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THE SUBTLETY OF THE INQUISITION.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May the Lord prosper you."

"Rome, from the Palace of the Holy Office,

March 1832."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To save me from a hell."

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

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

"And how does all this happen?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And do you believe this story?"

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

"Leave him altogether. He must never know what has passed between us. Signora, I have prevented you from betraying your husband, and you tell me I have restored you to life. Will you then betray me? I do not think so. God be with you; I shall immediately burn these papers from the Inquisition, along with the letter you have brought me; and their contents will be buried in your breast."

"Oh! yes, there they shall remain, and with a lasting recollection of yourself. Farewell."

"Farewell."

In relating this story I have not hesitated about going into particulars, since no one now can injure the good lady, who is gone to her eternal rest. She lived a few years after this adventure, and wrote to me occasionally. She died like a good Christian, loving Jesus her Redeemer, and believing in his good tidings, and detesting, with all her heart, the errors of the Church of Rome. In one of her letters she told me that her old confessor, a few months after her visit to me, came to her to inquire whether she had delivered the letter from the Inquisition; and that, fearing to compromise me, she was puzzled to find an answer. She did not so much regard her own danger, and therefore replied as follows:—"Signore, do not talk to me any more of this business: Father Achilli has too much good sense to trouble his head at all about the Inquisition: consequently, the letter found its way into the fire. What would you have me do more? For a woman I think I have done quite enough." This answer, which did not involve any falsehood, left the confessor in doubt, without furnishing him with the means of injuring either of us. He subsequently interrogated her again on this point, and all the reply he obtained was: "I know nothing about it; I have told you not to talk to me about it any more." I was myself questioned on the subject ten years afterwards, at the time I was in the Inquisition; and I got out of the affair by saying, as was the fact, that I had never received any accusation from the lady—with respect to the letter itself I was silent.

But what cruelty, what malignity does not this case reveal! To pervert the natural feelings of the heart, so as to induce a wife not only to accuse her husband, but to spy out his most secret thoughts, the very inmost of his mind, and to disclose what might peril his very life! I have only given one instance, but I could relate many more of the same character. The wife of a bricklayer, whose name I never knew, about the same time, came to me at Viterbo, to accuse her husband by order of her confessor. She came from Vitorchiano, a fief of the Roman Senate. I sent her away, however, telling her I had nothing to do with the Inquisition. Several came to me from other parts—no fewer than four or five; and all these were wives, who had come to denounce their husbands to the Inquisition. I took care to give them all the same answer. And if so many cases of this sort came to my own knowledge, how many more must there have been, who applied to the Vicars themselves, or to the Inquisitors of the Holy Office!

In my time, there was a report that in Ancona two Inquisitors had seduced certain wives and daughters, in order to induce them to accuse their respective husbands and fathers. In the year 1842, in the month of September, having left the Roman States, I was at Ancona, from which place I embarked for Corfu. And it was during my stay in the former place, that an Inquisitor endeavoured to persuade two virtuous girls to accuse their uncle of some alleged profanation, in order to have a pretext for his imprisonment. The Inquisitor was angry with this honest man, because he had forbidden him his house; and thought, by throwing him into prison, to be able at all hours to visit the nieces, imagining they were favourably disposed towards him. But they were much better than he was; they threatened him with publishing his dishonest proposals, and so the matter ended. This same Inquisitor is famous for his persecution of the Jews. His edict against them, published in 1843, is known to all the world. In it all the Jews under his jurisdiction—that is, not only those of Ancona, who are very numerous, but those also of Pesaro, Osimo, Sinigaglia, Loretto, &c.—are ordered, within the term of three months, to sell all their possessions in land or houses, under penalty of confiscation; within eight days to abandon all their shops outside the Ghetto;[26] and within three days to dismiss from their houses all their Christian servants, both male and female, even the nurses of their children. They were prohibited to sleep a single night out of the Ghetto; to take a single meal, or to hold any communication with a Christian. Nay, to the shame and disgrace of the Inquisition be it spoken, these children of Israel and of Judah were even prohibited from singing the Psalms of David, in their service for the burial of their dead.

That so precious a document might not be lost, I took care to have it reprinted at Corfu, from the authentic copy that was sent to me by the Secretary of the Lord High Commissioner; and, as my readers will easily believe, I wrote my observations upon it pretty strongly, not only as to its author, but also as to the whole tribe of the Inquisitori.[27] I was desirous of knowing what was generally thought to be the reason of the publication of this edict. A letter from Ancona on the subject, stated as follows:—

"The Father Inquisitor is a person of very licentious habits, and at the same time extremely greedy of money. He became offended with our women (the Jewesses) because they would not listen to his propositions; he allured, he threatened, but could never render them subservient to his desires. At length he took a fresh occasion of offence against us, because we refused to pay him a considerable sum of money which he claimed, and not for the first time; saying that his predecessor had had many such donations, that it was for that reason he had looked upon us favourably, and that, if we did not make him similar acknowledgments, we need not expect any service or consideration from him. After due deliberation upon the matter, however, it was resolved that we should not give him any thing; and now see what has happened!"

