b'\nQass IBX 17^^ \n\n\n\nHISTORY \n\n\n\nOF \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM \n\n\n\nFROM THE REIGN OF CONSTANTINE THE GREAT, A. D, \n325, DOWN TO THE PRESENT TIME, EXHIBIT- \nING A FULL AND IMPARTIAL DETAIL OF \nTHE SUPERSTITIONS, CORRUP- \nTIONS, AND TYRANNY OF \nTHE PAPAL CHURCH. - \n\n\n\nINCLUDING ALSO A CORRECT ACCOUNT OP THE RISE AND PROGRESS OP \n\nJESUITISM, MOJ^ACHISM, AXD \nTHE 1]\\ (iUISlTIOX. \n\n\n\nTOGETHER WITH A FULL DISCLOSURE OF THE SECRET DE- \nSIGNS AND OPERATIONS OF \n\nPOPERY IN THE UNITED STATES. \n\nCOMPILED AND ABRIDGED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES. \n\n\n\n\nNEW YORK. \nPUBLISHED BY S. L. HOLBROOK & CO. \n\n1836. \n\n\n\nf\\(o \n\n\n\n0^ \n\n\n\n^i-^i<^ \n\n\n\nEntered according to act of Congress, in the year 1836, \n\nBy S. L. HoLBRooK, & Co., \n\nIn the Clerk\'s Office of the Northern District of New York, \n\n\n\nPREFACE. \n\n\n\nWitbiii a few years past^ many books have been issued from the \nAmerican Press, relating" to detached portions of the past history, the \ngeneral character and designs of the Church of Rome, or purport- \ning to give some new and astounding developements of profligacy and \ncrime committed within the walls of ourAmerican cloisters. These va- \nY.;r.\xe2\x80\x9eq works and the controversy to which they have given rise, are chief- \nributable to the novel but alarming attitude assumed by some of \nransatlantic potentates toward the United States, together with \nprejudicial effects already experienced from the increasing tide of \n>olic immigration now setting in upon the country. The causes \never which have produced the excitement on this subject are now \n?tive operation, and the public mind still demands additional in- \nlation relative to the history of this church. The ponderous vol- \ns of ecclesiastical history found only in our larger libraries, or in \nession of the clergy, are inaccessible to the great mass of cora- \nlity, and are too prolix to gain a general perusal. Nothing has \n3rto appeared, embracing the entire history of the church, in- \nling accounts of all the various institutions through whose agency \nit has retained its power and amassed its treasures, of a suitable char- \nacter for general circulation. \n\nIt has been the design of the author of the work now presented to \nthe public, to supply what at this period may be considered a desidera- \ntum. He has attempted to condense into a volume of unforbiddrng\' \ndimensions, all the most important facts connected with the his- \ntory of the Papal Church, unfolding, link by link the long chain of \necclesiastical usurpations, in the progress of which the power and \nauthority of a single local bishop rose above that of the mightiest \nmonarchs of Europe, together with an exposure of the\'unholy means by \nwhich that supremacy has been maintained. No claim whatever to \noriginality is put forthYor any part of the work \xe2\x80\x94 being mostly a compi- \nlation and abridgment from the volumes of standard historians. As \naccuracy and authenticity have been chiefly studied in the arrangement \nof the work, every thing of a novel character has been excluded. \nFor the sake of perspicuity, the history of the Inquisition, Jesuitism, \n\n\n\nir PREFACE. \n\nand Monachism in general, although inseparably connected with the \nRomish Church, have been treated in a separate form. By this ar- \nrangement the reader will be enabled to pursue without interruption \nor seeming digression, the direct train of ecclesiastical history, whilst \nthe odious features and unnatural form of these offspring of Roman- \nisiii, are made more clearly discernible, when exhibited entire to \nthe view* \n\nIn the concluding article, the author has ventured to offer some \nobservations on the subject of emigration, which, although they may \nnot command the assent of the entire community, yet he is confident \nthat none but prejudiced or designing men, can after a full examina- \ntion of the facts from which his conclusions have been drawn, with \nhold approbation. No allusion whatever has been made to the con- \nduct of any political party or religious sect, since he does not believe \nthat an American citizen can be found, who knowingly, would not \nindignantly spurn every effort which foreign despotism, or foreign \nbigotry might make for the subversion or corruption of our civil and \nreligious institutions. He has considered that the greatest cause of \nalarm arises from an unconsciousness of the intentions and designs \nof our natural adversaries in the old world, and it is this conviction \nthat has induced him to investigate at length the evidences of the hostile \ndesigns of Imperial Despotism- He has also been induced to offer \nsome remarks on the duties nowdeemed incumbent on the church and \ngovernment. If the course he has pointed out shall even attract ex- \namination, and thus remotely or indirectly Contribute to the origination \nof a more vigorous and plausible scheme, for the prosecution of this \nobject, he will be abundantly satisfied with the result of his efforts. \n\nIt has not been deemed necessary to burden the work with quo- \ntations and references, which could not be of any practical value to \nthe reader, nor contribute to enhance the established reputation of \nthe various authors whose works have been used. The following are \nsome of the principle historians, of whose labors the freest possible \nuse has been made: Waddington, Mosheim, Robertson, Gibbon, \nHume, McGavin, Llorente, Puigblanch, Niebuhr, D\'Israeli, Wyck- \nman, Voltaire, Fox, Roscoe, Jortin, Eusebius, and many other an- \ncient and modern writers, together with a numerous list of periodicals \nand recent publications, too numerous for enumeration. \n\nIn submitting his work to the patronage of an enlightened and dis- \ncriminating public the author doubts not that if he has so tar succeed- \ned in the object of his efforts as to render any assistance to the cause \nof truth and pure Christianity, his efforts will not remain unapprecia- \nted or his labors unrewarded. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. \n\nPART I.\xe2\x80\x94 ROMAN CATHOLICISM, \n\nCHAPTER I. \n\nCftnversioft of Oonstantine \xe2\x80\x94 Persecution ceases \xe2\x80\x94 Injurious tendency of the repose which \nfollows \xe2\x80\x94 Form of government in the Pi imitive Church \xe2\x80\x94 Gradual Usurpations of the \nBishops \xe2\x80\x94 Ecclesiastical government assumes the form of the political \xe2\x80\x94 Superior rank \nof the Bishop of Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Causes of superiority \xe2\x80\x94 Claims to be the successor of St. Pe- \nter \xe2\x80\x94 Rivalry of the Bishop of Constantinople \xe2\x80\x94 Convocation of the Council of Nice \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x96\xa0 \nDissensions of the clergy \xe2\x80\x94 Nicene Greed. 25 \n\nCHAPTER IL \n\nfgnorance of the Clergy \xe2\x80\x94 Corruption of Christianity \xe2\x80\x94 Veneration for holy relics and de- \nparted Saints \xe2\x80\x94 Worship of images \xe2\x80\x94 ^Frauds and pretended miracles practised by im- \npostors \xe2\x80\x94 Rise of Monasticism \xe2\x80\x94 Clerical disputations and contentions \xe2\x80\x94 Usurpations by \nthe Byzantine Bishop \xe2\x80\x94 Checked by the Roman pontifF\xe2\x80\x94 Extension of the See of \nRome by conversions in the west\xe2\x80\x94Germans and Franks embi-ace Christianity Bap- \ntism of Clovis. 34 \n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nDepravity of the Clergy in the eighth century \xe2\x80\x94 Venerated by the multitude ^Liberality \n\nto the church encouraged \xe2\x80\x94 Invested with principalities and royal domains Usurpa- \ntions of the Roman Pontiff \xe2\x80\x94 Intrigue with Pepin, who dethrones the French King \nChilderic\xe2\x80\x94 Bishop of Rome becomes a temporal Prince, by the grant of Pepin of \ntwenty-two Itatian cities\xe2\x80\x94 Subsequent grant by Chariemagne\xe2\x80\x94 Nature and form of \nthe Roman Pontiff\'s jurisdiction\xe2\x80\x94 Dispute concerning the wor-shipof Images\xe2\x80\x94 Second \nNicene Council. ^\xc2\xbb \n\nCHAPtEk IV. \n\nProgress of Christianity among the Northern nations\xe2\x80\x94Character of the Missionaries who \nwere sent among them\xe2\x80\x94 A woman elevated to the Roman Prelacy\xe2\x80\x94 Credibility of the \nfact denied\xe2\x80\x94 Change of the Ecclesiastical Laws\xe2\x80\x94 Continued Usurpations of the Latin \nChurch\xe2\x80\x94 Supremacy proven by forgeries\xe2\x80\x94 Decretal Epistles\xe2\x80\x94 Ineffectual opposition to \nPapal power\xe2\x80\x94 Institution of new rites and ceremonies\xe2\x80\x94 Canonization of the saints- \nSuperstitious ordeal of justice. go \n\n\n\nvi CONTENTS. \n\nCHAPTER V. \n\nFurther spread of Christianity \xe2\x80\x94 Papal violence and corruption \xe2\x80\x94 Character and succes- \nsion of the Pontiffs who ruled the church during the tenth century \xe2\x80\x94 Increase of cleri- \ncal power \xe2\x80\x94 Licentiousness of the clergy \xe2\x80\x94 Immediate approach of the day of Judgment \nuniversally expected \xe2\x80\x94 Abandonment of civil connections \xe2\x80\x94 Penance and liberality to \nthe church \xe2\x80\x94 Ecclesiastical councils \xe2\x80\x94 The number of Saints multiplied \xe2\x80\x94 Worship of \nthe Virgin Mary \xe2\x80\x94 Invention of the rosary. 60 \n\nCHAPTER Vl. \n\nPapal usurpations continued \xe2\x80\x94 Claims of Leo IX \xe2\x80\x94 Kings of France and England refrac- \ntory \xe2\x80\x94 Succession of Pontiffs \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict IX. \xe2\x80\x94 Influence of Hildebrand \xe2\x80\x94 Hildebrand \nsucceeds Benedict under the title of Gregory VII.\xe2\x80\x94 Papal election vested alone in the \nCardmals \xe2\x80\x94 Ambitious character of Hildebrand \xe2\x80\x94 Church government changed \xe2\x80\x94 At- \ntempt to render the Kings and Emperors tributaries to the Roman See \xe2\x80\x94 Opposition of \nWilliam the Conqueror \xe2\x80\x94 Church involved by Hildebrand in contentions with all the \nEuropean Princes \xe2\x80\x94 Success of his efl^rts. 71 \n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\nThe Crusades \xe2\x80\x94 Their origin and object \xe2\x80\x94 Peter the Hermit \xe2\x80\x94 Council of Clermont \xe2\x80\x94 \nCharacter of the Crusaders \xe2\x80\x94 Advance towards Palestine \xe2\x80\x94 Disasters of the Expedition \xe2\x80\x94 \nJerusalem taken \xe2\x80\x94 Godfrey of Bouillon proclaimed king \xe2\x80\x94 His death \xe2\x80\x94 Disputes con- \ncerning the right of Investiture \xe2\x80\x94 Final settlement \xe2\x80\x94 First Lateran council \xe2\x80\x94 Civil dissen-, \nsions at Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Arnold of Brescia \xe2\x80\x94 Rome placed under an interdict by Adrian IV. \xe2\x80\x94 \nSchism \xe2\x80\x94 Successes of Alexander \xe2\x80\x94 His character \xe2\x80\x94 Second, Third, and Fourth Cru- \n\nf^ sades. 81 \n\nCHAPTER VIIL \n\nInnocent III \xe2\x80\x94 Power of Ecclesiastical tribunals \xe2\x80\x94 Contest with PhiUp Augustus \xe2\x80\x94 France \nplaced in interdict \xe2\x80\x94 Submission of Philip \xe2\x80\x94 Papal power \xe2\x80\x94 Fourth Lateran Council \xe2\x80\x94 \nDoctrine of Transubstantiation \xe2\x80\x94 Auricular Confession \xe2\x80\x94 Reformation attempted \xe2\x80\x94 \nCommencement of Persecution \xe2\x80\x94 Petrobrusians, Waldenses and Albegeois \xe2\x80\x94 Crusade \nagainst the Albegeois \xe2\x80\x94 Piedmont ravaged \xe2\x80\x94 Origin of the Inquisition \xe2\x80\x94 Death and \nCharacter of Innocent. M \n\nCHAPTER IX. \n\nHonorius III. \xe2\x80\x94 succeeded by Gregory IX. \xe2\x80\x94 Another Crusade attempted \xe2\x80\x94 Defection of \\ \n/ Frederick \xe2\x80\x94 Is excommunicated by Gregory \xe2\x80\x94 Innocent IV. \xe2\x80\x94 Contmantion of the\'quar- \nrel with Frederick\xe2\x80\x94 Is deposed by Innocent\xe2\x80\x94 Attempt to usurp the government of Si- \ncily and Naples \xe2\x80\x94 Papal Succession \xe2\x80\x94 Celestine V, \xe2\x80\x94 His character and habits \xe2\x80\x94 Resigns \nthe pontificate and retires to private life\xe2\x80\x94 SucceeJed by Boniface VIII.\xe2\x80\x94 Contention \nwith Philip the Fnir \xe2\x80\x94 T^nll J J ^m Sanctum? -Papal palace seized and plundered by a j \n"^^^arty of Frenchmen\xe2\x80\x94Death of Boniface. 1 1 / \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. vii \n\nCHAPTER X. \n\nClement V. \xe2\x80\x94 Removal of the Papal Residence to Avignon \xe2\x80\x94 Suppression of the Order of \nTemplars \xe2\x80\x94 John -XXII \xe2\x80\x94 ^His origin and character \xe2\x80\x94 Deposed, but again restored to the \npontificate \xe2\x80\x94 Is charged with heresy \xe2\x80\x94 Disclaims the imputation \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict Xll. \xe2\x80\x94 At- \ntempt to reform the Monastic Orders \xe2\x80\x94 Clement VI.\xe2\x80\x94 Celebration of the Jubilee at \nRome Purchase of Avignon \xe2\x80\x94 Innocent VI \xe2\x80\x94 Urban V. \xe2\x80\x94 Gregory XI. \xe2\x80\x94 Papal resi- \ndence removed back to Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Tumultuous election of Urban VI. 133 \n\nCHAPTER XI. \n\nRigid policy of Urban \xe2\x80\x94 Disafiection of the Cardinals\xe2\x80\x94 Grand Schism in the Church \xe2\x80\x94 \nOpposition elect Clement VII. \xe2\x80\x94 Protracted struggle for ascendancy between Urban \nand Clement\xe2\x80\x94 Death of Urban \xe2\x80\x94 Italian faction elect Boniface IX. \xe2\x80\x94 Another Jubilee \xe2\x80\x94 \nSale of Indulgences \xe2\x80\x94 Attempts to restore union \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Clement \xe2\x80\x94 Succeeded by \nBenedict XIII.\xe2\x80\x94 The French renounce the jurisdiction of both competitors \xe2\x80\x94 Reverses \n> and final triumph of Benedict \xe2\x80\x94 Election of Angelo Corrario, who assumes the title of \nGregory XII. 148 \n\nCHAPTER XII. \n\nConference proposed between the rival Pontiffs \xe2\x80\x94 Defection of Gregory\xe2\x80\x94 Council of Pisa \n\xe2\x80\x94 Benedict and Gregory summoned to attend \xe2\x80\x94 Holy see declared vacant \xe2\x80\x94 Election of \nAlexander V. \xe2\x80\x94 Fortunes of the Anti-Popes \xe2\x80\x94 Baltazzar Cossa succeeds Alexander as \nJohn XXIII. \xe2\x80\x94 Council of Constance \xe2\x80\x94 Abdication of John \xe2\x80\x94 Is arrested and imprison- \ned \xe2\x80\x94 Gregory resigns \xe2\x80\x94 Obstinacy of Benedict \xe2\x80\x94 Is deserted and again deposed \xe2\x80\x94 Schism \nterminated by the election of Martin V. \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Gregory and Alexander \xe2\x80\x94 Libera- \ntion of John. 162 \n\nCHAPTER XIII, \n\nReforms proposed by the council of Constance \xe2\x80\x94 Heresy of WicklifT\xe2\x80\x94 Sketch of his life \nand opinions \xe2\x80\x94 Anathematised by the Pope \xe2\x80\x94 Bohemia mfected \xe2\x80\x94 John Huss \xe2\x80\x94 summon\' \ned to attend the council \xe2\x80\x94 Is tried and executed for heresy \xe2\x80\x94 Jerome of Prague arrested \n\n; and burned for the same offense \xe2\x80\x94 Revolt of the Bohemians \xe2\x80\x94 Exploits and death of \nZisca \xe2\x80\x94 Divisions and reduction of the Bohemians \xe2\x80\x94 Bohemian brothers. 178 \n\nCHAPTER XIV. \n\nReform demanded \xe2\x80\x94 Apostolic chamber \xe2\x80\x94 Council of Basle \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Martin \xe2\x80\x94 Eugenius \nIV. \xe2\x80\x94 Altercation with the council \xe2\x80\x94 Julian Cesarini \xe2\x80\x94 Attempts for a reconciliation \nwith the Greek church \xe2\x80\x94 Council transferred to Ferrara by Eug\xc2\xbb nius, who is deposed \nby the council \xe2\x80\x94 Election of Felix V. \xe2\x80\x94 Another Schism \xe2\x80\x94 Eugenius succeeded by Nich- \nolas V. \xe2\x80\x94 Resignation of Felix, and termination of the Schism\xe2\x80\x94 Nepotism \xe2\x80\x94 Infamous \ncharacter of Alexander VI. 192 \n\n\n\nviu CONTENT S. \n\nCHAPTER XV. \n\nLeo X-^His prodigality \xe2\x80\x94 Sale of indulgences\xe2\x80\x94 John Tetzel\xe2\x80\x94 ^Commencement of the \nReformation \xe2\x80\x94 Martin Luther \xe2\x80\x94 Denounces the vices of Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Is branded as a heretic \n\xe2\x80\x94 ^^Continued opposition \xe2\x80\x94 Withdraws from the Romish church. \xe2\x80\x94 Progress of the Refor- \nmation\xe2\x80\x94Confession of Augsburg \xe2\x80\x94 League of Smalcade \xe2\x80\x94 War with the Papists \xe2\x80\x94 \nSuccess of the Protestant cause \xe2\x80\x94 Death and character of Luther. 223 \n\nCHAPTER XVL \n\nConvocatio:i of the council of Trent \xe2\x80\x94 Catholic interest preponderates \xe2\x80\x94 Papal authority \nconfirmed \xe2\x80\x94 Decrees of the council of Trent \xe2\x80\x94 Prevalence of Scholastic Philosophy \xe2\x80\x94 \nAuthority of theTridentine council \xe2\x80\x94 Influence of the Reformation upoa the papal \nchurch. 235 \n\nCHAPTER XVIT. \n\nReformation in England\xe2\x80\x94 Popery restored by Clueen Mary \xe2\x80\x94 Her reign \xe2\x80\x94 Persecution of \nthe French Protestants \xe2\x80\x94 Plot for their extermination \xe2\x80\x94 Massacre of St. Bartholemew\'s \nCivil War\xe2\x80\x94 Seige of Rochelle \xe2\x80\x94 Edict of Nantz\xe2\x80\x94 Cardinal Richelieu \xe2\x80\x94 Revocation of \nthe edict \xe2\x80\x94 French Protestants emigrate \xe2\x80\x94 Butchery of the Irish Protestants. 245 \n\nCHAPTER XVIII. \n\nMissionary enterprises of the Papal church in the seventeenth century\xe2\x80\x94 Establishment of \nthe College de Propaganda Fide \xe2\x80\x94 Diffusion of Christianity among the Chinese and \nJapanese \xe2\x80\x94 Dissensions between the Jesuits and the Monastic orders \xe2\x80\x94 Expulsion of \nthe Europeans from Japan \xe2\x80\x94 Internal Constitution of the church \xe2\x80\x94 Decrease of Papal \npower \xe2\x80\x94 Contest with the Venetians, Portuguese, aud French \xe2\x80\x94 Cathohc contro- \nversy. 264 \n\nCHAPTER XIX. \n\nGeneral view of the Romish church in theeig^hteenth century \xe2\x80\x94 Catholic outrages in Po- \nland \xe2\x80\x94 Clement XIV. \xe2\x80\x94 Suppression of the society of Jesuits by a papal edict\xe2\x80\x94 Rise of \ninfidelity in France\xe2\x80\x94 Attempts to check its progress- -Farther declension of Papal \npower \xe2\x80\x94 French Revolution \xe2\x80\x94 All religion discarded\xe2\x80\x94 Death of Pius. 275 \n\nCHAPTER XX. \n\nPius VII. \xe2\x80\x94 Officiates at the coronation of Bonaparte-Is divested of temporal power and \nimprisoned-Restored by the fall af Napoleon \xe2\x80\x94 State of Religion in France \xe2\x80\x94 Leo XIL \nCelebration of a Jubilee in 1825 \xe2\x80\x94 Gregory XVI. the reigning Pope\xe2\x80\x94 Present condi- \ntion of the church of Rome, among the European nations \xe2\x80\x94 General Remarks \xe2\x80\x94 Con- \nclusion. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. ix \n\nPART II.\xe2\x80\x94 THE INQUISITION. \n\nCHAPTER T. \n\nObject of the establishment of inquisitorial tribunals \xe2\x80\x94 Principles recognized by the in- \nquisitors \xe2\x80\x94 Laws first enacted for the punishment of heresy \xe2\x80\x94 Increase of papal power \nand tyranny \xe2\x80\x94 St. Dominic \xe2\x80\x94 His charactei \xe2\x80\x94 Miracles attending his birth and ministry \nMission to the Albegeois \xe2\x80\x94 Persecution of that sect, and establishment of inquisitori- \nal tribunals \xe2\x80\x94 Ineffectual opposition \xe2\x80\x94 Decrees ol the fourth Lateran Council \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisi" \ntion introduced into Spain by Torquemada, who is appointed first inquisitor general- \nExpulsion of the Moors and Jews\xe2\x80\x94 Death of Torquemada. 303 \n\nCEIAPTER II. \n\nInquisition in Italy \xe2\x80\x94 Aoneo Paleareo \xe2\x80\x94 General persecution commenced by Pius IV. \xe2\x80\x94 \nArrest of Galileo \xe2\x80\x94 Oblige 1 to renounce the truths of Astronomy \xe2\x80\x94 Attempt to establish \nthe mquisition in England \xe2\x80\x94 Introduction into Portugal \xe2\x80\x94 Extermination of the Jews in \nthat kin5:dom \xe2\x80\x94 Cruelty of the inquisitors. 319 \n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nInquisition in Spain \xe2\x80\x94 Reign of Philip II. \xe2\x80\x94 \\uto da Fe in Valladolid \xe2\x80\x94 Sermon of the \nBishop of Zamora \xe2\x80\x94 Auto at Seville \xe2\x80\x94 Victims of this auto \xe2\x80\x94 Licentiousness of the con* \nfessors \xe2\x80\x94 Trial of a Capuchin \xe2\x80\x94 Trivial punishment \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisition abolished by Bona- \nparte \xe2\x80\x94 Restored. 330, \n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nPortugucseinquisilion- Inquisitor\'s pnlace\xe2\x80\x94 Geddes\' account\xe2\x80\x94 Treatment of prisoners- \narraigned on the suspicion of heresy \xe2\x80\x94 Deception and artifice of the inquisitors \xe2\x80\x94 Inqui- \nsition at Goa\xe2\x80\x94 Dellon\'s Narrative \xe2\x80\x94 Tribunal abolished. 340 \n\nCHAPTER V. \n\nOfficers of the inquisition\xe2\x80\x94 Their qualifications and powers\xe2\x80\x94 Exemption from the re- \nstraints of law\xe2\x80\x94 Authority of the inquisition paramount to that of the government. \nHermandad and Cruciala\xe2\x80\x94Prisons of the inquisition\xe2\x80\x94 Confiscation ot the property o^ \nprisoners\xe2\x80\x94 Manner of conducting examinations\xe2\x80\x94 Iniquitous and barbarous treatment \nof prisoners under arrest. 349 \n\nCHAPTER VL \n\nChamber of torment\xe2\x80\x94 Different modes of Torture\xe2\x80\x94 Suffr>rings of John Coustos\xe2\x80\x94 Of Isaac \n\nMartin at Malaga\xe2\x80\x94 Licentiousness of the inquisitors\xe2\x80\x94 Developcments at Sara* ossa \n\nAbduction of a Spanish Lady\xe2\x80\x94 Torture of John Van Halen in 1S17\xe2\x80\x94 Death by the \n\npendulum\xe2\x80\x94 Inquisition throwu open at Madrid in 1620. 357 \n\n2 \n\n\n\nX CONTENTS. \n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\nThe Auto da Fe \xe2\x80\x94 Manner of Us celebration \xe2\x80\x94 Garb of the Victims \xe2\x80\x94 Proclamation for an \nAuto in 1650 \xe2\x80\x94 Extraordinary preparations for the same \xe2\x80\x94 Attended by the King and \ncourt and an immense concourse of people \xe2\x80\x94 The final tragedy \xe2\x80\x94 Recapitulation of the \nvictims of the inquisition in Spain \xe2\x80\x94 Conclusion. 