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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One is there; the other is away."

"Are the keepers of the prison here?"

"Yes, all three."

"Then there are still prisoners?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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