The predecessor of this personage is well known to everybody, as having extorted as much money as he possibly could, brought many respectable persons into trouble, seduced many women, and finally fled from his situation, to seek an asylum in Tuscany.

The Inquisitor of Ancona does not act differently from his brethren. Any one who wished to write a history, not of the Inquisition, but of the actual Inquisitors in the Roman States, need only take the trouble to ask what is thought of them from Rome to Bologna; in Umbria, La Marca, Romagna; in short, wherever there is an Inquisitor or a Vicar of the Holy Office—and he will hear some extraordinary stories, which would disgrace the most scandalous chronicle.

Rome takes no notice of these reports, and winks, as the saying is, at personal immorality, to obtain that which constitutes her moral code—wealth and dominion. For dealing in immoral acts, immoral agents are necessary. Would an honest man do for an Inquisitor? Would a follower of Christ, who said, speaking of man and wife, "Whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder,"—would he sow discord between them, and demoralize the wife, to make her betray in the basest manner her own husband? Does not an Inquisitor require to be one whose heart is hardened against every gentle and social feeling, so that he may not hesitate to commit barbarities which are unknown among the most savage nations?

Are the torments which are employed at the present day at the Inquisition all a fiction? It requires the impudence of an Inquisitor, or of the Archbishop of Westminster, to deny their existence. I have myself heard these evil-minded persons lament and complain that their victims were treated with too much lenity.

"What is it you desire?" I inquired of the Inquisitor of Spoleto.

"That which St. Thomas Aquinas says," answered he: "death to all the heretics."

Hand over then to one of these people a person, however respectable; give him up to one of the Inquisitors (he who quoted St. Thomas Aquinas to me was made an Archbishop;)—give up, I say, the present Archbishop of Canterbury, amiable and pious as he is, to one of these rabid Inquisitors: he must either deny his faith or be burned alive. Is my statement false? Am I doting? Is not this the spirit that invariably actuates the Inquisitors? And not the Inquisitors only, but all those who in any way defile themselves with the Inquisition, such as Bishops and their Vicars, and all those who defend it, as the Papists do. There is the renowned Cardinal Wiseman, the Archbishop of Westminster, according to the Pope's creation; the same who has had the assurance to censure me from his pulpit, and to publish an infamous article in the Dublin Review, in which he has raked together, as on a dunghill, every species of filth from the sons of Ignatius Loyola; nor is there lie or calumny that he has not made use of against me. Well, then, suppose I were to be handed over to the tender mercy of this Cardinal, and he had full power to dispose of me as he chose, without fear of losing his character in the eyes of the nation to which by parentage, more than by merit, he belongs; what do you imagine he would do with me? Should I not have to undergo some death more terrible than ordinary? Would not a council be held with the reverend fathers of the Company of Loyola, the same who have suggested the abominable calumnies above alluded to, in order to invent some refined method of putting me out of the world? I feel persuaded that if I were condemned by the Inquisition to be burned alive, my calumniator would have great pleasure in building up my funeral pile, and setting fire to it with his own hands; or, should strangulation be preferred, that he would, with equal readiness, tighten the cord around my neck: and all for the honour and glory of the Inquisition, of which, according to his oath, he is a true and faithful servant.

And since we are on this subject, allow me to relate a fact concerning myself, which strongly evinces the subtlety of the Inquisition, according to the practice of the Jesuits, in availing themselves, in foreign parts, of the assistance of Bishops and dignified personages.

Every one knows how miraculously I escaped a second time from the horrors of the Inquisition. All those who had any feeling rejoiced at it; and such as met with me expressed their satisfaction by kindness and polite attentions. In the month of January, 1850, I was at Paris, and was visited by a vast number of persons of every class, not only Protestants, but Catholics also, who expressed the interest they took in my recovered liberty. I waited upon the government ministers, and others who had assisted me, to thank them for their services; but they interrupted me by assuring me that they had done no more than follow the impulse of their own hearts and the dictates of humanity; that they had merely performed a duty; and were rejoiced to think that their interference had so well succeeded, that instead of being shut up in the prisons of the Inquisition, I was at liberty to walk about the streets of Paris as I thought proper.

In the midst of this universal pleasure, which appeared to animate all I met, and which was responded to by the public journals, I exclaimed to one of my friends:

"Observe how the voice of the whole people is with me; not a word is uttered on the contrary side, except by the journal of the Jesuits, which, to my credit be it spoken, thinks proper to abuse me in a foolish, senseless article, full of contradiction, written in the vulgarest language of the streets, or of their own sacristy, and only worthy of contempt."