382 \n\n\n\nPART III\xe2\x80\x94 MONACHISM. \n\nCHAPTER I . \n\nOrigin of Monachism \xe2\x80\x94 Anthony of Thebais \xe2\x80\x94 Spread of monastic institutions among the \nOriental nations \xe2\x80\x94 First Monasteries in Gaul \xe2\x80\x94 DiflR;rent Monastic orders \xe2\x80\x94 Cenobites \nand Eremites- \xe2\x80\x94 St. Benedict \xe2\x80\x94 Rules of the Benedictines \xe2\x80\x94 Veneration of the monastics. \nInfluence of the monks \xe2\x80\x94 Degeneracy of the different orders \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict of Anaine \xe2\x80\x94 \nMonks of Clugni \xe2\x80\x94 Cistertians and Carthusians. 3\xc2\xa33 \n\nCHAPTER II. \n\nRise ofthe mendicants \xe2\x80\x94 Franciscans and Dominicans First monasteries in England ^ \nCarmelite orde; \xe2\x80\x94 Its pretended origin \xe2\x80\x94 Hermits of St. Augustine \xe2\x80\x94 Prophecies of Jo- \nachim \xe2\x80\x94 Fanaticism of Wilhelmina, a woman of Bohemia \xe2\x80\x94 Rise of the Military orders, \nOrder of St. John of Jerusalem \xe2\x80\x94 Knight Templars \xe2\x80\x94 Teutonic order. 402 \n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nOrigin of communities of Female Recluses \xe2\x80\x94 Prevalence among the Eastern Nations\xe2\x80\x94 \nIntrorluced into Europe by Marcella, a Roman lady \xe2\x80\x94 Nuns ofthe holy Trinity \xe2\x80\x94 Nun- \nneries founded by St. Dominii \xe2\x80\x94 FoundaMon of the Uisuline order \xe2\x80\x94 Character of the \nfemale orders \xe2\x80\x94 Profligacy and licentiousness of the monks \xe2\x80\x94 Invective of Vol- \ntaire. 412 \n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nEnslish monasteries \xe2\x80\x94 Condition investigated by Commissioners appointed by Henry \nVfll. \xe2\x80\x94 Surrenderof Revenues\xe2\x80\x94 Suppression ofthe lesser monasteries \xe2\x80\x94 New visitation \nappointed \xe2\x80\x94 Entire abolition of al\' monastic establishments in England \xe2\x80\x94 Develope- \nments of Superstition \xe2\x80\x94 Fraud and Imposture \xe2\x80\x94 Destruction of the Shrine of Thomas \na Becket \xe2\x80\x94 Murmur excited \xe2\x80\x94 Indignation of the Pope\xe2\x80\x94 Excommunication of Hen- \n\n\n\nty. \n\n\n\n422. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. \n\n\n\nMonachism in the Sixt\'^enth century \xe2\x80\x94 A partial Reformation eflFected.\xe2\x80\x94 Con\xc2\xbbreffation o* \nSt. Manr\xe2\x80\x94 Female convent at Port Royal\xe2\x80\x94 Reformed Benardins ot La Trappe - \nFoundation of several new orders\xe2\x80\x94 Fathers ofthe oratory of the Holy Jesus^-Th ^ \nPriests of the Missions \xe2\x80\x94 Progress of Learning among the Benedictinef . 433 \n\n\n\nCONTENTS. xi \n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nMonachism in the United States \xe2\x80\x94 Increase of Romanism in the United States \xe2\x80\x94 De- \nstruction of the Uisuuline convent in Charlestown \xe2\x80\x94 Excitement produced \xe2\x80\x94 Re- \nview of the General character of Monastic Institutions \xe2\x80\x94 Revenues and privileges of \nthe European monks \xe2\x80\x94 Debasing influence of monastic discipline \xe2\x80\x94 Ineffectual efforts \nfor the Reformation of the monasteries. 438 \n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\nCeremony of introducing a Lady into a convent \xe2\x80\x94 Rules and regulations observed in con- \nvents \xe2\x80\x94 Duties of a noviciate \xe2\x80\x94 Taking the Veil \xe2\x80\x94 Attending Ceremonies \xe2\x80\x94 Deceptions \npractised by Monks \xe2\x80\x94 Licentious Indulgences \xe2\x80\x94 Disclosures at Montreal \xe2\x80\x94 General Re- \nmarks on the character and ten\'^ency of Monasticism. 450 \n\nPART IV.\xe2\x80\x94 JESUITISM. \n\nCHAPTER I. \n\nFoundation of the order of Jesus \xe2\x80\x94 Ignatius Loyola \xe2\x80\x94 Sketch of his early life \xe2\x80\x94 "Wounded \nat the seige of Fampeluna \xe2\x80\x94 Becomes deranged and retires from the world \xe2\x80\x94 Undertakes \na pilgrimage to the Holy Land \xe2\x80\x94 Returns to Europe and recommences study \xe2\x80\x94 Enters \nthe ministry \xe2\x80\x94 Projects the establishment of an orJer of Spiritual Knighthood \xe2\x80\x94 Repairs \nto Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Procures the approbation of the Pope who confirms the icstilution by a pa- \npal decree. 463 \n\nCHAPTER IL \n\nObject of the institution of Jesuitsm \xe2\x80\x94 Gtualifications for membership \xe2\x80\x94 Devotion to the in- \nterests of the Pope \xe2\x80\x94 Policy adopted by the Jesuits \xe2\x80\x94 Adaption of their doctrines to the \ncreeds and customs oi all nations \xe2\x80\x94 Secreta Monita, or private rules of the Society. 470 \n\nCHAPTER IIL \n\nProgress of Jesuitism \xe2\x80\x94 Influence among the Courts of Europe \xe2\x80\x94 Wealth of the order- \nObtain a grant of the province of Paraguay in South America \xe2\x80\x94 Government of the \nProvince \xe2\x80\x94 Standing army of the Jesuits \xe2\x80\x94 Outrages in France \xe2\x80\x94 Banished from that \nkingdom \xe2\x80\x94 Again restored to power \xe2\x80\x94 Assassination of the king of Poland^\xe2\x80\x94 Persecution \nand decline \xe2\x80\x94 Suppression of the order by pope Clement XIV. 484 \n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nCharacter and condition of the Jesuits during the time of their suppression \xe2\x80\x94 Reasons \nwhich caused the Restoration of the Order \xe2\x80\x94 Jesuitical Literature \xe2\x80\x94 Inculcation of per- \nnicious Doctrines \xe2\x80\x94 Consequent wickedness and violence \xe2\x80\x94 Jesuitism in the United \nStates \xe2\x80\x94 General Remarks. 491 \n\n\n\nxii CONTENTS. \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\nPART v.\xe2\x80\x94 POPERY IN THE UNITED STATES. \n\nCHAPTER I. \n\nImportance of the subject considered \xe2\x80\x94 Causes of the apathy in regard to it \xe2\x80\x94 Influence of \ninterested politicians \xe2\x80\x94 Sketch of American Ecclesiastical History \xe2\x80\x94 Interest of Foreign \nDespots in the overthrow of our institutions\xe2\x80\x94 French Revolution \xe2\x80\x94 War against liberal \nprinciples proclaimed by the holy Alliance \xe2\x80\x94 Boasts of the destruction of our Repub- \nlic. 499 \n\nCHAPTER II. \n\nAmerica compared with ancient Republics \xe2\x80\x94 Effects of Immigration on Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Causes of \nthe Emigration to America \xe2\x80\x94 Character of the emigrants \xe2\x80\x94 Their political principles \nand prejudices \xe2\x80\x94 Comparison of the Emigrants witt the early colonists \xe2\x80\x94 Their reli- \ngious Character \xe2\x80\x94 ^Influence of the Pope of Rome through them \xe2\x80\x94 General Deduc- \ntions. 510 \n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nInfluence of the Pope of Rome on the Government of the United States \xe2\x80\x94 Alarming in- \ncrease of this influence through immigration \xe2\x80\x94 Catholic organization and Institutions \xe2\x80\x94 \nDespotic character of Romanism \xe2\x80\x94 Reasons which have produced foreign interference- \nAttitude assumed by Austria \xe2\x80\x94 St. Leopold Foundation \xe2\x80\x94 Its influence and designs \xe2\x80\x94 \nReligious condition of Europe. 520 \n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nMissionary enterprises of the Romish Church \xe2\x80\x94 Superior means of success \xe2\x80\x94 Character of \nthe Jesuits \xe2\x80\x94 ^Education of the Catholic clergy \xe2\x80\x94 Conventual Education and discipline \xe2\x80\x94 \nOperations of the Austrian Conspirators \xe2\x80\x94 Danger to be apprehended \xe2\x80\x94 Success of \nCatholic eflTort in the United States-^Necessity of Protestant Vigilance. 529 \n\nCHAPTER V. \n\nOen era! apathy of the American Churches on the Catholic Ctuesfion \xe2\x80\x94 Necessity for its \nimmediate removal \xe2\x80\x94 Danger of Procrastination \xe2\x80\x94 Deleterious influence of intolerant \npublication? \xe2\x80\x94 want of authentic information \xe2\x80\x94 Manner in which it can be supplied \xe2\x80\x94 In- \nvestigation, the duty of the patriot and christian. 640 \n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nNecessity of a change in the religious feelings of community \xe2\x80\x94 Toleration carried too far \nby American Christian s \xe2\x80\x94 Means of awakening churches to Vigilance \xe2\x80\x94 Organization \nof an Anti-Catholic society \xe2\x80\x94 Its system and operations \xe2\x80\x94 Home missions \xe2\x80\x94 The Press \xe2\x80\x94 \nFoundation of Colleges \xe2\x80\x94 Probable effects of this plan \xe2\x80\x94 Conclusion. 549 \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. \n\nAs a partial knowledge of the history of Christianity previous to \nthe reign of Constantine, the era to which the origin of Popery may \nbe distinctly traced, is essential to a proper understanding of subse- \nquent events, the reader is furnished with a brief outline ot ecclesias- \ntical history, anterior to that memorable epoch. By the assistance \nthus afforded, he will be enabled to trace to their origin those causes \nwhich in their gradual developement, prepared the Church for the rad- \nical changes which were effected in its government and observances, \nuntil in every essential feature, Christianity became the direct reverse \nof the religion instituted by its Divine Founder. \n\nIn the reign of Augustus Caesar, in the 753d year of Rome, Jesus \nChrist, the Author of our Holy Religion, made his appearance on \nearth. The events of our Savior\'s life, recorded by the evangelists, \nwhich have come down to us, are universally known, and it is upon \nthe efficacy of his vicarious sufferings and propitiatory death, that all \nhis true followers base their hopes of everlasting happiness. Having \nchosen apostles to carry forward the work which it was the object of \nhis advent to commence on earth, our Lord previous to his ascension \ninto heaven, commanded them to preach the doctrine which he had \ntaught throughout the world, assuring them that they should be fur- \nnished with extraordinary gifts as evidences of their Divine Commis- \nsion. In obedience to their Master\'s injunction, we find the Apos- \ntles fearlessly and zealously co-operating with each other, and when \n"the day of Pentecost ^as fully come," assembled at Jerusalem. \n"And suddenly there came a sound from Heaven, as a rushing \nmighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting, and \nthere appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat up- \non each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and \ndid speak in tongues as the spirit gave thtm utterance." Thus was \nth^ sacred promise of Jesus accomplished, and the chosen Apostles \n\n\n\n14 INTRODUCTION. \n\nclothed with heavenly strength. Saul of Tarsus, originally a most \nefficient and unrelenting persecutor of the followers of Christ, having \nheen called to the Apostleship by a voice from Heaven, while on his \nway to Damascus, in pursuit of the innocent victims of persecution, \nthe first missionaries of the faith, strengthened by this auxihaiy, pro- \nceeded in the great work of turning mankind from darkness to light, \nfrom wickedness to righteousness, from Polytheism to a knowledge \nof the one omnipotent and ever living God. \n\nAs this new doctrine, was decidedly opposed to the corrupt creeds, \nand absurd dogmas, which had long trammelled the human mind, it \nfirst met with indifferent success, depending partially upon the cir- \ncumstances, in which the Apostles were placed. In general, how- \never, it encountered violent opposition, and the evangelists were fre- \nquently reduced to the necessity of exercising their sacerdotal functions \nat the imminent peril of their lives. \n\nOur Saviour received the most rancorous opposition from the Jews, \nwho having at length procured his crucifixion, could not be expected \nto treat his disciples with greater lenity. At this time, the Jewish na- \ntion was divided into three different sects, and although diametrically \nat variance with each other, in a religious and political point of view, \nyet each seemed to vie with the other in their hostility towards the \nChristian cause. The claims of Jesus to the character of Messiah, \nwere unanimously rejected, and it was not only deemed innocent, but \nconsidered necessary to crush at once, the religion which he taught. \nThe different sects alluded to were the Pharisees, Sadducees and Es- \nsenes. Among these different orders the Pharisees were far the \nmost numerous and influential, and in this sect Christianity found its \nmost powerful and deadly foe. From incorrect interpretations of the \nprophecies, they had figured to themselves the Messiah as a mighty \nchampion, who was destined to rescue the descendants of Israel from \nforeign bondage, and bring the whole world under the control of Mo- \nsaic rule. In the character of our Savior they did not recognize their \nimaginary deliverer. He appeared whhout the pomp and splendor of \nroyalty, without armies and military trappings, and he even declared \nboth in public and to his chosen followers, that his kingdom was not \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. 15 \n\nof this world. Their national pride was offended, and Pharisaical \nhostility was aroused in all its bitterness and malevolence. Many and \nfruitless were the efforts to involve Jesus in some charge which might \nsubject him to the rigor of the Jewish law. They finally succeeded \nin winning over one of the chosen twelve through whose infamous \ntreachery he was given up to their fury. They were the chief agents \nin procuring the death of Stephen. From them, Paul obtained the \ncommission which authorized him to bring Christians of all ages and \nsexes, bound to Jerusalem. It was their impotent ambition, their \nfalse expositions of sacred writings, and the vain hopes with which \nthey flattered and deluded the people, that urged on the destiny, and \nprecipitated the destruction of their country. Groaning under sever- \nities imposed by their Roman masters, severities which their own fac- \ntious and impatient spirit had rendered necessary. This ill-fated na- \ntion at length broke out into open rebellion ; and fondly dreaming \nthat the restoration of Jewish dominion was at hand, madly set at de- \nfiance the power of the Caesars. Asia-Minor and a great part of the \nEast, soon became a theatre of carnage and devastation. Thc^ Ro- \nman legions, under the conduct of Titus, invaded the sacred territory. \nThe Jewish capital was besieged, and for the space of six monthSi \nits devoted inhabitants were exposed to all the sufferings and terrors \nwith which offended heaven is wont to chastise the aggravated diso- \nbedience of man. \n\nWithin, discord and famine, destroyed those whom the city walls \nprotected from the deadly engines without. At length, in the year \n70, of the Christian era, Jerusalem was taken by storm, and an incen- \nsed and brutal soldiery, wreaked their vengeance upon the exhausted \nremnants of the Jewish nation. The temple was reduced to ashes, \nand the walls and buildings levelled with the dust. Eleven thousand \nperished in the siege, and in the assault, and those who survived the \ngeneral destruction were sold into slavery. The altar of God was \nthrown from its place, and broken to pieces \xe2\x80\x94 the sacrifice and the \noblation ceased, aud the smoking ruins proclaimed the departtd glory \nof Israel. \n\nDuring these calamities, the followers of Christ having increased \n\n\n\n16 \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION, \n\n\n\nto a very considerable number under the nninistry of Peter and John, \nfavored by an intimation of our Savior, of the coming doom of Jeru- \nsalem, withdrew from the city and the terrors of the siege. Retiring \nto Pella, a small town in Palestine, they for some time continued \nunited among themselves, and undisturbed in the exercise of their re- \nligion. \n\nThe progress of Christianity among the Gentiles was distinguished \nfor its surprising rapidity, both when the inadequacy of the means \nemployed in publishing it, and the character of the opposition, which \nit was required to encounter, are considered. It appears to have \nbeen an opinion by no means uncommon, among the different sects \nof ancient philosophers, that all the forms of religion were equally \nuseful in governing the people, and equally destitute of foundation in \ntruth. Any interference, therefore, with the acknowledged religion, \nwas regarded not only as unnecessary, but as imprudent and perni- \ncious, and he who should attempt to supplant it altogether, by the es- \ntablishment of a new religion, was considered an innovator, whom it \nwas incumbent on the magistrate to bring to punishment. The prac- \ntical consequence resulting from this opinion, was that Greek and \n\xe2\x99\xa6 Roman philosophers were often found among the bitterest opponents \nof Christianity, and the most unrehmting persecutors of its chosen \nheralds. Again the religion of Jesus contained nothing which was \ncalculated to fill the imagination of the poet or the statesman, to ex- \ncite their ambition or reward their alacrity. The founder of the \nnew system aside from his own apparently obscure origin, belonged \nto a hated nation, and had suffered a public and ignominious death. \nThe apostles and evangelists were poor men; they could extend no \nhope of wealth or distinction to their followers; they had no re- \nwards to allure the covetous \xe2\x80\x94 no honors to bestow on the vain. \n\nWith the popular superstitions the case was far different. The \nprosperity of the state was closely interwoven with its religious insti- \ntutions, and the glory of its military eonr\xc2\xbbmanders with that of the gods \nunder whose auspices and supposed protection they had gone forth to \nbattle. The banner under which the Roman nation had conquered \nthe world was the sacred bird of Jove. The capitol, the sight of \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. 17 \n\nwhich never failed to awaken and elevate their patriotism, was dedica- \nted to the same divinity ; their national history was filled with instan \nces of oracular warning, and protecting care ; the enchanting strains \nof poesy echoed the praises of their presiding deities ; and all that \ncould claim the attention, or rivet the attachment of the statesman or \nwarrior, was identified with their existence and honor. Nor was \nthis all. The pagan superstition had its intrinsic and peculiar attrac- \ntions. Most of the religious observances were such as forcibly \nrecommended themselves to the grosser and stronger passions of our \nnature. The festivals of Bacchus presented scenes of intoxication \nand riot, and the worship of Venus was always attended with the \ngrossest debauchery, while the Father of gods and men, whose au- \nthority in heaven and earth was held supreme, was in many particu- \nlars of his history, a conspicuous example of cruelty and lewdness. A \nsystem which allowed such indulgences, and atibrded such examples, \nwas not likely to be speedily abandoned. What then must have \nbeen the opposition which Christianity was doomed to encounter? \n\nHowever great may have been the patience and labor of the apos- \ntles, yet it is not to these alone, that we are to attribute the rapid \nprogress of Christianity. It is to other and higher causes, to a migh- \ntier machinery, to a cause more than human, that we are to asciibe \nthe extraordinary rapidity with which Christianity was propagated. \nEndowed with super-human gifts, the apostles and evangelists per- \nformed the most astonishing miracles in the presence of the multi- \ntude ; healing the sick, cleansing lepers, and restoring the dead to \nlife. The evidences of their commission were multiplied on every \nside ; the temples of idolatry began speedily to be forsaken, the long \nslumber of ages was broken, the eye was filled with the prospect of \nimmortality, and the World, awakened and active, pressed forward to \neverlasting life. Churches were soon established in almost every \nsection of the Roman empire \xe2\x80\x94 in Phrygia and Gallatia, provinces of \nAsia-Minor, and in Ethiopia, at Corinth, at Phillippi, Thessalonaca, \nand the capital itself. In a short time, nations more remote, heard \nof Jesus and bis doctrine. Gaul received a knowledge of Christian- \nity from the direct successors of the first apostles, and ere the close \n3 \n\n\n\n18 INTRODUCTION. \n\nof the second century, Germany, Spain, and Britain added to the \nmultitudes in other places, who made open profession of the Chris- \ntian faith. \n\nFortunately for the cause of Christ, and the best interests of man- \nkind, our holy religion had gained much stability before any laws \nwere enacted against it. At first the Christians were almost univer- \nsally considered as a sect ot the Jews, and from the general tolera- \ntion which liad been extended to that nation, they escaped from per- \nsecution. In time, the distinction between Christianity and Judaism \ncame to be known. From their open and zealous attacks upon Pa- \nganism, with which they were surrounded, the followers of Jesus \nwere considered by the populace as Atheists \xe2\x80\x94 and this opinion, inju- \nrious as it was untrue, having once been entertained, rapidly gained \nstrength and currency, because it was perceived that the Christians \nhad neither temples, altars nor sacrifices. \n\nTheir meetings were likewise held in secret, and it was shrewdly \ninferred, that they withdrew from the public eye, and sought the \nshades of night for the practice of some abominable rites, which they \nwere afraid to exhibit in the light of day, to the eyes of the world. \n\nUnder these circumstances the emperor Nero whose infamous cru- \nelty and tyranny, have alone secured the celebiity of his name, set \nfire to Rome, and reduced a great part of the city to ashes. By this \nwanton act the indignation of the people was everywhere excited. \nThe Emperor, reckless as it seems of every thing but his own popu- \nlarity, laid the guilt and all the odium connected with it to the charge \nof the Christians, and under this false pretence, immediately com- \nmenced a violent persecution against them. The most cruel punish- \nments were inflicted without distinction. Some of them were cruci- \nfied, others were impaled, some were thrown to the wild beasts, and \nnot a few having been wrapped in clothes smeared with pitch and \nsulphur, during the night were made to serve as torches to illuminate \nthe gardens of the emperor. In the mean time this prodigy of inhu- \nmanity entertained the populace with Circensian games, and was \nhimself an unblushing spectator of the scene. Sometimes walking \nabout in the dress of a charioteer, and mingling with the crowd, at \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. 