THE INQUISITION IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"N. N."

"Rome, the 26th Feb. 1850."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will here relate a fact which it always pains me to recall to mind; and which, until the present occasion, I have never before spoken about. During my residence at Viterbo, my native town, where I was public professor and teacher in the College of Gradi, I was one day applied to by a lady of prepossessing appearance, whom I then saw for the first time. She requested, with much eagerness, to see me in the sacristy; and as I entered the apartment where she was waiting for me, she begged the sacristan to leave us alone, and suddenly closing the door, presented a moving spectacle to my eyes. Throwing off her bonnet, and letting loose in a moment her long and beautiful tresses, the lady fell upon her knees before me, and gave vent to her grief in abundance of sighs and tears. On my endeavouring to encourage her, and to persuade her to rise and unfold her mind to me, she at length, in a voice broken by sobs, thus addressed me:

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

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

"I have been guilty of a great sin, for which no priest will grant me absolution, unless you will beforehand remit it to me."

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

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

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

"It is a sin against the Holy Office."[25]

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

"How? are not you Father Achilli, the Vicar of the Holy Office?"

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

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

I shall not recapitulate my injunctions to this poor woman, to tranquillize her mind with respect to having to denounce her son. I advised her to change her confessor, and to be silent with regard to him—anyhow she was not in fault. And if confession, I further remarked, be a sacrament that pardons sins, it can never be made a means of unwarrantably obtaining information as to the words or deeds of another.

But had I really been Vicar of the Holy Office, what would have been my duty in this matter? To receive the accusation of a mother against her own son. An unheard-of enormity! She naturally would have made it in grief and tears, and I should have had to offer her consolation. And since this horrible act of treason has the pretence of religion about it, I should have employed the aid of religion to persuade her that the sacrifice she made was most acceptable to God. Perhaps, to act my part better, I might have alluded to the sacrifice demanded of Abraham, or Jephtha; or cited some apposite texts from Scripture, to calm and silence the remorse of conscience she must have experienced on account of the iniquity of bringing her child before the Inquisition.

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