is happy, but because they have no means of leaving it. It is often indeed said, and great care is taken to propagate the idea, that their home is happy—that their occupations are innocent—that their hearts are peaceful; while all within is a paradise of holiness and happiness, the very type and shadow of our home in the heavens. It is carefully reported, that this fulness of happiness, this repletion of peace, this secret and holy communion of sister with sister, and total separation from all the ties of a family, and all the cares of life, is the real magic that binds, as by a spell, the hearts of novices, and the minds of nuns; so that they would not exchange their nunneries for the noblest palace—their simple repast for the most joyous, festive scenes—their life of dull monotony for the most brilliant society; or the companionship of the sisters for the society of the most affectionate of husbands. All this is so often said, that in Italy it is as familiar as a household word; but all appeared otherwise to us. We felt, that if, indeed, they were so happy, there was no necessity for such lofty walls to keep them there; that if, indeed, all within was such a perfect paradise, there was no need of such pains to prevent their deserting it; that if all was a type of heaven, it seemed strange to have such bars of iron, and such gratings of iron, to compel these spirits of holiness to remain in the enjoyment of it. In England, these lofty walls and iron bars bespeak a prison, to confine the criminal and prevent his escape; and, certainly, in Italy they look as if designed for the same purpose. And it is nothing else than rank hypocrisy, to say that these lofty walls and iron bars are designed for any other purpose than the enforced constraint and imprisonment of the inmates of the monastery. To so cruel and tyrannical an extent is this imprisonment carried, that no nun is permitted to speak with any one, even through the grating, unless in the presence of a second nun as a spy, to prevent any plan of escape, or aught else concerted with the stranger, or any conversation passing to the prejudice of the monastic life, or to the unveiling of the secrets of the nunnery. It is all a part of the system to surround the inmates with every imaginable check and restraint, to preclude the hope and prevent the possibility of escape, and so secure the nuns as prisoners for life, and recluses for ever. At one nunnery, where we were conversing with two nuns at the grating, having visited them in company with the relations of one of them, I observed that the iron was double, the two gratings being some inches apart, so that even hand could not touch hand through them. I asked the reason of such double defence, begging to know whether, as all was such a paradise, it was designed to keep the ladies in, or to keep the gentlemen out. I was merrily answered on the instant, ‘O, Signor, one grating will keep the ladies within, and the other will keep the gentlemen without!’”—Pp. 177-180.

Mr. Seymour obtained information of the most appalling character, from persons who possessed intimate acquaintance with these “Female Inquisitions” at Rome. Their testimony, therefore, could not be invalidated. He states on this point,—“A gentleman, who holds an official station in the papal court, and who, from the nature of his office, has been obliged to accompany the cardinal-vicar in his visitation of some of the nunneries, communicated to us, in private, the impressions created on his own mind. He was a man of years and experience—was the father of a large family, was a very domestic, amiable and religious man, for a Romanist—and certainly was the most respectable character, as an Italian gentleman, it was our good fortune to meet in Italy. He and his wife communicated many things which we could not otherwise have learned, and frequently, by introductions, put us in the way of ascertaining matters in which they themselves could not prudently appear. He used to say, that when the novices became nuns at an early age, as eighteen or twenty, they seemed to be sufficiently happy for two or three years; at least, that for that time there seemed to be nothing remarkable; but that when they became old enough to see and understand well what were the consequences of the step they had taken, and that now there was no hope before them, they soon gave way to sorrow and despair. He spoke with deep feeling of the effect of this on the spirits and appearance of the young ladies. He stated that the broken-hearted look—the shades of indelible sorrow—the lines of settled and unalterable sadness—the expression of resentment or despair—that characterised many of these young creatures, used to affect his heart, sadden all his best feelings, and trouble his very dreams. He could not think or speak of the subject without such feelings that tears would come into his eyes; saying, that it was inconceivable the number of nuns that went to an early grave under this system. Those who awoke to the reality of their state, and thought of all the ties of home and affection, and their exchange of all freedom for the dull monotony and useless employments of the cloister, soon pined and saddened, and sinking into despair, died of madness; while some others, like gathered flowers, plucked from their native gardens, where they might long have bloomed and gladdened the scene, soon faded and withered and died. He always said that this was the melancholy destiny of the greater portion; and that nothing on earth could induce him, with the knowledge he possessed, to allow one of his daughters to take the veil; for that the majority of nuns at Rome died of madness before they were five-and-twenty years of age!”—Pp. 181-183.

Surely no one can read this testimony concerning the condition of nuns at Rome, without the deepest emotion and horror. The system that requires it must be inhuman and execrable; and those who administer it, though titled dignitaries in a priesthood, must be fearfully guilty. It may be said that the ladies are carefully taught in their seclusion the duties of religion, and directed to its divine consolations. But Mr. Seymour further remarks on the morals and religion of the Roman nuns. Referring to the testimony of his friend in the “papal court,” he says, “Now all this, though very different from our notions on the subject, seems very natural. There are some monasteries where the inmates have many privileges and many comforts, and can enjoy the world in a measure. There are some, too, where the nuns occupy themselves in the education of the young, and this gives an object of interest to their hearts and to their minds. But all these are the higher order of nunneries. The great majority of the nunneries of Italy are very different. There are no occupations for mind or body—there is no object before the mind; so that, with thousands, the heart is left to prey upon itself. For the greater part of the day, the sisters are left to themselves, to brood over the remembrance of the past, or to talk to each other about nothing. There they live, with far less enjoyment for the present, and infinitely less hope for the future, than those ladies of an eastern harem, on whom we think with so much compassion. They have no objects in which they can take an interest; they have no persons on whom their affections may be placed; and they have no means of being practically useful to others.

“Such a state of existence is not conducive to the growth of a true and healthful religion in the soul. Accordingly it is found, that wherever there is religion in a nunnery, it runs into that wild and prurient thing that we rightly call ‘monomania,’ and results in the most extravagant claims to visions and revelations. It is the religion of madness; or perhaps, more correctly speaking, it is madness taking the direction of religion.

“Once, my wife and myself, in company with a married couple of Italians, were in consultation with two nuns related to our friends, one of whom was stating that no man except the Pope himself was ever permitted to enter that monastery. This she spoke of as a privilege of which they had some right to be proud. But while she was speaking, the confessor made his appearance! He was a good-natured, merry-looking man, of about thirty-five years of age. I have often been struck with the fact, that in almost every instance the confessors of these nunneries were younger men than myself, even when I was married. On his withdrawal, I asked the nun, of what use was the confessor? She replied that it was necessary for the nuns to confess their sins. I said, that I understood they had entered the nunnery to escape the sins of the world; and I asked, as all temptation to sin was thus supposed to be excluded, what kind of sins had they to confess. The question perplexed them not a little, and they could answer me only by laughing. I persevered, however, and at length they told me, that the nuns had so many quarrels and differences among themselves, that it led to much that required confession and absolution! I thanked them for the information, and only remarked that this showed that, after all, the lofty walls and iron bars of a nunnery were no protection against sin.