19 \n\nothers viewing the awful spectacle from his imperial car. But all \nefforts to remove the suspicion of his own guilt were unavailing. \nNeither his liberality, his zeal for the honor of the gods, nor his bru- \ntal severity towards the followers of the cross, were sufficient to re- \nmove from him the imputation of having given orders to set the city on \nfire \xe2\x80\x94 and his name has accordingly been transmitted to us in the \ndouble character of incendiary and persecutor. \n\nAfter this persecution, which took place about the year 64, and du- \nring which St. Paul was beheaded at Rome, the Christian church en- \njoved an interval of repose. Under many of the succeeding Empe- \nrors, however, they were often exposed to the resentment of their \nenemies. The apostle John was banished to the island of Patmos, \nwhere, under the reign of the emperor Domitian, he wrote the Apoc- \nalypse, and multitudes of individuals, whose names history has failed \nto rescue from oblivion, boldly avowed their attachment to the cross, \nand rejoiced that thej- were counted worthy to suffer persecution and \ndeath for the cause of Christ. \n\nThe emperor Trajan, who has been described as a mild and accom- \nplished prince, is to be numbered among the persecutors of the Chris- \ntian Church ; and mild and accomplished as he certainly was, when \ncompared with his predecessors, he appears to have meditated noth- \ning less than the extinction of the Christian name. A correspond- \nence between Trajan and the younger Pliny, who was governor oi \none of the Roman provinces, has come down to us, and it refers to \nthe very subject which now occupies our attention. After expressing \nto the Emperor his doubts with regard to the course of conduct he \nought to pursue, the enlightened and philosophic Pliny, with an ap- \nparent consciousness of the rectitude of his own conduct, thus de- \nclares what he had already done, " In the mean time," says he " this \nhas been my method with regard to those who were brought before \nme as Christians ; if they pleaded guilty, I interrogated them twice \nafresh, with a menace of capital punishment. In case of obstinat* \nperseverance, I ordered them to be executed. For of this I had nt \ndoubt, whatever was the nature of their religion, that a sullen and in- \nflexible obstinacy called for the vengeance of the magistrate." Such \n\n\n\n20 INTRODUCTION. \n\nwas the treatment of the Christians at the tribunal of the younger \nPliny, a man whose character for benevolence and justice, is perhaps \nthe most distinguished, which the annals of pagan antiquity can fur- \nnish. The testimony of this same person to the purity and simplicity \nof the Christian manners, must not be passed over in silence. " And \nthis," says he, " was their account of the religion which they piofes- \nsed, whether il deserves the name of a crime or an error, namely, that \non a stated day they are accustomed to assemble before sunrise, and \nrepeat among themselves a hymn to Christ in the character of a God, \nand bind themselves by an caih not to cbmn>it any wickedness, but \non the contrary, to abstain from thefts, robberies and adulteries ; not \nto violate their promise, or deny a pledge ; after which it is their cus^ \ntorn to separate, and then to mjcet again, setting down to a harmless \nmeal of which all are invited to partake." We are proud of such tes- \ntimony, when its origin is considered, and more especially when it is \nfound in a confidential letter from this man to the emperor, acknowl- \nedging his inexperience, and asking for instructions as to the manner \nof proceeding, under such peculiar circumstances. " The Chris- \ntians," says Trajan in his reply, " are not to be sought for, but if they \nare brought before you and convicted, they must be punished." Ac- \ncordingly the persecution continued to be carried on, with but few re- \nstrictions. \n\nIndeed, the human mind revolts at the sufferings which the primi- \ntive Christians were doomed in many places to experience. They \nwere publicly whipped until their bones and sinews appeared ; the \nflesh was torn from them with red-hot pincers ; they were consumed \nby slow fires, which being prevented from reaching their vital parts \nas long as possible, their agony and sufferings were rendered the se- \nverest which human ingenuity could devise ; they were tortured in \niron chairs made red-hot, and kept glowing to receive them. The \nmost distinguished among the venerable fathers in the church, among \nwhom were Poly carp, Justin, and Irenaeus, severally obtained crowns \nof martyrdom, and with Christian meekness and constancy, sealed \ntheir testimony with their blood. Marcella and her daughter Ponta- \nmiaena, a woman of great beauty, were condemned to suffer on ac- \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. 21 \n\ncount of their religion, and were burnt to death, melted pitch having \nbeen poured over their naked bodies. Neither age nor sex was spa- \nred. The arm of power was raised, and to a hasty observer it might \nseem that the hour was at length come when Christianity, subdued \nand worn out with sufferings, would resign her name and place among \nmen. \n\nThis conclusion, however, would be the very reverse of truth. \nThe Christians had multiplied in a most extraordinary degree. They \nfilled the Senate House and the army, and they were to be found in \nall situations and employments. Persecution had produced upon them \nhs usual effects ; it not only united them more closel}^ inflamed \ntheir zeal and quickened their activity. Their opinions soon became \ngeneral ; a very great majority of the people embraced and avowed \nthem, till at length in the year 325 Constantine the Great was invest- \ned with the purple, and the religion of Jesus became the religion of \nthe empire. From this time Christianity was not only tolerated, but \nprotected and cherished. The number of the edifices consecrated to \nthe worship of God was increased, and the emperor himself was not \nashamed to be seen engaging in the exercises of religion, or in the \ndevout observance of the ceremonies ordained by the church. \n\nThe doctrines of the primitive church, were such, as would naturally \nbe drawn from the New Testament. These books were received by \nthe leading men in the Christian Assemblies, and approved of by the \npeople at large, they were publicly read and carefully preserved and \ntransmitted, and having been collected into a volume towards the close \nof the first century, they became to all the followers of Jesus, through- \nout the world, the only rule of conduct, and standard of faith. \n\nFrom the doctrine of the Christian Church, we are naturally led \nto the consideration of the heresies with which it was infested. Some \nof these heresies made their appearance soon after the promulgation \nof Christianity, nor is our religion at the present time, in the places \nwhere it is professed in the purest form, entirely free from their blight- \ning influence. Most of the heresies derived their origin from the un^ \nion of what was termed philosophical speculation, with the doctrines \nof the holy scriptures. Of this cast, particularly, was the heresy of \n\n\n\n22 INTRODUCTION. \n\nthe Gnostics : a heresy, which must be considered as the prolific pa- \nrent, of nearly every other, which has disguised and corrupted the \npurity and simplicity of the primitive faith. \n\nThis predominating heresy was based on the eastern dogma, of the \ntwo principles, one, the source of good, the other, the source of evil. \nTo the good principle, they gave the title of, Everlasting Father, \nwhile matter was considered as the evil principle. The latter was \nconsidered as independent and active, and often the successful rival of \nthe great Parent of Good. To the evil principle they attributed the \ncreatioa of the earth, and the disposition and arrangement of the hos- \npitable globe. They held too, that the soul, which, according to their \nideas of it, was pure and ethereal naturally, was clogged and depress, \ned, by the body, and its progress towards heaven and happiness re- \nstrained. They contended that Jesus Christ was the messenger and \ndeliverer, who was to put an end to all such restraints and obstruc- \ntions, to emancipate the imprisoned Spirit, and release the whole \nworld from the domination of mattt,r. They spoke of our Savior, as \nthe son of the Supreme Divinity, commissioned and despatched from \nthe habitations of the Everlasting Father. He was regarded as a Cre- \nated Existence, and it was maintained that though he was apparently \ninvested with a real body, yet in fact, he was destitute of all bodily \norgans. Consistent with this doctrine, they denied the resurrection \nof Christ, and that of the body of man. They believed in the exis- \ntence of inferior orders of spirits or divinities who resided in heaven \nor roamed through the earth, whose business and delight it was, to \nthwart the designs, and disturb the enjoyments of mankind. In ad- \ndition to this discordant system, they denied the authority of the Jew- \nish scriptures, and with strange and repulsive absurdity, held the iS\'er- \npent in high repute, as the author of sin. \n\nThis motley and incoherent system gave rise to certain practical \nconsequences. First, it led the Gnnstics to the study of magic, in \norder to avert the influence or weaken the power of the malignant \ngenii. Secondly, they were taught by it to practise all the varieties \nof mortification, and modes of austerity. The body, being the source, \nand organ of evil, it was not to be supported or cherished, lest the \n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. 23 \n\nsoul, its captive, should be still farther degraded and enslaved. \nHence the more rigid of the sect abstained from the most innocent \ngratifications : they rejected marriage and the society of women, and \nspent their whole lives in complete abstraction, from the world, in \npenance, solitude, and prayer. These practices, were confined, how- \never, to the most rigid of the Gnostics: others made afar different \nuse of their favorite notions, for they regarded the soul as entirely un- \naffected by the body, asserted the innocency and propriety of yielding \nto every dictate of nature, and indulged themselves in the grossest \nvices. \n\nThe heresies of the Gnostics were scarcely less numerous than the \ntenets of the later Platonists. They maintained that the morality of \nthe scriptures was of two kinds, one, more gross, for the multitude, \nthe other more refined, for christians of superior sanctity and merit. \nThey maintained likewise, the pernicious dogma, that the end if good \njustifies the means, which may be employed to obtain it, of whatever \ndescription they may be. This sentiment being disseminated abroad, \nwas generally received, and gave birth to all that chain of imposture, \nand all those pretended miracles and legends, which in succeeding \nages brought disgrace upon the name and cause of Christ. In this \nage of the world, and condition of the christian church, the hierar- \nchy and papacy arose, and it is the object of the following history to \ntrace out their origin, and record their history until the present time^ \n\n\n\nHISTORY \n\nOF \n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM \n\n\n\nCHAPTER I \n\n\n\nConversion of Constantine. \xe2\x80\x94 Persecution ceases. \xe2\x80\x94 Injurious tendency of \n\nthe Repose which follows. Form of Government in the Primitive \n\nChurch. \xe2\x80\x94 Gradual Usurpations of the Bishops. \xe2\x80\x94 Ecclesiastical Gov- \nernment assumes the form of the political. \xe2\x80\x94 Superior Rank of the Bishop \nof Rome ; causes of superiority ; claims to he the successor of St. Pe- \nter.; Rivalry of the Bishop of Constantinople. \xe2\x80\x94 Convocation of the \nCouncil of JSTice. \xe2\x80\x94 Dissensions of the Clergy.\xe2\x80\x94 -JS*icene Creed: \n\nThe accession of Constantine the Great to the throne of the Caesars, \nand his subsequent conversion to Christianity, forms a most important \nera in the history of the Church. That event, which took place in \nthe early part of the fourth century, at once arrested the persecutions, \nwhich, with but few interv^aiS, had been waged against the church \nsince its first organization, and restored complete tranquillity through- \nout the Roman empire. The conversion of Constantine is attributed \nby the early fathers to a miraculous interposition of Heaven, which \nit was affirmed took place as he was marching towards Rome, to at- \ntack his rival, Maxentius. This miracle is thus described by Euse- \nbius, who heard the narration from the Emperors mouth, confirmed \nby an oath: \n\n" The army having advanced within three miles of Rome, the Em- \nperor being employed in devout ejaculations, on the 27th of October, \nabout 3 o\'clock in the afternoon, when the sun was declining, there \nsuddenly appeared to him a pillar of light in the heavens, in the form \nof a cross^ with this plain inscription on or about it : " Hac vince," \n4 \n\n\n\n26 THEHISTORYOF \n\n\'^ In this overcome." Constantine was greatly surprised at this strange \nsight, which was also visible to the whole army, who equally won- \ndered at it with himself. The officers and commanders, prompted \nby the soothsayers, considered it an inauspicious omen, portending an \nunfortunate expedition ; nor did the Emperor himself understand ity \ntill the Saviour appeared to him in a vision, holding a cross in his hand, \nand commanding him to make a royal standard, like that he had seen \nin the heavens ; and cause it to be continually carried before his ar- \nmy, as an ensign both of victory and safety." \n\nBut that this extraordinary event was the reason of his conversion, \nIS a matter that has never been placed in such a light as to dispel all \ndoubts and difficulties. For the first edict of Constantine, and many \nother circumstances which might be alleged, show, that although he \nwas well disposed towards Christianity and to its modes of worship,, \nbut that he did not consider it as the only true religion, which must \nhave been the necessary result of a miraculous conversion. He de- \nclared it his intention and desire, that every form of religion, and par- \nticularly that which was handed down from the ancient Roraans> \nshould be freely tolerated in the empire, leaving to each individual the \nliberty of adhering to that which he considered best. Constantine, it \nis true, did not always remain in this state of indifference. In process \nof time, he acquired more extensive views of the excellence and im- \nportance of the Christian religion ; and gradually arrived at an entire \npersuasion, of its bearing alone the sacred marks of celestial truth and \ndivine origin. He was convinced of the falsehood and impiety of all \nother religious institutions ; and in consequence of this conviction, he \nearnestly exhorted all his subjects to embrace the Gospel, and at length \nemployed all the force of his authority in the abolition of the ancient \nsuperstitions. It is not easy, perhaps not essential, to fix the precise \ntime when his religious sentiments became so far changed as to ren- \nder all religions, but that of Christ, objects of his aversion. All that, \nwe know with certainty concerning this matter is, that this change \nwas first published to the world by the laws and edicts which the Em^ \nperor issued in the year 324 ; when, after the defeat and death of his \nremaining rival, Licinius, he reigned, without a colleague, sole lord of \nthe Roman empire. \n\nThe repose enjoyed by the church, under the reign of Constantine^ \nwas little conducive to its welfare and purity. The primeval simpli- \ncity of Christianity was soon lost in the trappings of luxury, and the \nfalse dignity of power. Originally, the care of each congregation was \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 27 \n\nentrusted to its Pastqr or Bishop, along with a certain number of as- \nsistants ; and these last were particularly consulted in matters of gov- \nernment and discipline. To the Pastor or Bishop, and his assistants, \nwere added the Deacons, whose business it was to take care of the \npoor. The office of pastor was confirmed for life, unless it was for- \nfeited by some instance of misconduct in him who engaged it. He \nwas commonly styled the Bishop, or ov^erseer, and sometimes the an- \ngel, of the congregation to which he belonged. In the first age, the \necclesiastical funcaonaries were supported by the voluntary contri- \nbutions of the people under their charge. The whole society was \njoined together by one principle of love, and its members distinguish- \ned by a " simplicity and godly sincerity," wdiich we shall look for in \nvain in the succeeding ages of the church. \n\nLet us now trace, as shortly and distinctly as we can, the steps by \nwhich the usurpations of the hierarchy and papacy reached their un- \nwarrantable and criminal height. First of all, the distinction between \nthe Bishop and his assistants was rendered more obvious and consid- \nerable. Next, an idea began to prevail, that these assistants were \nonly the representatives of the Bishop, deriving their powers exclu- \nsively from him, and subject in the exercise of those powers to his su- \nperintendence, inspection, and control. He ordained the functiona- \nries in question to the clerical office, and they were tried in Avhat may \nbe called, at this early period, his consistory court. The property of \nthe church, arising from the liberal donations of the Christian breth- \nren, was now regarded as belonging in a great degree to the Bishop, \nand in the disposal and use of it he not unfrequently consulted his ov/n \nimportance and splendor. This property was sometimes in land ; but \nwhether in land or in money, or in cups and vestments, when once \nconsigned to the church, it remained forever in her possession. She \neould acquire property, but she could not lose it ; no individual could \ndeteriorate it to the injury of his successor; no deed or settlement \ncould alienate it to the injury of the community." \n\nThe next step seems to have been taken by the Bishops residing in \nlarge towns. In those towns, the ecclesiastical assembhes were usu- \nally held ; the Bishop, always on the spot, and growing daily in wealth \nand influence, was commonly chosen President of those assemblies. \nWhen once chosen, he could not easily be prevailed on to resign his \nplace. In a short time, he would claim it as his right. Proscription \nwould sanction what usurpation -had begun. And thus the Bishop, \nwho was formerly on a level with bis brethren of tlie Episcopate, \n\n\n\n28 THEHISTORYOF \n\nwould be established in precedency and splendor, as the metropolitan \nof the province to which he belonged. His powers were then extendi \ned and confirmed. New claims were made and allowed ; the civil \npolity of Constantine afforded an example ; the ecclesiastical consti- \ntution was made to approximate to the political ; the rulers of the \nchurch corresponded to the high offices and governors of the state ; \ntheir provinces were of similar extent ; and though their functions \nwere different, their authority was nearly the same. The metropolis \ntan now became a patriarch, and in process of time the patriarch be* \ncame a Pope.* \n\nIn the Episcopal order, the Bishop of Rome was the first in rank, \nand was distinguished by a sort of preeminence over all the other pre- \nlates. Prejudices, arising from a greati^ariety of causes, contributed \nto establish this superiority ; but it was chiefly owing to certain cir- \ncumstances of grandeur and opulence, by which mortals, for the most \npart, form their ideas of preeminence and dignity, and which they gen*, \nerally confound with the reasons of a just and legal authority. The \nBishop of Rome surpassed all his brethren in the magnificence and \nsplendor of the church over which he presided, in the riches of his \nrevenues and possessions, in the number and variety of his ministers, \nin his credit with the people, and in his sumptuous manner of Hving. \nThese dazzling marks of human power, these ambiguous proofs of \nhuman greatness and fehcity, had such a strong influence on the mor- \nals of the multitude, that the See of Rome easily became a most sedu- \ncing object of sarcedotal ambition. Hence it happened, that when a \nDew pontiff v/as to be elected by the suffrages of the presbytery and \nthe people, the city of Rome was generally agitated with dissensions, \ntumults and cabals, whose consequences were often deplorable and \nfatal. The intrigues and disturbances that prevailed in that city in the \nyear 356, when upon the death of Liberius, another pontiff was to be \nchosen, are a sufficient proof of this assertion. Upon this occasion, \none faction elected Damasus to that high dignity, while the opposite \nparty chose Ursicinius, a deacon of the vacant church, to succeed Li- \nberius. This double election gave rise to a dangerous schism, and a \nsort of civil war within the city of Rome, which was carried on with \nthe utmost barbarity and fury, and produced the most cruel massa- \ncres and desolations. This inhuman contest ended in the victory of \n\n\n\n* The word Pope is derived from the Latin word papa, which signifies father. It was \nfirst applied to all Bishops, \xe2\x80\x94 but in process of time to the Bishop of Rome only. It 13 \nfrom this papa, that the Roman Catholics are called Papists, and their doctrines Popery. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 2Q \n\nthe latter ; but whether his cause was more just than that of Ursici- \nnius, is a question not so easy to determine. Neither of the two, in- \ndeed, seem to have been possessed of such principles as constitute a \ngood Christian, much less of that exemplary virtue that should distin- \nguish a Christian Bishop. \n\nNotwithstanding the pomp and splendor that surrounded the Roman \nSee, it is however certain that the Bishops of that city had not ac- \nquired in this century that preeminence of honor and jurisdiction in \nthe Church which they afterward enjoyed. The last change in the \ncompletion of Sarcedotal aggrandizement was the result of other cir- \ncumstances and considerations, besides those which we have mention- \ned above. It had been observed, that in the enumeration of the apos- \ntles, given by the sacred writers, Peter held the first place, probably \non the account of his age and personal respectability : \xe2\x80\x94 " Now the \nnames of the twelve apostles are these," says St. Matthew, "first Si- \nmon, who is called Peter," &c. ; that is, Peter occupying the first \nplace. It had been remarked likewise, that this apostle had been rep- \nresented by Christ himself as the rock on which the church was to \nbe founded : \xe2\x80\x94 " Thou art Peter," says he to him, " and on this rock \n(alluding to his name) will I build my church;" that is, in conse- \nquence of thy ministry and apostolic labors, shall the religion which I \nam commissioned to teach be introduced into the world, and finally \nestablished. Accordingly, the apostle Peter was the first who preach- \ned to the Jews the doctrine of our Saviour\'s resurrection, as a tenet \nof the Christian creed, and he was the first also who announced to \nthe Gentiles that they were admitted into the covenant of Abraham, \nand were entitled to all its privileges and blessings. By the Bishop \nof Rome, however, and his adherents, these passages in holy writ \nwere understood in a very different sense. In their apprehension, St. \nPeter occupied the first place, not on account of his years and his \npersonal respectability, but solely on account of those powers and \ndignities conferred on him by Christ. He was the rock they afiirmed \non which the church was built, the foundation and support of the \nwhole ; and in their zeal for their own aggrandizement and interest, \nthey forgot the declaration, in which we are assured that the church is \nbuilt on the "apostles and prophets," generally, "Jesus Christ being \nthe chief corner stone." \n\nBut it would be of no consequence to invest Peter with powers and \ndignities, unless the Bishop of Rome could prove himself to be the \nlegitimate successor of that venerable Apostle. This of course he \n\n\n\n30 THEHISTORYOF \n\nvery soon attempted. ( It was given out, and very soon believed, that \nthe See of Rome was founded by the Apostle alluded to, though it \ndoes not appear from any historical document that he ever visited the \nCapital of the Roman world. There v/as a prevalent tradition, how- \never, that such had been the case. This claim once made was not to \nbe abandoned. It was proclaimed more loudly than ever, that St. \nPeter, the first, and chief of all the Apostles was the founder of the \nRoman See. And it was no less pertinaciously maintained, that the \nhonors conferred on this distinguished individual, had ascended by \nregular devolution upon his successors in office. The inference was \nplain. The Bishop of Rome, like St. Peter, himself was the rock on \nwhich the church was built, the foundation and basis of the whole \nsuperstructure, without which it could not stand together for a mo- \nment, but must instantly fall into ruins. The powers of the church \nwere invested in him alone, laid up as it were, and condensed in his \nsacred person. If others were the branches he was the root. If \nothers might be permitted to call themselves the streams, he was the \ninexhaustable fountain which supplied the whole. In one word, he \nwas constituted by Jesus Christ himself, the supreme legislator and \njudge of the universal church, and all Bishops, Metropolitans and Pa- \ntriarchs were subject to his authority and dependent on his sovereign \nwill./ \n\nThis it must be owned was a sv/eeping conclusion, but the premises \nwere received as good, and the consequences appeared to be unavoid- \nfible. The value of the new logic was not universally allowed. Con- \nfitantine by removing the seat of the empire to Byzantium, and build- \ning the city of Constantinople, raised up in the bishop of the new \nmetropolis, a formidable rival to the Roman Pontiff, and a bulwark \nwhich menaced a vigorous opposition to his growing authority. For, \nas the Emperor, in order to render Constantinople a second Rome, \nenriched it with all the rights and privileges, honors and ornaments of \nthe ancient capital of the world : so its bishop measuring his own rank \n^nd dignity by the magnificence of the new cit}^, and its eminence as \nthe residence of the august Emperor, assumed an equal degree of \ndignity, with the Bishop of Rome, and claimed a superiority over all \nthe rest of the Episcopal order. Nor did the emperors disprove of \nthese high pretensions, since they considered their own dignity con- \nnected in a certain degree with that of the Bishop of their imperial \ncity. Accordingly in a council held at Constantinople in the year \n381, by the authority of Theodosius the Great, the Bishop of that city, \n\n\n\nil JVt A N C A T H L I C I S M . 81 \n\nwas, in the absence of the Bishop of Alexandria, and against the con- \nsent of the Roman prelate, placed by the third canon of that council, \nin the first rank after the Bishop of Rome, and consequently above \nthose of Alexandria and Antioch. Nectarius was the first Bishop who \nenjoyed these new honors, accumulated upon the See of Constanti- \nnople. His successor, the celebrated John Chrysostom, extended still \nfurther the privilege of that See, and submitted to its jurisdiction all \nAsia, Thrace and Pontus, nor were the succeeding Bishops of that \nimperial city, destitute of a fervent zeal to augment their territories \nand extend their jurisdiction. \n\nThis certain revolution in the ecclesiastical government, and this \nunexpected promotion of the Bishop of Byzantium to a higher rank \nto the detriment of other prelates, of the first eminence in the church, \nwere productive of the most disagreeable effects. For this promotion \nnot only filled the Bishops of Alexandria and Antioch with the utmost \nresentment towards those of Constantinople, but also excited those \nbitter contentions and disputes between these latter and the Roman \npontiffs, which were carried on for many ages with such various suc^ \ncess, and concluded at length in the entire separation of the Latin and \nGreek churches. \n\nFor the pacification of the divisions and contentions which distrae-*- \nted the Christian Church, and the suppression of the heresies, partic- \nularly that of Arius, a presbyter of Alexandria which had crept in during: \nits repose, Constantine issued his imperial summons for the convocatioM \nof a general council, and in the year 335, the representatives of the - \nwhole Christian world assembled at Nice, in Bythinia, to ascertain th(^ \nCatholic doctrine, and provide for the tranquillity of future generations^ \nThe appearance of this Assembly was venerable in the highest de^ \ngree. No fewer than two thousand ecclesiastics according to some ac- \ncounts, had risen from their retirements in obedience to the imperial \nsummons, and of those three hundred and eighteen were Bishops. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe Emperor himself presided in the Council " excet3ding" as Euse- \nbius says " all his attendants in stature, gracefulness, and strength, and \ndazzling every eye with the splendor of his apparel." And the ques- \ntion to be decided related to nothing less, than the pecuhar distinctions \nwhich may be predicated of the divine essence, and the honor which \nbelongs to the Son of God. Impartiality however, obliges us to de- \nclare, that the conduct and deportment of the fathers, did not exactly \ncorrespond v/ith the respectability of their appearance and the solem- \nnity of the occasion. They seemed to think that they had met toge- \n\n\n\n32 "T H B M I S T R t I\' \n\nther, rather with a view to settle their private disputes, than to ascef-^ \ntain the Catholic faith. Numerous complaints were made, and loads \nof memorials were transmitted to the Emperor. These memorials \nwere nothing less than accusations of parties of individuals, each man \nlibelling his antagonist, and representing him as an enemy to the \nchurch. It is said that the Emperor having collected the libels in \nquestion, threw them into the fire, advising the fathers, according to a \nprecept of our Saviour, to forgive one another as they expected to be \nforgiven, and modestly thinking that it did not belong to him to decide \nthe differences of the Christian Bishops. Having proceeded thus far, \nhe proceeded to request the immediate attention of the council to the \nweighty matter which lay before them. Upon this subject, hov/ever, \nthere was a great and very unexpected unanimity. The doctrine of the \ndhurch appears to have been so completely separated from the her- \nesy of Arius, that no private dissensions or remaining rancor, among \nthe members of the synod, could prevent them from agreeing in the \nquestion at issue. The tenets of this disputatious presbyter, as he \nwas called, were solemnly condemned, and by the order of the Em- \nperor he was banished into Illyria. The Homoousian doctrine, or \nthe doctrine of Consubstantiality, was pronounced to be the faith of \nthe church ; and though there were certain differences of opinion \nwith regard to the meaning of the term hupostases, and though it was \nfor some time disputed whether this term applied to the nature of the \nGodhead, or to the persons in the blessed Trinity, still it was finally \ndeclared, with scarcely a dissenting voice, that Jesus Christ, the Son \nof God, was not in substance or essence distinct from the Father. \nArius himself was present in this assembly, the most numerous which \nthe Christian world had ever witnessed before. He was supported \nby Eusebius of Nicomedia, Maris of Chalcedon, and Theognis of Nice. \nThese Ecclesiastics, v/ho seem to have been persons of considerable \nability, attempted to explain or to qualify their heretical opinions, but \nEusebius alone persisted in refusing to subscribe to the sentence of \nthe council. Among the orthodox, the chief speaker was the famous \nAthanasius, then only a deacon in the church of Alexandria. \n\nThe following may be considered as a summary of the Catholic \nfaith, as it relates to the second person in the heavenly Trinity, at the \nperiod to which our observations refer. It is a version of the JVlcene \nCreed, as it appears in the Epistle of Eusebius to the Cesareans, &c. \n"We believe in one God, Father Almighty of things visible and invis- \nible. And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the only begot-- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 33 \n\nten of the Father ; that is, of the substance of the Father, God of \nGod, Light of Light, true God of true God: begotten, not made, con- \nsubstantial with the Father, by whom all things were made, both \nthings in heaven, and things on earth : who, for us men, and for our \nsalvation, came down from heaven, and was incarnate, and became \nman, suffered and rose again the third day, and ascended into the hea- \nvens, and comes to judge the quick and the dead ; and in the Holy \nGhost. And the Catholic and Apostolical Church doth anathematise \nthose persons who say that there was a time when the Son of God \nwas not, that he was made of nothing or of another substance or be- \ning, or that he is created^ changeable or contestible^" \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IK \n\nIgnorance of the Clergy. \xe2\x80\x94 Corruption of Christianity. \xe2\x80\x94 Veneration for \nholy relics and departed saints. \xe2\x80\x94 Worship of images. \xe2\x80\x94 Frauds and \npretended miracles practised by impostors. \xe2\x80\x94 Rise of Monasticism. \xe2\x80\x94 \nClerical disputations and contentions. \xe2\x80\x94 Usurpations of the Byzantine \nBishop; checked by the Roman Pontiff. \xe2\x80\x94 Extemion of the See of \nRome by conversions in the west, \xe2\x80\x94 Germans and Franks embrace \nChristianity. \xe2\x80\x94 Baptism of Clovis. \n\nThe fundamental principles of the Christian doctrine were pre- \nserved hitherto uncorrupted and entire, though it must be confessed \nthat they were often explained and defended in a manner that discov- \nered the greatest ignorance, and an utter confusion of ideas. The dis- \nputes carried on in the Council of Nice, concerning the three persons \nin the Godhead, affard a remarkable example of this, particularly in the \nlanguage and explanations of those who approved the decisions of that \nCouncil. So little light, precision, and order, reigned in their discour- \nses, that they seemed to substitute three Gods instead of one. \n\nNor did the evil end here. For those vain fictions which an attach- \nment to the Platonic Philosophy and popular opinions, had engaged the \ngreatest part of the Christian doctors to adopt before the time of Con- \nstantine,were now confirmed,enlarged and embellished in various ways. \nFrom hence arose that extravagant veneration for departed Saints, and \nthose absurd notions of a certain ^re destined to purify separate souls, \nthat now prevailed, and of which, the public marks were every where \nto be seen. Hence also the celibacy of the priests, the worship of \nimages, and relics, which in process of time almost utterly destroyed \nthe Christian religion, or at least eclipsed its lustre, and corrupted its \nvery essence in the most deplorable manner. \n\nAn enormous train of different superstitions were gradually substitu- \nted, in the place of true religion and genuine piety. This revolution \nwas owing to a great variety of causes. A ridiculous precipiation in \nreceiving new opinions, a preposterous desire of imitating the Pagan \nrites and blending them with the Christian worship, and that idle pro- \npensity which the generality of mankind have towards a gaudy and os- \ntentatious religion, all contributed to establish the reign of superstition \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 35 \n\nupon the ruins of Christianity : accordingly frequent pilgrimages, were \nundertaken to Palestine, and to the tombs of the martyrs, as if there \nalone the sacred principles of virtue and the certain hope of salvation \nwere to be acquired. The reins being once let loose to superstition \nwhich knows no bounds, abyurd notions and idle ceremonies multiplied \nevery day. Quantities of dust and earth brought from Palestine and \nother places, remarkable for their supposed sanctity, were handed \nabout as the most powerful remedies against the malignity and violence \nof wicked spirits, and were every where bought and sold at enormous \nprices. The public processions and supplications by which the Pagans \nendeavored to appease their Gods were now adopted into the Christian \nworship, and celebrated with great pomp and magnificence. The vir- \ntues that had formerly been ascribed to the heathen temples, to their \nlustrations, to the statues of their gods and heroes, were now attribu- \nted to Christian churches, to water consecrated by certain forms of \nprayer, and to images of holy men. And the same privileges which \nthe former enjoyed under the darkness of Paganism, were conferred \nupon the latter under the light of the gospel, or rather under the cloud \nof superstition that was obscuring its glory. It is true that as yet \nimages were not very common, nor were there any statues at all, but \nit is at the same time as undoubtedly certain, as it is deplorable, that \nthe worship of the martyrs, was modelled by degrees, according to the \nreligious services that were paid to the gods before the coming of \nChrist. \n\nFrom these facts, which are but small specimensof the state of Chris- \ntianity at this time, the discerning reader will easily perceive what det- \nriment the church received from the peace and prosperity procured \nby Constantine, and from the imprudent methods employed to allure \nthe different nations to embrace the gospel. The brevity we have \nproposed to observe in this history, prevents our entering into an am- \nple detail of the dismal eftects which arose from the progress, and the \nbaneful influence of superstition, now become universal. \n\nThis, among other unhappy effects, opened the door to the endless \nfrauds of those impostors, who were so far destitute of all principles as \nto enrich themselves by the ignorance and errors of the people. Ru- \nmors were artfully spread abroad, of prodigies and miracles to be seen \nin certain places, a trick often practised by the heathen priests ; and \nthe design of these reports was, to draw the populace in multitudes to \nthese places, and to impose upon their credulity. Such stratagems \nwere generally successful; tor the ignorance and slowness of appre- \n\n\n\n36 TH E HISTORY F \n\nhension of the people, to v/hom everything that was new or singular \nseemed miraculous, rendered them the easy dupes of these abominable \nartifices. Nor was this all : certain tombs were falsely given out for \nthe sepulchres of the saints and confessors, the lists of saints were aug- \nmented by the addition of fictitious names, and even robbers were \nconverted into martyrs. Some buried the bones of dead men in re- \ntired places, and then affirmed that they were divinely admonished by \na dream that a friend of God lay there. Many, especially of the \nMonks, traveled through the different provinces ; and not only sold, \nwith the most consummate impudence, their fictitious relics, but also \ndeceived the eyes of the multitude with ludicrous combats with evil \nspirits or genii. A whole volume would be requisite, to enumerate the \nvarious frauds which artful knaves practised with success to delude \nthe ignorant, when true religion, as taught by its Divine Founder, was \nalmost entirely withered by the accursed blight of superstition. \n\nThe famous Grecian fanatic,who called himself Dionysius the Areo- \npagite, disciple of St. Paul, and who, under the protection of this ven- \nerable name, gave laws and instructions to those who were desirous \nof raising their souls above all human things, in order to unite them \nto their Great Source by subfime contemplation, Hved most probably \nin this century. No sooner were the writings and instructions of this \nfanatic handed about among the Greeks and Syrians, and particular- \nly among the solitaries and monks, than a gloomy cloud of religious \ndarkness began to spread itself over the minds of many. An incred-, \nible number of proselytes were added to that chimerical sect, who \nmaintained that communion with God was to be sought successfully- \nonly by mortifying the sense, by withdrav/ing the mind from all ex- \nternal things, by macerating the body with hunger and labor, and by \na holy sort of indolence which confined all the activity of the soul to \na lazy contemplation of things spiritual and eternal. \n\nMonasticism first made its appearance in this age of the church, and \nthe whole Christian world was overrun with amazing rapidity with \nsolitary monks and sequestered virgins ; but as we propose, for the \npake of perspicuity, to treat this subject in a separate form, its history \nwill be found attached to the work, under its appropriate head. \n\nDuring the latter part of the fourth, and commencement of the fifth \ncentury, under the reign of the successors of Constantine, the history \nof the church continues to present the same scene of contention which \nfollowed the restoration of peace by that illustrious monarch. The \npost learned men continued to waste their time, and exhaust their in- \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\n\nR ^I A N C A T II L I C 1 S M . 