One day a friend came to tell me that it appeared the Jesuits had employed some other party to vilify me.

"It is impossible," I observed, "that such an office should be undertaken by an honest and well-bred Frenchman. To insult a person who has miraculously escaped from the Inquisition! No; a true-hearted Frenchman would no more undertake such a task than he would seek to persecute one who had escaped from shipwreck or from fire, or who had evaded the hand of an assassin. To insult one freed from the Inquisition might be allowable in a Jesuit, but never in a Frenchman. What a surprise it would be to him to read, in the Messager de la Semaine, an abusive article against me, full of falsehood and calumny!"

"But you ought to reply to it," I was told; "these are no Jesuits who write, but members of the Assembly, and others who call themselves gentlemen." "I do not answer those," I replied, "who lie for the pleasure of lying and calumniating. Such writers may reply to themselves."

My friends took some trouble to discover the writer of this article, and ascertained it to proceed from the pen of a diplomatist, M. de Corcelles, the ex-minister at Rome, who had endeavoured to negotiate the return of Pius IX., but without success, and given such proofs of his devotion to the Jesuits and other priests at Rome. This M. de Corcelles, after having by his subtlety contrived the French plot against Rome herself, and tarnished the honour of his nation by a thousand falsehoods, has returned thus disgracefully to Paris, and has had the baseness to accept the task from the Jesuits themselves, of writing a miserable article against me, as mean and as black as their own garb.

It was a brilliant idea of the Inquisition to get a French diplomatist, a member of the National Assembly, to vouch for their lies; and here M. de Corcelles came forward. To strengthen his assertions, it was thought necessary to look out for some one in England also, who would corroborate them; and after six months' diligent search, as they could find no other, and were anxious not to lose more time, they got the recently created Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster to take up the pen against me. This second production was even more abusive than the first. The bishop had far less sense of shame about him than the member of the National Assembly, particularly when he had the cardinal's hat in view. It is related of Cardinal Pallavicino, the celebrated Jesuit, that being chosen by the Court of Rome to write the history of the Council of Trent, in opposition to that of Paolo Sarpi, on which occasion he was promised the rank of cardinal, the poor man suffered grievously in his mind, on account of the number of lies he had to invent; and sending for a red cap, the insignia of his future dignity, he shook it in his hand, and placing it on his head, exclaimed with bitter sighs: "Ah! how much I endure on your account!" Oh! quanta pro te patior! In like manner Dr. Wiseman, at the sight of the red hat, and all that pertains to the cardinalate, has judged it expedient to make a sacrifice of honour and truth, and to rake up the most offensive matters, to present them to his co-religionists in the British isles. The indecency and revolting nature of this article shows to what an extent the immorality and mendacity of a bishop of the Church of Rome may proceed. The documents laid before the British Consul at Rome by my friends, whilst I was in prison, proving the falsehood of the accusations laid to my charge at Viterbo, might equally be brought forward in my justification against the slander of this titled Minister of the Gospel; but it rebuts itself, in its very exaggeration. Moreover, every one who knows me knows also that I was held in high estimation by the Church of Rome, until the very day when I was handed over to the Inquisition. I had never been the subject of complaint or reproof, much less of punishment. I was on good terms with all the bishops until that time, and appointed by them to preach and to hear confessions. Indeed, I should have blamed myself had they been dissatisfied. Have I not many letters from them requesting my services? Was I not appointed to preach, during Lent, before the Court of Naples? In good sooth, it requires the brazen impudence of a Monsignore, to lie so openly and so basely.

See now the work of the Inquisition. It says to its coadjutor, "You shall have a cardinal's hat, if you raise an outcry, right or wrong, against the heretic Achilli. But you must not call him a heretic, because that term in England would not avail you; no, you must assert that he believes in nothing whatsoever; above all, you must say that he is an immoral man, addicted to all sorts of licentious habits, (a common case, you well know, in such as take the oath of celibacy). Say of him whatever evil comes into your head; no matter about time or place. Say a great deal, that a part at least may be believed. Relate suppositions as facts, and comment on your own statements. Cry out loudly, raise reports, and give them publicity. Stick at nothing; hazard whatever may tend to discredit your adversary. In this way you will weaken his endeavours. What can he do to vindicate himself? Does he bring you into court? Shall you have to pay a fine?—Double the amount will be raised to pay it. Are you thrown into prison?—Call to mind the martyr of Turin. In short, earn a cardinal's hat"!!

The temptation is too powerful for a bishop of the Church of Rome. It is in this manner that the Inquisition manages its affairs throughout the whole world, and works so as to gain its ends, by promises and threats, by fraud and subterfuge.