37 \n\ntellects, in idle controversies about trivial points of faith, and particu- \nlar forms of worship. To these evils were added the ambitious quar- \nrels and bitter animosities that rose among- the patriarchs themselves, \nand which produced the most bloody wars and detestable crimes. In \nthese contests, the patriarch of Constantinople stood preeminent. \nElated with the favor and proximity of the Imperial Court, he cast a \nhaughty eye on all sides, where any objects were to be found on which \nhe might exercise his lordly ambition. On the one hand, he reduced \nunder his jurisdiction the patriarchs of Alexandria and Antioch as \nprelates only of the second order ; and on the other, he invaded the \ndiocess of the Roman pontiff, and spoiled him of several provinces. \nThe two former prelates, though they struggled with vehemence, and \nraised considerable tumults by their opposition, yet they struggled in- \neffectually, both for a want of strength, and likewise on account of \na variety of circumstances. But the Roman pontiff, far superior to \nthem in wealth and power, contended also with more vigor and obsti- \nnacy, and in his turn gave a deadly v/ound to the usurped supremacy \nof the Byzantine patriarch. \n\nThe attentive enquirer into the affairs of the Church from this pe- \nriod, will find in the events now mentioned, the principal source of \nthose deplorable dissensions which first divided the eastern church \ninto various sects and afterwards separated it entirely from that of the \nwest. He will find that these ignominious schisms flowed chiefly from \nthe unchristian contentions for dominion and supremacy, which reignec^ \namong those who set themselves up for the fathers and defenders of \nthe church. None of the contending Bishops found the occurrences \nof the times, so favorable to their ambition as the Rom.an pontiff. \n\nNotwithstanding the redoubled efforts of the Bishop of Constanti*. \nnople, a variety of circumstances united in augmenting his power and \nauthority, though he had not as yet, assumed the dignity of supreme \nlawgiver and judge of all Christendom. The Bishops of Alexandria \nand Antioch, unable to make head against the lordly prelate of Con- \nstantinople, fled often to the Roman Pontiff for succor against his vion \nlence; and the inferior order of Bishops used the same method when \ntheir rights were invaded by the prelates of Alexandria and Antioch. \nSo that the bishop of Rome, by taking all these prelates alternately un- \nder his protection,\'daily added new degrees of influence and authority \nto the Roman See, rendered it every where respected, and was thus \nimperceptibly establishing its supremacy. Such were the means by \nivhich the Roman pontift\' extended his dominion in the east. In tho \n\n\n\n38 T H E II I S T R Y F \n\nv/est its increase v/as owing to other causes. The declining power \nand the supine indolence of the emperors, left the authority of the \nBishop, who presided in their imperial city, almost without control. \n\nThe incursions, moreover, and triumphs of the barbarians, were so far \nfrom being prejudicial to his rising dominion, that ihey rather contribu- \nted to its advancemet. For the kings, who penetrated into the em- \npire, were only solicitous about the methods of giving a sufficient de- \ngree of stability to their respective governments. And when they \nperceived the subjection of the multitude to the Bishops, and the de- \npendence of the Bishops upon the Roman pontiff, they immediately \nresolved to reconcile this ghostly ruler to their interests, by loading \nhim with benefits and honors of various kinds. Among all the pre- \nlates who ruled the church of Rome during this century, there was \nnone who asserted with such vigor and success, the authority and pre- \ntensions of the Roman pontitf. as Leo, commonly surnamedthe Great. \nIt mast however be observed, that neither he, nor the other promoters \nof that cause, were able to overcome all the obstacles that were laid \nin their way, nor the various checks which were given to their ambition. \n\nMany examples might be alleged in proof of this point, particularly \nthe case of the Africans, whom no threats nor promises could engage \nto submit the decision of their controversies, and the determination \nof their causes, to the Roman tribunal. \n\nWhile the Bishops of the eastern and western churches were thus \nengaged in a contest for supremacy, the latter was constantly augment- \ning his influence and power, by the rapid conversions which were \neffected among the difierent nations of Europe. \n\nThe Germans did not all receive the christian faith at the same time. \nSome of them had embraced the truth before the time of their incur- \nsion ; and such, among others, was the case of the Goths. Others after \nhaving erected their little kingdoms in the empire, embraced the gospel, \nthat they might thus live with more security amidst a people, who, in \ngeneral, professed the christian religion. It is however uncertain and \nlikely to continue so, at what time and by whose ministry, the Vandals, \nSueves and Alans, were converted to Christianity. With respect to the \nBurgundians,who inhabited the banks of the Rhine,and who passed from \nthence into Gaul, we are informed by Socrates, that they embraced the \ngospel of their own accord, from a notion that Christ or the God of the \nRomans, who had been represented to them as a most powerful being, \nwould defend them against the rapine and incursions of the Huns. They \nafterwards sided with the Arian party, to which also the Vandals, \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 3^ \n\nBiieves, and Goths, were zealously attached. All th^se fierce and \nwarlike nations judged a religion excellent, in proportion to the suc- \ncess which crowned the arms of those that professed it ; and esteem- \ned, consequently, that doctrine the best, whose professors had gained \nthe greatest number of victories. When therefore they saw the Ro- \nmans possessed of an empire much more extensive than that of any \nother people, they concluded that Christ, their God, was of all others \nthe most worthy of religious homage. \n\nIt was the same principle and the same views that engaged Clovis, \nKing of the Salii, a nation of the Franl^\'s, to embrace Christianity. \nThis prince, whose signal valor was accompanied with barbarity, ar- \nrogance and injustice, founded the kingdom of the Franks in Gaul, \nafter having made himself master of a great part of that country, and \nmeditated with a singular eagerness and avidity the conquest of the \nwhole. His conversion to the Christian religion is dated from the bat- \ntle he fought with the Alemans in the year 496, at a village called \nTolbiacum ; in which, when the Franks began to give ground, and \ntheir affairs seemed desperate, he implored the assistance of Christ, \nwhom his Queen Clothildis, daughter of the King of the Burgundians, \nhad often represented to him in vain as the son of the time God, and \nsolemnly engaged himself by a vow to worship him as his God, if he \nrendered him victorious over his enemies. \n\nVictory decided in favor of the Franks ; and Clovis, faithful to his \nengagement, received haptism at Rheims, toward the conclusion of \nthat same year, after having been instructed by Remigius, Bishop of \nthat city, in the doctrines of the gospel. The example of the king had \nsuch a powerful effect upon the minds of his subjects, that three thou- \nsand of them immediately followed it, and were baptized with him. \nMany are of opinion, that the desire of extending, his dominions was \nthat which contributed principally to render Clovis faithful to his en- \ngagement, though some influence may be allowed to the zeal and ex- \nhortations of his Queen Clothildis. Be that as it will, nothing is more \ncertain than that his profession of Christianity was in effect greatly ad- \nvantageous to him, both in confirming and enlarging his empire. The \nmiracles which are said to have been wrought, at the baptism of Clo- \nvis, are utterly unworthy of the smallest degree of credit. Among \nothers, the principal prodigy, that of the phial full of oil, said to have \nbeen brought from heaven by a milkwhite dove, during the ceremony \nof baptism, is a fiction; or rather, perhaps, an imposture ; a pretended \nmiracle, contrived by artifice and fraud, and believed only by the igno- \n\n\n\n40 THEHISTORYOF \n\nrant and credulous. Pious frauds of this nature were very common- \nly practised in Gaul and in Spain at this time, in order to captivate \nwith more facility the minds of a rude and barbarous people, who were \nscarcely susceptible of a rational conviction. \n\nThe conversion of Clovis is looked upon by the learned as the ori- \ngin of the titles of most Christian king and eldest son of the churchy \nwhich have been so long attributed to the kings of France. For if \nwe except this prince, all the kings of those barbarous nations who \nseized upon the Roman provinces were either yet involved in the \ndarkness of paganism, or infected with the Arian heresy. Celestine, \nthe Roman pontiff, sent Palladius into Ireland to propagate the Chris- \ntian religion among the rude inhabitants of that island. This first mis- \nsion was not attended with nmch fruit ; nor did the success of Palla- \ndius bear any proportion to his laborious and pious endeavors. After \nhis death, the same pontiff" employed in this mission Succathus, a na- \ntive of Scotland, whose name he changed into that of Patrick, and \nwho arrived among the Irish in the year 432. The success of his \nministry, and the number and importance of his pious exploits, stand \nupon record as undoubted proofs not only of his resolution and pa- \ntience, but also of his dexterity and address. Having attacked, with \nmuch more success than his predecessor, the errors and superstitions \nof that uncivilized people, and brought great numbers of them over to \nthe Christian religion, he founded in the year 472 the archbishopric \nof Armagh, which has ever since remained the metropolitan see of the \nIrish nation. Hence this famous missionary, though not the first who \nbrought among that people the light of the gospel, has yet been justly \nentitled the Jlpostle of the Irish, and the father of the Hibernian Churchy \nand is still generally acknowledged and revered in that honorable char- \nacter. \n\nIn Britain, several circumstances concurred to favor the propaga- \ntion of Christianity. Ethelbert, King of Kent, and the most consid- \nerable of the Anglo Saxon monarchs, among whom that island was \nat this time divided, married Bertha, daughter of Cherebert, King of \nParis, toward the conclusion of this century. This princess, partly \nby the pious efforts of the clergy who followed her into Britain, grad- \nually formed in the mind of Ethelbert a favorable opinion of the Chris- \ntian religion. While the king entertained this disposition, Gregory the \nGreat sent into Britain, A. D. 596, forty Benedictine monks, with Au- \ngustine at their head, in order to bring to perfection what the pious \nqueen had so happily begun. This monk, seconded by the zeal and \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 41 \n\niisslstance of Bertha, converted the king and the greatest ])art of the \ninhahitants of Kent, and laid the foundations of the British church. \nThe labors of Columbus, an Irish monk, were attended with success \namong the Picts and Scots, many of whom embraced the G-ospel of \nChrist. In Germany, the Bohemians, Thuringians, and Boii, are said \nto have abandoned in this century their ancient superstitions, and \nto have received the light of divine truth ; though this fact appears ex- \ntremely doubtful to many. All these conversions and sacred exploits \nwill lose much of their importance, in the esteem of such as examine \nwith attention the accounts which have been given of them by the \nwriters of this and the succeeding ages. For by these accounts it ap_ \npears, that the converted nations now mentioned retained a great part \nof their former im.piety, superstition, and licentiousness ; and that, at- \ntached to Christ by a mere outward and nominal profession, they in \neffect renounced the purity of his doctrine and the authority of his gos^ \npel, by their flagitious lives, and the superstitious and idolatrous rites \nand institutions which they continued to observe. \n\nIf credit is to be given to the writers of this century, the conversion \nof these uncivilized nations to Christianity was principally effected by \nthe prodigies and miracles v/hich the heralds of the Gospel were ena- \nbled to work in its behalf But the conduct of the converted na- \ntions is sufficient to invalidate the force of these testimonies : for cer- \ntainly, had such miracles been wrought among them, their lives Avould \nhave been more suitable to their profession, and their attachment and \nobedience to the doctrines and laws of the Gospel more stadfast and \nexemplary than they appear to have been. Besides, as we have already \nhad occasion to observe, in abandoning their ancient superstitions, the \ngreatest part of them were more influenced by the example and au- \nthority of their princes than by the force of argument, or the power \nof rational conviction. And if we consider the wretched manner in \nwhich many of the first Christian missionaries performed the solemn \ntask they had undertaken, we shall perceive that they wanted not ma- \nny arguments to enforce the doctrines they taught, and the discipline \nthey recommended ; for they required nothing of these barbarous peo- \nple that was difficult to be performed, or that laid any remarkable re- \nstraint upon their appetites and passions. The principal injunctions- \nupon these rude proselytes were, that they should get by heart certain \nsummaries of doctrine, and pay to the images of Christ and the saints \nthe same religious services v,\'hich they had formerly offered to the stat- \nues of the gods. Nor were they at all delicate or scrupulous in \n\n\n\n42 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nchoosing the means of estahlishing their credit : for they looked upou \nit as lawful, nay even meritorious, to deceive an ignorant and inatten- \ntive multitude, by representing to them as prodigies things that v^^ere \nmerely natural, as we learn from the most authentic records of those \ntimes. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nDepravity of the Clergy in the eighth centii/ry ; venerated by the multi^ \ntucle. \xe2\x80\x94 Liberality to the Church encouraged; invested ivith principalis \nlies and royal domains. \xe2\x80\x94 Usurpations of the Roman Pontiff; intrigue \nwith Pepin, who dethrones the French King, Childeric. \xe2\x80\x94 Bishop of \nRome becomes a temporal Prince, by a grant of Pepin of twenty-twe \nItalian cities ; subsequent grant by Charlemagne. \xe2\x80\x94 J^ature and form \nof the Roman Pontiffs jurisdiction. \xe2\x80\x94 Dispute concerning the worship \nof images. \xe2\x80\x94 Second JYlcene Council. \n\nThat corruption of manners which had dishonored the clergy in \nformer centuries increased with fearful rapidity in the eighth, and dis- \ncovered itself in the most odious form. They abandoned themselves \nto their passions without moderation or restraint ; they were distin- \nguished by their luxury, their gluttony, and their lust ; they gave them- \nselves up to dissipations of various kinds, to the pleasures of hunting, \nand what was still more remote Irom their sacred character, to milita- \nry studies and enterprises. They had also so far extinguished every \nprinciple of fear and shame, that they became incorrigible ; nor could \nthe various laws enacted against their vices, by Carloman, Pepin, and \nCharlemagne, at all contribute to set bounds to their licentiousness, or \nto bring about their reformation. It is indeed amazing, that notwith- \nstanding the shocking nature of such vices, especially in a set of men \nwhose profession obhged them to display to the world the attracting \nlustre of virtuous example, and notwithstanding the perpetual troubles \nand complaints which these vices occasioned, the clergy were still held, \ncorrupt as they were, in the highest veneration, and were honored as \nthe special agents of Deity, by the submissive multitude. This vener- \nation for the bishops and clergy, and the influence and authority it gave \nthem over the people, were indeed carried much higher in the west \nthan in the eastern provinces ; and the reasons of this difference will \nappear manifest to such as consider the customs and manners that \nprevailed among the barbarous nations, which were at this time mas- \nters of Europe, before their conversion to Christianity. All these na- \ntions, during their continuance under the darkness of paganism, were \nabsolutely enslaved by their priests, without whose counsels and au^- \n\n\n\n44 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nthority they transacted nothing of the least hnportance, either in civil \nor military affairs. Upon their conversion to Christianity, they there- \nfore thought proper to transfer to the ministers of their new religion \nthe rights and privileges of their former priests ; and the Christian \nbishops, in their turn, v^ere not only ready to accept the offer, but \nused all their diligence and dexterity to secure and assert to them- \nselves and their successors the dominion and authority which the min- \nisters of paganism had usurped, over an ignorant and brutish people. \nThe honors and privileges which the western nations had voluntarily \nconferred upon the bishops, and other doctors of the church, were \nnow augmented with new and immediate accessions of opulence and \nauthority. The endowments of the church and the monasteries, and \nthe revenues of the bishops, v/ere hitherto considerable ; but in this \ncentury a new and ingenious method was found out of acquiring much \ngreater riches to the church, and of increasing its wealth through suc- \nceeding ages. \n\nAn opinion prevailed universally at this time, though its authors are \nnot known, that the punishment which the righteous Judge of the \nworld has reserved for the transgressions of the wicked was to be pre- \nvented and annulled by liberal donations to God, to the saints, to the \nchurches and clergy. In consequence of this notion, the great and \nopulent, who were, generally speaking, the most remarkable for their \nflagitious and abominable lives, offered, out of the abundance which \nthey had received by inheritance or acquired by rapine, rich donations \nto departed saints, their ministers upon earth, and the keepers of the \ntemples that were erected in their honor, in order to avoid the suffer- \nings and penalties annexed by the priests to transgression in this life, \nand to escape the misery denounced against the wicked in a future \nstate- This new and commodious method of making atonement for \niniquity was the principal source of those immense treasures, which \nfrom this period began to flow in upon the clergy, the churches and \nmonasteries, and continued to enrich them through succeeding ages \nidown to the present time. But here it is highly worthy of observation, \nthat the donations which princes and persons of the first rank present- \ned, in order to make expiation for their sins, and to satisfy the justice \nof God and the demands of the clergy, did not only consist in those \nprivate possessions which every citizen may enjoy, and with which the \nchurch and convents were already abundantly enriched ; no, these \ndonations were carried to a much more extravagant length, and the \nchurch was endowed with several of those public grants which are \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T II L I C I S i\\I . 45 \n\npeculiar to princes and sovereign states, and which are commonly call- \ned regalia, or royal domains. Emperors, kings, and princes, signal- \nized their superstitious veneration for the clergy, by investing bishops, \nchurches and monasteries, in the possession of whole provinces, cities, \ncastles and fortresses, with all the rights and prerogatives of sove- \nreignty that were annexed to them under the dominion of their former \nmasters. Hence it came to pass, that they who, by their holy pro- \nfession, were appointed to proclaim to the world the vanity of human \ngrandeur, and to inspire into the minds of men, by their instructions \nand their examples, a noble contempt of sublunary things, became \nthemselves scandalous spectacles of worldly pomp, ambition and splen- \ndor; were created dukes, counts and marquises, judges, legislators \nand sovereigns ; and not only gave laws to nations, but also upon ma- \nmany occasions gave battle to their enemies at the head of numerous \narmies of their own raising. It is here that we are to look for the \nsource of those tumults and calamities that spread desolation through \nEurope in after times, particularly of those bloody wars concerning \ninvestitures, and those obstinate contentions and disputes about the \nregalia. The excessive donations that were made to the clergy, and \nthat extravagant liberality that augmented daily the treasures of the \nEuropean churches, to which these donations and this liberality were \ntotally confined, began in this century ; nor do we find any examples \nof the like munificence in preceding times. From hence we may con- \nclude that these donations were owing to customs peculiar to the Eu- \nropean nations, and to the maxims of policy that were established \namong that warlike people. The kings of these nations, who were \nemployed either in usurpations or self defence, endeavored by all \nmeans to attach warmly to their interests those whom they considered \nas their friends and clients ; and for this purpose they distributed \namong them extensive territories, cities and fortresses, with the vari- \nous rights and privileges belonging to them, reserving to themselves no \nmore than the supreme dominion, and also the military service of their \npowerful vassals. This being the method of governing in Europe, it \nwas esteemed a high instance of political prudence to distribute among \nthe bishops, and other Christian doctors, the same sort of donations \nthat they had formerly made to their generals and clients; for it is not \nto be believed, that superstition alone was the principle that drew \nforth their liberality. They expected more fidelity and loyalty from a \nset of men who were bound by the obligations of religion, and conse- \ncrated to the service of God, than from a body of nobility, composed \n\n\n\n46 THEIIISTORYOF \n\nof fierce and impetuous warriors, and accustomed to little else than \nbloodshed and rapine ; and they hoped also to check the seditious and \nturbulent spirits of their vassals, and maintain them in their obedience \nby the influence and authority of the bishops, whose commands were \nhighly respected, and whose spiritual thunderbolts, rendered formida- \nble by ignorance, struck terror into the boldest and most resolute \nhearts. This prodigious accession to the opulence and authority of \nthe clergy in the west began at their head, the Roman Pontiff, and \nspread gradually from thence among the inferior bishops, and also \namong the sacerdotal and monastic orders. The barbarous nations \nwho received the gospel, looked upon the Bishop of Rome as the suc- \ncessor of their chief clruid, or high priest ; and as this druid had enjoy- \ned under the darkness of paganism, a boundless authority, and had \nbeen treated with a degree of veneration that through its servile ex- \ncess degenerated into terror, so the barbarous nations, upon their con- \nversion to Christianity, thought proper to confer upon the chief of the \nbishops the same honors and ihe same authority that had formerly \nbeen vested in their arch druid. The Roman Pontiff received, with \nsomething more than a mere ghostly delight, these august privileges ; \nand lest, upon any change of affairs, attempts might be made to de- \nprive him of them, he strengthened his title to these extraordinary hon- \nors, by a variety of passages xlrawn from ancient history, and what \nwas still more astonishing, by arguments of a religions nature. This \nconduct of a superstitious people swelled the arrogance of the Roman \ndruid, and gave to the see of Rome that high preeminence, and that \ndespotic authority in civil and political affairs, that were unknown to \nformer ages. Hence, among other unhappy circumstances, arose the \npernicious opinion, that such persons as were excluded from the com- \nmunion of the church by the pontiff himself, or any of the bishops, for- \nfeited thereby not only their civil rights and advantages as citizens, \nbut even the common claims and privileges of humanity. \n\nThis opinion, which contributed more than anything else to aug- \nment and confirm the papal authority, was, unhappily for Europe, bor- \nrowed by the Christians, or rather by the clergy, from the pagan su- \nperstitions. We see in the annals of the French nation the following \ninstance of the power, that was at this time vested in the Roman Pon- \ntiff. Pepin, who was mayor of the palace to Childeric III. and who \nin the exercise of that high office was possessed in reality of the royal \npower and authority, not contented with this, aspired to the titles and \nhonors of majesty, and formed the design of dethroning his sovereign. \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 47 \n\nFor this purpose, the states of the reahn were assembled by Pepin, \nA. D. 751 ; and though they were devoted to the interests of this am- \nbitious usurper, they gave it as their opinion that the Bishop of Rome \nwas previously to be consulted, whether the execution of such a pro- \nject was lawful or not. In consequence of this, ambassadors were \nsent by Pepin to Zachary, the reigning pontiff, with the following \nquestion : " Whether the divine law did not permit a valiant and war- \nlike people to dethrone a pusillanimous and indolent monarch, who \nwas incapable of discharging any of the functions of royalty, and to \nsubstitute in his place one more worthy to rule, and who had akeady \nrendered most important services to the state?" The situation of \nZachary, who stood much in need of the assistance of Pepin against \nthe Greeks and Lombards, rendered his answer such as the usurper \ndesired ; and when this favorable decision of the Roman oracle was \npublished in France, the unhappy Childeric was stripped of royalty \nwithout the least opposition, and Pepin, without the smallest resist- \nance from any quarter, stepped into the throne of his master and his \nsovereign. This decision was solemnly confirmed by Stephen II. the \nsuccessor of Zachary, who undertook a journey into France in the \nyear 754, in order to solicit assistance against the Lombards, and who \nat the same time dissolved the obligation of the oath of fidehty and al- \nlegiance which Pepin had sworn to Childeric, and violated by his usur- \npation, in the year 751 ; and to render his title to the crown as sacred \nas possible, Stephen anointed and crowned him, with his wife and two \nsons. \n\nThis compliance of the Roman Pontiff j^roved an abundant source \nof opulence and credit to the church, and to its aspiring ministers. \nWhen that part of Italy which was as yet subject to the Grecian em- \npire was involved in confusion and trouble, by the seditions and tu- \nmult, which arose from the imperial edicts against the erection and \nworship of images, the kings of the Lombards employed the united \ninfluence of their arms and negotiations, in order to terminate these \ncontests. Their success indeed was only advantageous to themselves, \nfor they managed matters so as to become by degrees masters of the \nGrecian provinces in Italy, which were subject to the exarch, who \nresided at Ravenna. Nay, one of these monarchs, named Aistulphus, \ncarried his views still further. Elated with these new accessions to \nhis dominions, he meditated the conquest of Rome and its territory, \nand formed the ambitious project of reducing all Italy under the yoke \nof the Lombards. The terntied Pontiff, Stephen II. addresses him- \n\n\n\n4S THE HISTORY OF \n\nself to bis powerful patron and protector, Pepin; represents to hirri \nhis deplorable condition, and implores his assistance. The French \nmonarch embarks with zeal in the cause of the supplicant pontiff; \ncrosses the Alps, A. D. 754, with a numerous army ; and having de- \nfeated Aistulphus, obliged him by a solemn treaty to deliver up to the \nSee of Rome the exarchate of Ravenna, Pentapolis, and all the cities, \ncastles and territories, which he had seized in the Roman dukedom. \nIt was not long, however, before the Lombard prince violated without \nremorse an engagement which he had entered into with reluctance. \nIn the year 755, he laid siege to Rome for the second time, but was \nagain obliged to sue for peace by the victorious arms of Pepin, who \nreturned into Italy ; and forcing the Lombards to execute the treaty \nhe had so audaciously violated, made a new grant of the exarchate \nand of Pentapolis to the Roman Pontiff, and his successors in the \napostolic see of St. Peter. And thus was the Bishop of Rome raised \nto the rank of a temporal prince. After the death of Pepin, a new \nattack was made upon the patrimony of St. Peter, by Dideric, King \nof the Lombards, who invaded the territories that had been granted by \nthe French monarch to the See of Rome. In this extremity, Adrian \nII. who was pontiff at that time, fled for succor to Charles the son of \nPepin, who on account of his heroic exploits was afterward distin- \nguished by the name of Charlemagne. This prince, whose enterpris- \ning genius led him to sieze with avidity every opportunity of extend- \ning his conquests, and wljiose veneration for the Roman See was car- \nried very far, as much from the dictates of policy as superstition, adopt- \ned immediately the cause of the trembling pontiff. He passed the \nAlps with a formidable army, overturned the empire of the Lombards \nin Italy, which had subsisted above two hundred years, sent this exiled \nmonarch into France, and proclaimed himself king of the Lombards^ \nThese conquests offered to Charlemagne an occasion of visiting Rome \nwhere he not only confirmed the gjants which had been made by his \nfather to that see, but added to them new donations, and made to the \nRoman Pontiff a cession of several cities and provinces in Ital}^, which \nhad not been contained in Pepin\'s grant. What those cities and pro- \nvinces were, is a question difficult to be resolved at this period of time^ \nas it is perplexed with much obscurity from the want of authentic re- \ncords, by which alone it can be decided with certainty. By this act \nof liberality, which seems to carry in it the contradictory characters \nof policy and imprudence, Charlemagne opened for himself apassage \nto the empire of the west, and to the supreme dominion over the city \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 49 \n\ndf Rome and its territory, upon which the western empire seemed then \nto depend. He had no doubt been meditating for a considerable time \nthis arduous project, which his father Pepin had probably formed be- \nfore him ; but the circumstances of the times obliged him to wait for \na favorable occasion of putting it in execution. This was offered him \nin the year 800, when the affairs of the Greeks were reduced to the \nutmost extremity after the death of Leo III. and the barbarous mur- \nder of his son Gonstantine, and while the impious Irene held the reins \nof empirC; This favorable opportunity was siezed with avidity by \nCharles, who set out for Rome, where he was received with the ut- \nmost demonstrations of zeal by the sovereign pontiff, who had entered \ninto his views, and persuaded the people, elated at this time with high \nnotions of their independence and elective power, to unite their suf- \nfrages in favor of this prince, and to proclaim him emperor of the west; \nCharles, upon his elevation to the empire of the west and the govern- \nment of Rome, seems to have reserved to himself only the supreme \ndominion, and the unalienable rights of majesty, and to have granted \nto the church of Rome a subordinate jurisdiction over that great city \nand its annexed territory; This grant was undoubtedly suggested to \nhim by the ambitious pontiff as a matter of sacred and indispensable \nobligation, and many fictitious deeds were probably produced to make \nout the pretension?? and justify the claims of the church, to this high \ndegree of tempoTal authority and civil jurisdiction. In order to recon- \ncile the; new emperor to this grant, it Was no doubt alleged that Gon- \nstantine the Great, his renowned predecessor, when he removed the \nseat to Constantinople, delivered up Rome, the old metropolis, with \nits adjacent territoties, commonly called the Roman dukedom, to be \npossessed and governed by the church ; and that, with no other re- \nstriction than that this should be no detriment to his supreme domin- \nion ; and it was insinuated to Charles, that he could not depart from \nthe rule established by that pious emperor without incurring the wrath \nof God, and the indignation of St. Peter. \n\nOf all the controversies which agitated and perplexed the Christian \nChurch during this century, that which arose concerning the worship \nof images was the most unhappy and pernicious in its consequences. \nThis dispute, which had excited much commotion under a previous \nreign, broke out with redoubled fury under Leo the Isaurian, a prince \nof the greatest resolution and intrepidity. Unable any longer to hear \nthe excesses to which the Greeks carried their superstitious attach- \nment to the worship of images, and the sharp raileries and bitter \n7 \n\n\n\n^ THEHISTORYOF \n\nreproaches which this idolatrous service drew upon the Christians \nfrom the Jews and Saracens, Leo determined to root out at once \nthe Rowing evil. For this purpose he issued an edict A. D. 726, by \nwhich it was ordered, not only that the worship of images should be \nabrogated and relinquished, but also that all the images, except that \nof Christ\'s crucifixion, should be removed out of the ehurchesv The \nimperial edict produced such effects as might have been expected from \nthe frantic enthusiasm of a superstitious people. A civil war broke \nout in the islands of the Archipelago, ravaged a part of Asia, and \nafterwards reached Italy. Here the Roman Pontiffs, Gregory I. and \nIL were the authors of the civil commotions which followed. The \nformer, upon the refusal of the emperor to revoke bis edict against \nimages, declared him unworthy the name and privileges of a Chris- \ntian, which excluded him from the communion of the church ; and no \nsooner was this formidable sentence made public, than the Romans \nand other Italian provinces that were subject to the Grecian empire \nviolated their allegiance ; and rising in arms, either massacred or ban- \nished all the emperor\'s deputies and officers. Leo, exasperated at \nthese insolent proceedings, resolved to chastise the Italian rebels, and \nmake the haughty pontiff feel in a particular manner the effects of his \nresentment, but he failed in the attempt. Doubly irritated by this dis- \nappointment, he vented his fury against images and their worshipers, \nm a much more decisive manner than he had hitherto done ; for in a \ncouncil assembled at Constantinople he ordered all the images to be \npublicly burnt, and infficted a variety of severe punishments upon such \nas were attached to that idolatrous worship. These vigorous mea- \nsures divided the church into two factions, whose contests were car- \nried on with an ungovernable rage, and produced nothing but invec- \ntive, crime, and assassinations. Constantine succeeded his father Leo \nin the empire, A. D. 741 ; and animated with an equal zeal against the \nnew idolatry, employed all his influence and authority tor its extirpa- \ntion, in opposition to the vigorous efforts of the Roman Pontiffs and \nsuperstitious monks. His manner of proceeding was attended with \ngreater marks of equity than had attended the operations of his father: \nfor knowing the respect the Greeks had for the decisions of general \ncouncils, whose authority they considered as supreme in religious mat- \nters, a council was convened at Constantinople, A. D. 754, in order \nto have this important question examined with the utmost care, and \ndecided with wisdom, seconded by a just and legal authority. This \nassembly gave judgment, as was the case in those times, in favor of \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. &1 \n\nthe opinion embraced by the emperor, and solemnly condemned the \nworship and use of images. But this decision was not sufficient to \nvanquish the blind obstinacy of superstition; and many, particularly \nthose attached to the monastic order, continued to adhere to their idol- \natrous worship, and made a turbulent resistance to the wise decrees \nof this council, \n\nLeo IV., the successor of Constantine, adopted the sentiments of \nhis father and grandfather, and pursued the measures which they had \nconcerted for the extirpation of idolatry from the church ; for having \nperceived that the worshipers of images could not be engaged by mild \nand gentle proceedings to abandon their practices, he had recourse to \nthe coercive influence of penal laws. A cup of poison, administered \nby the counsel of a perfidious spouse, deprived Leo of his life A. D. \n789, and rendered the cause of images triumphant. \n\nThe profligate Irene, after having accomplished the death of her hus- \nband, held the reins of empire during the minority of her son Constan- \ntine ; and to establish her authority on more solid foundations, enter- \ned into an alliance with Adrian, Bishop of Rome, A. D. 786, and \nsummoned a council at Nice, in Bythinia, which is known hy the title \nof the Second J^Ticene Council. In this assembly, the imperial laws \nconcerning the new idolatry were abrogated, the decrees of the coun- \ncil of Constantinople reversed, the worship of images and the cross \nrestored, and severe punishments denounced against such as maintain^ \ned that God was the only object of religious adoration. It is impos- \nsible to imagine anything more trifling and ridiculous than the argu^ \nments on which the bishops assembled in this council, founded their \ndecrees. The authority, however, of these decrees, was held sacred \nby the Romans, and the Greeks considered in the light of parricides \nand traitors, all those who refused submission. \n\n\n\nC H A P T E R I V . \n\nProgress of Christianily among the J^orthern nations ; Character of the \nJMissionaries who were sent among them. \xe2\x80\x94 t^ woman elevated to the \nRoman Prelacy ; credibility of the fact denied. \xe2\x80\x94 Change of the Ec- \nclesiastical Laws. \xe2\x80\x94 Continued usurpations of the Latin Church; su- \npremacy proven by forgeries. \xe2\x80\x94 Decretal Epistles. \xe2\x80\x94 Ineffectual opposi- \ntion to Papal power. \xe2\x80\x94 Institution oj new rites and ceremonies. -^Canon- i \nization of the saints. \xe2\x80\x94 Superstitious ordeal of justice. \n\nThe reign of Charlemagne had been singularly auspicious to the \nChristian cause ; the life of that great prince was principally employed \nin the most zealous efforts to propagate and establish the religion of Je- \nsus among the Huns, Saxons, Frieslanders, and other unenlightened \nnations ; but his piety was mingled with violence, his spiritual con- \nquests were generally made by the force of arms, and this impure mix- \nture tarnishes the lustre of his noblest exploits. His son Lewis, un- \ndeservedly surnamed the Meek, inherited the defects of his illustrious \nfather, without his virtues ; and was his equal in violence and cruelty, \nbut vastly his inferior in all worthy and valuable accomplishments. \nUnder his reign a very favorable opportunity was offered of propagat- \ning the Gospel among the northern nations, and particularly among \nthe inhabitants of Sweden and Denmark. A petty king of Jutland, \nnamed Harald Klack, being driven from both his kingdom and coun- \ntry in the year 826, by Regner Lodbrock, threw himself at the empe- \nror\'s feet, and implored his succor against the usurper. Lewis \ngranted his request, and promised the exiled prince his protection and \nassistance, on condition, however, that he would embrace Christian- \nity, and admit the ministers of that religion to preaph in his dominions. \nJHarald submitted to these conditions, was baptized with his brother at \nMetz, A. D. 826, s^nd returned into his country, attended by two em^ \ninent divines, Ansgar or Anschaire, and Authbert ; the former a monk \nof Corbey in Westphalia, and the latter belonging to a monastery of \nthe same name in France. These venerable missionaries preached \nthe gospel with remarkable success, during the space of two years, to \nthe inhabitants of Cimbria and Jutland. After the death of his learn- \nj^^ and pious companion Authbert, the zealous and indefatigable An^z \n\n\n\nROMAN C A T H O L I C I S IVI . 68 \n\ngar made a voyage into Sweden, A. D. 628, where his ministerial la- \nbors were also crowned with distinguished success. As he return- \ned from thence into Germany, in the year 831, he was loaded by Lewis \nthe Meek with ecclesiastical honors, being created archbishop of the \nnew church at Hamburgh, and also of the whole north ; to which dig- \nnity the superintendence of the church of Bremen was afterwards add- \ned, in the year 844. The profits attached to this high and honorable \ncharge were very inconsiderable, while the perils and labors in which \nit involved the pious prelate were truly formidable. Accordingly, Ans- \ngar traveled frequently among the Danes, Cimbrians and Swedes, in \norder to promote the cause of Christ, to form new churches, and to \nconfirm and establish those which he had already gathered together ; \nin all which arduous enterprises he passed his life in the most immi- \nnent dangers, until he concluded his glorious course, A. D. 865. \n\nUnder the reign of Basilius the Macedonian, who ascended the im- \nperial throne of the Greeks in the year 867, the Lavonians, Arenta- \nni, and certain provinces of Dalmatia, sent a solemn embassy to Con- \nstantinople, to declare their resolution of submitting to the jurisdiction \nof the Grecian empire, and of embracing at the same time the Chris- \ntian religion. This proposal was received with the strongest demon- \nstrations of joy, and elicited a suitable ardor and zeal for the conver- \nsion of a people, who seemed so ingenuously disposed to embrace the \ntruth ; accordingly, a competent number of Grecian doctors were \nsent among them to instruct them in the knowledge of the Gospel, \nand to admit them by baptism into the Christian church. The war^- \nlike nation of the Russians was converted under the same emperor, \nbut not in the same manner, nor from the same noble and rational \nmotives. Having entered into a treaty of peace with that prince, they \nwere engaged by various presents and promises to embrace the Gos- \npel ; inconsequence of which, they received not only the Christian \nministers that were appointed to instruct them, but also an archbishop \nwhom the Grecian patriarch Ignatius, had sent among them, to perfect \ntheir conversion, and establish their church. Such were the begin- \nnings of Christianity among the bold and warlike Russians, who were \ninhabitants of the Ukraine ; and who, a little before their conversion, \nfitted out a formidable fleet, and setting sail from Kiova, for Constan- \ntinople, spread terror and dismay through the whole empire. It is \nproper to observe, with respect to the various conversions which we \nhave now been relating, that they were undertaken upon much better \nprinciples, and executed in a more pious and rational manner, than^ \nthose of the preceding ages. \n\n\n\n54 T II E H I S T O R Y F ^ \n\nThe ministers who were now sent to instruct and convert the bar- \nbarous nations, employed not, like many of their predecessors, the \nterror of penal laws to afFrig\'ht men into the profession of Christianity; \nnor in establishing churches upon the ruins of idolatry were they \nprincipally attentive to promote the g\'randeurs, and extend the author- \nity of the Roman pontiffs; their views were more noble, and their \nxjonduct more suitable to the genius of the religion they professed. \nThey had principally in view the happiness of mankind, endeavored \nto promote the gospel of truth and peace through the mild agency of \na rational persuasion, and seconded their arguments by the victorious \npower of exemplary lives. \n\nIt must, however, be confessed, that the doctrine they taught was \nfar from being conformable to that pure and excellent rule of faith and \npractice laid down by our divine Saviour and his holy apostles; their \nreligious system was, on the contrary, corrupted with a variety of \nsuperstitious rites, and a multitude of absurd inventions. \n\nIt is further certain, that there remained among these converted \nnations too many traces of the idolatrous religion of their ancestors, \nnotwithstanding the zealous labors of their Christian guides; and it \n:appears also that these pious missionaries were contented with intro- \nducing an external profession of the true religion among their new \nproselytes. It would be however unjust to accuse them on this ac- \n.\xe2\x96\xa0count of negligence or corruption in the discharge of their ministry, \n\xe2\x96\xa0since, in order to gain over these fierce and savage nations to the \n^hurch, it may have been absolutely necessary to indulge them in some \n.of their infirmties and prejudices, and to connive at many things which \njthey could not approve, and which in other circumstances they would \nliave been careful to correct. \n\nAmong the prelates that were raised to the pontificate in this cen.- \ntury, there were very few who distinguished themselves by their learn- \ning, prudence and virtue, or who were at all careful about acquiring \nthose particular quahties that are essential to the character of a Chris- \ntian Bishop. On the contrary, the greatest part of them are known \nonly by the flagitious actions that have transmitted their names with \ninfamy to our times ; and they all in general, seem to have vied wit^ \neach other in their ambitious efforts to extend their authority and renr \nder their dominion unlimited and universal. \n\nIt is here that we may place, with propriety, an event, which is said \nto have interrupted the much vaunted succession of regular bishops in \nthe See of Rome, from the first foundation of that church to the pre- \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T 11 L I C I S M . 65 \n\nsent time. Between the pontilicate of Leo IV. who died in the year \n855, and that of Benedict III. a certain woman, who had the art to \ndisguise her sex for a considerable time, is said, by learning, genius, \nand dexterity, to have made good her way to the papal chair, and to \nhave governed the church, with the title and dignity of pontiff, about \ntwo years. This extraordinary person is yet known by the title of \nPope Joan. During the five succeeding centuries, the event was gen- \nerally believed, and a vast number of writers bore testimony to its- \ntruth ; nor before the reformation undertaken by Luther, was it con- \nsidered by any, either as incredible in itself, or as ignominous to the \nchurch. But in the last century, the elevation and indeed the exis- \ntence of this female pontiff became the subject of a keen and learned \ncontroversy; and several men of distinguished abilities, both among\' \nthe Roman Catholics and protestants, employed all the force of their \ngenius and erudition to destroy the credit of this story by invalidating \non the one hand, the weight of the testimonies on which it is founded, \nand by showing on the other that it was inconsistent with the most ac- \ncurate chronological computations. \n\nBetween the contending parties, some of the wisest and most learn- \ned writers have judiciously steered a middle course ; they grant that \nmany factitious circumstances have been interwoven with this storv ; \nbut they deny that it is entirely destitute of all foundations, or that tha \ncontroversy is yet ended, in a satisfactory manner, in favor of those \nwho dispute the truth. Upon a deliberate and impartial view of this- \nwhole matter, it will appear more than probable, that some unusual \nevent must have happened at Rome, from which this story derived its- \norigin ; because it is not at all credible, from any principles of moraj \nevidence, that an event should be universally believed and related in \nthe same manner by a multitude of historians, during five centuries im-- \nmediately succeeding its supposed date, if that event was absolutely \ndestitute of all foundation. But what it was that gave rise to this sto- \nry is yet to be discovered. \n\nThe power and influence of the Pontiffs rose gradually during this \ncentury to an unprecedented height, through the favor and protection \nof those princes in whose cause they had employed the influence which \nsuperstition had given them over the minds of the people. The in- \ncrease of their authority in religious matters was not less rapid nor \nless considerable, and it arose from the same causes. The wisest and \nmost impartial among the Roman catholic writers, not only acknowl- \nedge, but even take pains to demonstrate, that from the time of Lewis \n\n\n\nm T He HIST ORY F \n\nthe Meek, the ancient rules of ecclesiastical government were grad^- \nually changed in Europe by the counsels and instigations of the court \nof Rome, and new laws substituted in their place. \n\nThe European princes suffered themselves to be divested of the su- \npreme authority in religious matters which they had derived from Char- \nlemagne,- the power of the bishops was greatly diminished, and even \nthe authority of both provincial and general councils began to decline. \nThe Roman pontiffs elated with their overgrown prosperity, and be- \ncome arrogant, beyond measure, by the accessions that were daily \nmade to their authorit}^, were eagerly bent on persuading all, and in- \ndeed, had the good fortune to persuade many, that the bishop of Rome \nwas constituted and appointed by Jesus Christ, sUpfeme legislator and \njudge of the church universal; and that therefore the bishops derived \nall their authority from the Roman pontiff, nor could the councils de-^ \ntermine anything without his permission and consent. \n\nThis opinion which was inculcated by the pontiffs with the utmost \nzeal, was opposed by such as were acquainted with the ancient eccle- \nsiastical constitutions, and the government of the church in the earli-- \ner ages, but it was opposed in vain. In order to gain credit to this \nnew ecclesiastical system, so different from the ancient rules of church \ngovernment, and to support the haughty pretensions of the pontiffs to \nsupremacy and independence, it was necessary to produce the author- \nity of ancient deeds, to stop the mouths of such as were disposed to \nset bounds to their usurpations. The Bishops of Rome were aware \nof this ; and as those means were looked upon as the most lawful, \nthat tended best to the accomplishment of their purposes, they em- \nployed some of their most ingenious and zealous partizans in forging \nconventions, acts of councils, epistles, and records of a similar char- \nacter, by which it might appear that in the first ages of the church, \nthe Roman pontiffs were clothed with the same spiritual majesty, and \nsupreme authority which they now assumed. \n\nAmong these fictitious supports of the papal dignity, the farnods (?e-- \ncretal epistles, as they are called, said to have been written by the prim- \nitive pontiffs, deserve to be stigmatized. They were the production \nof an obscure writer, who fraudulently prefixed to them the name of Isi- \ndore, bishop of Seville, to make the world believe they had been col- \nlected by that illustrious and learned prelate. Some of them had ap- \npeared in the eighth century, but they were nov/ entirely drawn from \ntheir obscurity, and produced with an air of ostentation and triumph, \nto demonstrate the s-upremacy of the Raman pontiff*. The decisions^ \n\n\n\nHOMANCATHOLiClSM. 57 \n\nof a certain Roman council, which is said to have been held during \nthe pontificate of Sylvester, were likewise alleged in behalf of the same \ncause; but this council had never been so much as heard of before the \npresent century, and the accounts now given of it proceeded from the \nsame source with the decretals, and were equally authentic. Be that \nas it may, the decrease of this pretended council contributed much to \nenrich and aggrandize the Roman pontiffs, and exalt them above all \nhuman authority and jurisdiction. \n\nThere were not wanting among the Latin bishops men of prudence \nand sagacity, who saw through these impious frauds, and perceived the \nchains that were forging, both for themselves and for the church. The \nFrench bishops distinguished themselves in a glorious manner, by the \nzeal and vehemence with which they opposed the spurious decretals, \n\' and other fictitious monuments and records, and protested against \ntheir being received among the laws of the church. But the obstina- \ncy of the pontiffs and particularly of Nicholas I. conquered this oppo- \nsition, and reduced it to silence. And as the empire, in the periods \nthat succeeded this contest, fell back into the grossest ignorance and \ndarkness, there scarcely remained any who were capable of detecting \nthese impostures, or disposed to support the expiring liberties of the \nchurch. The history of the following ages shows, in a multitude of \ndeplorable, examples, the disorders and calamities that sprang from the \nambition of the aspiring pontiffs ; it represents these despotic lords of \nthe church, laboring by the aid of their impious frauds to overturn its \nancient government, to undermine the authority of its bishops, to en- \ngross its riches and revenues into their hands, and endeavoring to les- \nsen the power and set bounds to the dominion of the potentates of Eu- \nrope. All this is unanimously acknowledged by such as have looked \nwith attention and impartiality into the history of those times, and ia \ningenuously confessed by men of learning and probity that are well \naffected toward the Roman Church and its sovereign pontiff. \n\nIt would be an endless task to enter into an exact enumeration of \nthe new rites and ceremonies which Avere first introduced into the \nChurch in the ninth century. We can only glance at a few of the \nmost prominent. The bones of saints transported from foreign Coun- \ntries, or discovered at home by the industry and diligence of designing \npriests, not only obliged the rulers of the church to increase the num- \nber of festivals and holy-days already established, but also to diversify \nthe ceremonies in such a manner, that each saint might have his pe- \nculiar worship. \n\n\n\n63 THElilSTORYOF \n\nAs the authority of the cleri^y depended much upon the high notion \n\\vhich was generally entertained of the virtue of the saints which they \nhad canonized, and presented to the multitude as objects of religious \nVeneration, it was necessary to amuse and surprise the people by a va- \nriety of pompous ceremonies, by images, and other inventions, in or- \nder to nourish their stupid admiration for the saintly tribe. Hence the \nsplendor and magnificence which were lavished upon the churches in \nthis century, and the great number of costly pictures and images with \nwhich they were adorned ; hence the stately altars which were enrich- \ned with the noblest efforts of painting and sculpture, and illumina- \nted with innumerable tapers at noon day ; hence the multitude of pro- \ncessions, the gorgeous and splendid garments of the priests, and the \nmasses that were celebrated in honour of the saints. Among other \nnovelties the feast of all saints was added in this century to the Latin \ncalendar, by Gregory IV. and the festival of St Michael, v/hich had \nlong been kept with the greatest marks of devotion by the orientals \nand Italians, began to be observed more zealously among the Latin \nChristians. \n\nIt was not in the solemn acts of religious worship only, that super- \nstition reigned with unlimited sway ; its influence extended to the af- \nfairs of private life, and was observable in the civil transactions of \nmen, particularly among the Latin Christians, who retained, with more \nobstinacy than the Greeks, a multitude of customs, which derived their \norigin from the sacred rites of paganism. \n\nThe barbarous nations which were converted to Christianity, could \nnot support the thoughts of abandoning altogether the laws and man- \nners of their ancestors, however inconsistent they might be with the \ndemands of the gospel ; and they succeeded in persuading the Chris- \ntians among whom they lived to imitate their extravagant superstition \nin this respect. This was the true source of the barbarous institutions \nthat prevailed among the Latins, during this and the following century, \nsuch as the various methods by which it was usual for accused persons \nto prove tbeir innocence in doubtful cases, either by the trial by cold \nwater,* by single combat, by the fire ordeal, and by the cross. It is \n\n\n\n* In the trial by cold water, the person accused had the right foot and left hand bound \ntoo\'ether, and was in this posture thrown naked into the water. If he sunk he was ac- \nquitted ; but if he floated on the surface he was thought guilty. The trial by duel or \nsingle combat, was introduced towards the end by the fifth century, by Gondebayd, king \nof the Burgundians, after the abuse of oaths had occasioned the most horrid perjuries, \nand opened a door to all kinds of injustice. The duel was then added to the oath by \n\xe2\x80\xa2Crondebaud, the successful combatant was supposed to be in the right, and this barbarous. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 69 \n\nno longer a question in our days from whence these methods of decid- \ning dubious, cases and accusations had their origin ; all agree that \nthey were delusions, drawn from the barbarous rites of Paganism ; and \nnot only opposed to the precepts of the gospel, but absolutely destruc- \ntive to the true spirit of religion. The pontiffs, however, and inferior \nclergy, encouraged these superstitions, and went so far as to accompar \nny the practice of them with the celebration of the Lord\'s supper and \nother rites, in order to give them a Christian aspect, and to recom- \nmend them to the veneration and confidence of the multitude. \n\n\n\ntest of truth and justice, was, in spite of common sense and humanity, adopted by the \nLombards, French and Gerraans,and derived from them by other nations. \n\nThe fire ordeal was practised in various ways. The accused either held a burning ball \nof iron in his hand, or was obliged to walk barefoot upon heated ploughshares, whose \nnumber was increased in proportion to the number or enormity of the crimes imputed to \nhim ; sometimes a glove of red-hot iron was used on this occasion, as we see in the tenth \nbook of the history of Denmark, by Saxon the Grammarian. If in these trials the persoii \nimpeached remained unhurt, and discovered no signs of pain, he was discharged as inno- \ncent ; oiherwise he was punished as guilty. \n\nThe trial by ihe cross was made by obliging the contending parties to stretch out their \narms, and he that continued longest in this posture gained his cause. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. \n\nFurther spread of Christianity. \xe2\x80\x94 Papal violence and corruption. \xe2\x80\x94 Char- \nacter and succession of the pontiffs icho ruled the Church during the \ntenth century. \xe2\x80\x94 Increase of clencal power. \xe2\x80\x94 Licentiousness of theclei\'- \ngy. \xe2\x80\x94 Immediate approach of the day of Judgment universally expect- \ned. \xe2\x80\x94 Abandonment of civil connections. \xe2\x80\x94 Penance and liberality to the \nChurch. \xe2\x80\x94 Ecclesiastical Councils. \xe2\x80\x94 The number of saints multiplied. \xe2\x80\x94 \nWorship of the Virgin Mary. \xe2\x80\x94 Invention of the rosai-y. \n\nThe commencement of the tenth century was distinguished for the \nextension of the Christian religion, if borne down as it was under \ntke weights of superstition and corruption it deserves that appellation, \nthrough many sections of Europe, from which, it had hitherto been \ndenied access. The celebrated archpirate Rollo, son of a Norwe- \ngian Count, being banished from his native land, had in the preceding \ncentury put himself at the head of a resolute band of Normans, and \nseized upon one of the maritime provinces of France, from whence \nhe infested the neighboring countries with perpetual depredations. \n\nIn the year 912 this valiant chief embraced, with his whole army, \nthe christian faith upon the following occasion. Charles the simple, \nwho wanted both resolution and power to drive this warlike invader \nout of his dominions, was obliged to have recourse to negotiation. \nHe accodingly offered to raake over to Rollo a considerable part of his \nterritories, upon condition that he would consent to a peace, espouse \nhis daughter Gishela, and embrace Christianity. These terms were \naccepted by Rollo without the least hesitation ; and his army following \nthe example of their leader, professed a religion of which they were \ntotally ignorant. \nlA- These Norman pirates as appears from maiiiy authentic records, \nwere destitute of religion of any kind, and therefore, were not re- \nstrained by the power of prejudice, from embracing a religion which \npresented the most advantageous prospects. They knew no distinc- \ntion between interest and duty, and estimated truth and virtue only \nby the profits by which they were attended. It was from this Rollo, \nwho received at his baptism the name of Robert, that the famous line \nof Norman dukes derived its origin ; for the province of Bretagne, \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 61 \n\nand a part of Neustria, which Charles the simple conveyed to his son \nin law, by a solemn grant, were from this time known by the name \nof Normandy ; which name they derived from their new possessors. \n\nChristianity was introduced into Poland through the agency of fe- \nmale piety. The Duke of Poland, persuaded by the exhortations of \nhis wife Dambrowka, abandoned paganism, and embraced the Gospel, \nA. D. 965. No sooner had the news of this agreeable event reached \nRome, than the Pope despatched a bishop, with a numerous train of \necclesiastics, into Poland, in order to second the pious efforts of the \nDuke and Dutchess, who impatiently desired the conversion of their \nsubjects. But the efforts of these missionaries, alike unacquainted \nwith the language and character of the people they came to instruct, \nwould have been entirely ineffectual, had they not been accompanied \nwith edicts and penal laws. When, therefore, the fear of punishment \nand the hope of reward had laid the foundations of Christianity in Po- \nland, two national archbishops, and seven bishops, were appointed to \nthe ministry, and the whole nation were soon brought under the spirit- \nual jurisdiction of the church of Rome. Similar circumstances effect- \ned the introduction of the Christian religion into Russia, where the \nconversions of the preceding century had entirely disappeared. In \nNorway, the conversion of the prince immediately preceded that of \nhis subjects, who were obliged to receive the new religion by their ru^ \nlers. From Norway, Christianity spread itself through the adjacent \ncountries, and was preached with success in the Orkney islands, which \nwere at this time subject to the Norwegian kings ; and also in Icelan(J \nand Greenland, for it is evident from many known facts and circum- \nstances that the greatest part of the inhabitants of those countries \nreceived the Gospel in this century. \n\nThe history of the Roman pontiffs, who lived in this century, is a \nhistory of so many monsters, and exhibits a horrible series of the most \nflagitious and complicated crimes ; as all writers, even those of the \nRomish communion, unanimously confess. The source of these dis- \norders must be sought for principally in the calamities that fell upon \nthe greater part of Europe, and that afflicted Italy in a particular man- \nner, after the termination of the reign of Charlemagne. Upon the \ndeath of Pope Benedict IV., which happened in the year 905, Leo V. \nwas raised to the pontificate, which he enjoyed but forty days, being \ndethroned by Christopher, and cast into prison. Christopher, in his \nturn, was deprived of the pontifical dignity the foflowing year, by Ser- \ngius III. a Roman presbyter, seconded by the protection and influ- \n\n\n\n62 T H E H I S T O R Y O F \n\nence of Adalbert, a powerful Tuscan prince, who bad the supreme di- \nrection in all the affairs that were transacted at Rome. Anastasius \nIII. and Lando, who, upon the death of Sergius in the year 911, were \nraised successively to the papal dignity, enjoyed it but for a short \ntime, and did nothing that could contribute to render their names il- \nlustrious. After the death of Lando, which happened in the year 914? \nAlberic, Marquis or Count of Tuscany, whose intrigue and cunning \nhad acquired for him supreme control over the Roman See, obtained \nthe pontificate for John X. archbishop of Ravenna, in compliance \nwith the solicitation of Theodora, his mother in law, whose lewdness \nwas the principle that interested her in this promotion. This infa- \nmous election v\\^ill not surprise those who know that the law^s of Rome \nwere at this time absolutely silent, that the dictates of justice and equi- \nty were overpowered, and that all things were carried on in that city \nby interest or corruption, by violence or fraud. John X., though in \nother respects a scandalous example of iniquity and lewdness, acquir- \ned a certain degree of reputation by his glorious campaign against the \nSaracens, whom he drove from the settlements they had made upon \nthe banks of the Garighano. He did not long enjo}" this glory ; the \nenmity of Marozia, daughter of Theodora, and wife of Alberic, proved \nfatal to him ; for this bloody minded woman, having espoused Wido^ \nor Guy^ Marquis of Tuscany, after the death of her first consort, en- \ngaged him to seize the wanton pontiff, who was her mother\'s lover, \nand to put him to death in the prison where he lay confined. This \nlicentious pontiff was succeeded by Leo VI. who sat but seven months \nin the apostolic chair, which was next filled by Stephen VII. The \ndeath of the latter, which happened in the year 931, presented to the \nambition of Marozia an object worthy of her grasp; and accordingly \nshe raised to the papal dignity John XI. who was the fruit of her law- \nless amours, with one of the pretended successors of St. Peter, Sergi= \nUs III., whose adulterous commerce with that infamous woman gave \nan infallible guide to the Roman church. \n\nJohn XI. who was placed at the head of the church by the credit \nof his mother, was pulled down from this summit of spiritual grandeur \nin the year 933 by Alberic, his half brother, who had conceived the \nutmost aversion against him. His mother Marozia had, after the \ndeath of Wido, entered anev/ into the bonds of matrimony with Hugo, \nKing of Italy; who, having offended his stepson Alberic, felt severely \nthe weight of his resentment, which vented its fury on the whole fam- \nily ; for Alberic drove out of Rome, Hugo, Marozia, and her son the \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T II L I C I S M . 63 \n\npontiff, and confined them in prison, where the latter ended his days \nin the year 936. The four pontiffs, who in their turns succeeded \nJohn XL and filled the papal chair until the year 956, were Leo VIL, \nStephen VIIL, Marinus IL, and Agapet ; whose characters were \nmuch better than that of their predecessor, and whose government \nwas not attended with those tumults and revolutions that had so often \nshook the pontifical throne, and banished from Rome the blessings of \npeace and concord. \n\nUpon the death of Agapet in the year 959, Alberic IL who to the \ndignity of Roman consul joined a degree of authority and opulence \nwhich nothing could resist, raised to the pontificate his son Octavian, \nwho was in the early bloom of youth, and destitute of every quality \nthat was requisite to discharge the duties of that highly important office. \nThis unworthy pontiff assumed the name of John the XII. and thus \nintroduced the custom that has since been adopted by all his success- \nors in the See of Rome, of changing their usual name for another upon \ntheir accession to the pontificate. \n\nThe fate of John the XII. was as unhappy as his prom^otion had \nbeen scandalous. Unable to bear the oppressive yoke of Berenger IL \nking of Italy, he sent embassadors in the year 960, to Otho the Great, \nentreating him to march into Italy at the head of a powerful army, to \ndeliver the church and people from the tyranny under which they \ngroaned. To these entreaties the perplexed pontiff added a solemn \npromise, that if the Gern:ian monarch came to his assistance, he would \narray him with the purple and the other ensigns of sovereignty, and \nproclaim him emperor of the Romans. Otho received this embassy \nwith pleasure, marched into Italy at the head of a numerous body of \ntroops, and was accordingly saluted by John with the title of emperor \nof the Romans. The pontiff, however, soon perceiving that he had \nacted with too much precipitation, repented of the step he had taken, \nand though he had sworn allegiance to the emiperor as his lawful sove- \nreign, and that in the most solemn manner, yet he violated his oath and \njoined with Adalbert, the son of Berenger, against Otho. This revolt \nwas not left unpunished. The emperor returned to Rome in the year \n964 ; called a council, before which he accused and convicted the \npontiff of many crimes ; and after having degraded him in the most \nignominious manner from his high office, he appointed Leo VIIL to \nfill his place. Upon Otho\'s departure from Rome, John returned to \nthat city, and in a council which he assembled in the year 964 con- \ndemned the pontiff whom the emperor elected, and soon after died in \n\n\n\n64 THEHISTORYOF \n\na miserable and violent manner. After his death, the Romans chose \nBenedict V. Bishop of Rome, in opposition to Leo; but the Emperor \nannulled his election, restored Leo to the papal chair, and carried Ben- \nedict to Hamburg, where he died in exile. \n\nThe pontiffs who governed the See of Rome, from Leo VI IL who \ndied in the year 965, to Gerbert or Sylvester IL who was raised to \nthe pontificate towards the end of this century, were more happy in \ntheir administration, as well as more decent in their conduct, than \ntheir infamous successors ; yet none of them so exemplary as to de- \nserve the applause that is due to eminent virtue. John XIII. who \nwas raised to the papal chair in the year 965, by the authority of Otho \nthe Great, was driven out of Rome in the beginning of his administra- \ntion; but in the following year, upon the Emperor\'s return to Italy, \nhe was restored to his high dignity, in the calm possession of which \nhe ended his days in the year 972, His successor Benedict VI. was \nnot so happy ; cast into prison by Cresentius, son of the famous The- \nodora, in consequence of the hatred which the Romans had conceived \nboth against his person and his government, he was loaded with all \nsorts of ignominy, and was strangled in the year 974, in the depart- \nment where he lay confined. \n\nUnfortunately for him, Otho the Great, whose power and severity \nkept the Romans in awe, died in the year 973, and with him expired \nthat order and discipline which he had restored in Rome by salutary \nlaws executed with impartiality and vigor. The face of things was \nentirely changed by this event ; licentiousness and disorderjSeditions and \nassassinations resumed their former sway, and diffused their horrors \nthrough that unhappy city. \n\nAfter the death of Benedict, the papal chair was filled by Franco, \nwho assumed the name of Boniface VII. but enjoyed his dignity only \na short time ; for scarcely a month had passed after his promotion, \nwhen he was deposed from his office, expelled from the city, and suc- \nceeded by Bonus 1 1, who is known by no other circumstance than his \nname. Upon his death, in the year 975, Benedict VII. was created \npontiff; and during the space of nine years ruled the church without \nmuch opposition, and ended his days in peace. This peculiar happi- \nness was probably owing to the opulence and credit of the family to \nwhich he belonged, for he was nearly related to the famous Alberic, \nwhose power, or rather despotism, had been unlimited in Rome. His \nsuccessor, John XIV., who from the bishopric of Pavia was raised to \nthe pontificate, derived no support from his birth, which was obscure,; \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 46 \n\nnor did he continue to enjoy the protection of Otho III., to whom he \nowed his promotion. Hence the calamities that fell upon him with \nsuch fury, and the misery that concluded his transitory grandeur; for \nBoniface YIL, who had usurped the papal throne in the year 974, and \nin a little time after had been banished from Rome, returned from \nConstantinople, whither he had fled for refuge, and seizing the unhap- \npy pontiff, threw him into prison, and afterwards put him to death. \nThus Boniface resumed the government of the church, but his reign \nwas also transitorj^, for he died about six months after his restoration. \nHe was succeeded by John XV., whom some writers call John XVI. ; \nbecause, as they allege, there was another John who ruled the church \nduring the space of four months, and whom they consequently call \nJohn XV. Leaving it to the readers choice to call that John of whom \nwe speak the XV. or XVI. of that name, we shall only observe that \nhe possessed the papal dignity from the year 985 to 996 ; that his ad- \nministration was as happy as the troubled state of the Roman affairs \nwould permit ; and that the tranquillity he enjoyed was not so much \nowing to his wisdom and prudence, as to his being a Roman by birth, \nand to his descent from noble and virtuous ancestors. Certain it is, \nthat his successor Gregory V., who was a German, and who was elect- \ned pontiff by the order of Otho III. in the year 990, met with quite \ndifferent treatment; for Crescens, the Roman Consul, drove him out \nof the city, and conferred his dignity on John XVI., formerly known \nby the name of Philagathus. This revolution was not permanent in \nits effects ; for Otho III., alanr.ed by these disturbances at Rome, \nmarched into Italy in the year 998 at the head of a powerful army, \nand casting into prison the new pontiff, whom the soldiers in the first \nmoment of their fury had m.aimed and abused in a barbarous manner, \nhe reinstated Gregory in his former honors, and placed him anew at \nthe head of the church. It was on the death of this latter pontiff, \nwhich happened soon after his restoration, that the same emperor rais- \ned to this dignity his preceptor and friend, the famous and learned \nGerbert, or Silvester II., whose prom.otion was attended with the uni- \nversal approbation of the Roman people. \n\nAmidst these frequent commotions, and even amidst the repeated- \nenormities and crimes of those who gave themselves out for Christ\'s \nvicegerents upon earth, the power and authority of the Roman pontiffs \nincreased insensibly from day to day ; such were the effects of that \nignorance and superstition, which then reigned without control. Otho^ \nthe Great had indeed published a solemn edict, prohibiting the elec- \n9 \n\n\n\n66 T H E H I S T R Y O F \n\ntion of any pontiff without the knowledge and consent of the empe- \nror ; which edict, as all writers unanimously agree, remained iu force \nfrom the time of its publication to the conclusion of this century. It \nis also to be observed that the same emperor, his son and grandson \nwho succeeded him in the empire, maintained without interruption the \nright of supremacy over the city of Rome, its territory and its pontiff. \nIt is also certain, that the German, French and Italian bishops, who \nwere not ignorant of the nature of their privileges and the extent of \ntheir jurisdiction, were during this whole century perpetually on their \nguard against every attempt the Roman Pontiff might make, to assume \nto himself alone legislative authority in the church. But notwithstand- \ning all this, the bishops of Rome found means of augmenting their in- \nfluence ; and partly by open violence, partly by secret and fraudulent \nstratagems, encroached not only on the privileges of the bishops, but \nupon the jurisdiction and rights of kings and emperors. Their ambi- \ntous attempts were seconded and justified by the scandalous adulation \nof mercenary prelates, who exalted the dignity and prerogatives of \nwhat they called the Apostolic See, in the m.ost pompous and extrava- \ngant terms. Several learned writers have observed, that in this cen- \ntury certain bishops maintained publicly that the Roman pontiffs were \nnot only bishops of Rome, but of the whole world ; an assertion which \nnone had hitherto ventured to make ; and that among the French \nclergy, it had been affirmed by some, that the authority of the bishops^ \nthough divine in its origin, was conveyed to them by St. Peter, the \nprince of the apostles. \n\nThe adventurous ambition of the bishops of Rome, who left no \nmeans unemployed to extend their jurisdiction, exhibited an example \nwhich the inferior prelates followed with the most indefatigable emu- \nlation. Several bishops and abbots had begun, from the time that the \ndescendants of Charlemagne sat on the imperial throne, to enlarge \ntheir prerogatives, and had actually obtpined for their tenants and pos- \nsessions an immunity from the jurisdiction of the counts and other \nmagistrates, as also from taxes and imposts of all kinds. But in \nthis century, they carried their pretensions still farther ; aimed at \nthe civil jurisdiction over the cities and territories over which they \nexercised a spiritual dominion, and aspired after nothing less than \nthe honors and authority of dukes, marquises, and counts of the \nempire. Among the principal circumstances that animated their i \nzeal, in the pursuit of these dignities, may be reckoned the per- \npetual and bitter contests, concerning jurisdiction and other mat- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLrCISM\xc2\xbb 67 \n\nters, that reigned between the dukes and counts, who were gov- \nernors of the cities ; and the bishops and abbots, who were their \nghostly rulers. The latter, seizing the favorable opportunity that was \noffered them by the superstition of the times, used every effectual \nmethod to obtain that high rank that had hitherto stood in the way of \ntheir ambition. The eniperors and kings to whom they addressed their \npresumptuous requests generally granted them, either from a desire \nof pacifying the contentions which arose between civil and military \nmagistrates, or from a devout reverence for the sacred order, or with \na view to augment their own authority, and to confirm their dominion \nby the good service of the bishops ; w^hose iniiuence was great, upon \nthe minds of the people. Such were the different motives that en- \ngaged princes to enlarge the jurisdiction, and increase the authority \nof the clergy ; and hence we see, from this century downv/ard, so \nmany bishops and abbots invested with characters, employments, and \ntitles, so foreign to their spiritual offices, and clothed with the honors \nof dukes, marquises, counts, and viscounts. \n\nBesides the reproach of the grossest ignorance which the Latin cler- \ngy in this century so justly deserve, they were also chargeable in a \nheinous degree with other enormous vices, even concubinage and si- \nmony, which many writers of those unhappy times acknowledge and \ndeplore. The first of these vices was practised too openly to admit \nof any doubt. The priests and sanctimonious monks fell victims to \nthe charms of the sex, and to the imperious dominion of carnal lusts ; \nand entering into the bonds of wedlock or concubinage, squandered \naway with their wives and mistresses the revenues of the church. \nThe other above mentioned vice reigned widi an equal degree of im_ \npudence. The election of bishops and abbots was no longer made \naccording to the laws of the church, but kings and princes, or their \nministers and favorites, either conferred these ecclesiastical dignities \nupon their friends and creatures, or sold them without shame to the \nhighest bidder. Hence it was that the most stupid wretches were fre- \nquently advanced to important stations in the church ; and even sol- \ndiers, civil magistrates, and counts, were metamorphosed into bishops \nand abbots. Gregory VII., in the following century, endeavored to \nput a stop to these two growing evils. \n\nThe dark cloud of superstition, which at this time hid almost every \nray of truth from the eyes of the multitude, furnished a favorable op- \nportunity to the priests and monks of propagating many absurd opin- \nions, dishonorable to the Latin church. No opinion which they had \n\n\n\n68 THEHISTORYOF \n\ntaught produced such universal panic as one which now prevailed, of \nthe immediate approach of the day of judgment, which took its rise \nfrom a rem.arkable passage in the Revelation of St. John. This had \nbeen entertained by some doctors in the preceding century, and was \nnow publicly advanced, and spreading itself with great rapidity through \nthe European provinces threw them into the deepest consternation. \nThey imagined that St. John had clearly foretold, that, after a thous- \nand years from the birth of Christ, satan was to be let loose from his \nprison, antichrist to come, and the destruction and conflagration of \nthe world to follow these great events. Great numbers oi people \nabandoned their civil connections and parental relations ; and, giving \nover to the churches or monasteries all their lands and treasures, re- \npaired to Palestine, where they imagined that Christ would descend \nfrom heaven to judge the world. Others devoted themselves by a \nsolemn oath to the service of the churches, convents and priesthood, \nwhose slaves they became in the most rigorous sense of the word, per- \nforming daily their heavy tasks ; expecting the Supreme Judge would \ndiminish the severity of their sentence, and regard them with a more \nfavorable eye, on account of their having made themselves the slaves \nof his ministers. \n\nWhen a visible eclipse of the sun or moon happened, the cities were \ndeserted, and their inhabitants fled for refuge to hollow caverns and \nhid themselves among the craggy rocks, and under the bending sum- \nmits of steep mountains. The opulent attempted to bribe the Deity \nand saintly tribe, by rich donations conferred upon the sacredotal and \nmonastic orders, who were looked upon as the immediate vicegerents \nof heaven. In many places, temples, palaces and noble edifices, both \npublic and private, were sufferred to decay, and were even pulled \ndown because they were no longer useful, since the final dissolution of \nall things was at hand. \n\nNo language is sufficient to expiess the confusion and despair that \nseized the minds of men on this occasion. This general delusion was \nopposed by the discerning few, who endeavoured to dispel these ground- \nless terrors, but their attempts were ineffectual, nor could the dread- \nful apprehensions of the superstitious multitude be entirely removed \nbefore the conclusion of this century. When they saw that the much \ndreaded period had passed without the arrival of any great calamity \nthey understood that St. John had not really foretold what they so \nmuch feared. \n\nTo gain some idea of the load of ceremonies under which the chris-J p \n\n\n\nRO M AN C ATH LI CI S M. 69 \n\ntian religion groaned, during this superstitious age, we have only to \ncast an eye upon the acts of the various councils which were assem- \nbled in England, Germany, France and Italy. The number of the \nceremonies increased in proportion to the number of the saintSj which \nmultiplied daily. Each new saintly patron had appropriated to his ser- \nvice a new festival a new form of worship, a new round of religious \nrites ; and the clergy, notwithstanding their gross stupidity in other \nmatters, discovered, in ihe creation of new ceremonies, a marvelous \nfertility of invention, attended with the utmost dexterity and artifice. \nA great part of these new rites derived their origin from errors which \nthe barbarous nations had received from their ancestors, and still re- \ntained after their conversion to Christianity. The clergy gave these \nerrors a Christian aspect, by inventing certain rites to cover their de- \nformity, or by explaining them in an allegorical manner ; and thus they \nwere perpetuated in the church and transmitted from age to age. Ma- \nny of the rites and institutions that dishonored religion in this century, \nmay be attributed to foolish ideas which were prevalent in relation to \nthe attributes and character of the Supreme Being and departed saints; \nthey imagined that God, like the vain dignataries of earth, was ren- \ndered propitious by costly presents, . and delighted with those acts of \ndebasement and sj^cophancy, and other marks of veneration which \nthey received from their subjects; and also that departed saints, who \nwere the imaginary advocates of sinful men at the throne of Deity, were \nequally affected with the same kind of services. \n\nThe yearly festival that was celebrated in remembrance of all de- \nparted soids, was instituted by Odiio, abbot of Clugni, and added to the \nLatin calendar towards the conclusion of this century. Before this \ntime, a custom had been introduced in many places of putting up pray- \ners on certain days for the souls that were confined in purgatory ; but \nthese prayers were made by each religious society, for its own mem- \nbers, friends and patrons. The zeal of Odilo could not be confined \nwithin such narrow limits he extended the benefit of these prayers to \nall the souls that labored under the pains and trials of purgatory. This \nact of Odilo v/as owing to the exhortations of a Silician hermit, who pre- \ntended to have learned by an immediate revelation from heaven, that \nthe prayers of the monks of Clugni would be effectual for the deliv- \nerance of departed spirits from the expiatory flames of a middle state. \nThis festival was at first celebrated only by the congregation of Clug- \nni ; but having received afterwards, the approbation of one of the Ro- \nman pontiffs, it was by his order, kept with particular devotion in all \nthe Latin churches. \n\n\n\n7a \n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF \n\n\n\nThe worship of the Virgin Mary, which had before, been carried to \na high pitch of idolatry, now received new accessions of solemnity and \nsuperstition ; a custom was introduced among the Latins of celebra- \nting masses and abstaining from flesh, in honour of the Virgin, every \nSabbath day. After this was instituted what the Latins called the les- \nser office, in honour of St. Mary, which was confirmed in the follow- \ning century, by Urban IL in the council of Clermont. This age also \ncontains manifest indications of the institution of the rosary and crown \nof the Virgin, by v/hich her worshippers were to reckon the number of \nprayers that they were to ofier to this new divinity ; for though some \nplace the invention of the rosary in the thirteenth century, and attri- \nbute it to St. Dominic, yet this supposition is made without any foun- \ndation. The rosary consists of fifteen repetitions of the Lord\'s prayer \nand an hundred and fifty salutations of the blessed Virgin ; while the \ncrown, according to the different opinions of the learned concerning \nthe age of the blessed Virgin, consists in six or seven repetitions of the \nLord\'s prayer and six or seven times ten salutations, or Aves Marias. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nPapal usurpations Continued. \xe2\x80\x94 Claims of Leo IX, \xe2\x80\x94 Kings of France \nand England refractory. \xe2\x80\x94 Succession of Pontiffs. \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict IX. \xe2\x80\x94 In- \nfluence of Hildehrand. \xe2\x80\x94 Hildebrand succeeds Benedict under the title \nof Gregory VII. \xe2\x80\x94 Papal election vested alone in the Cardinals. \xe2\x80\x94 Jlm- \nhitious character of Hildehrand. \xe2\x80\x94 Church Government changed. \xe2\x80\x94 At- \ntempt to render the Kings and Emperors tributaries to the Roman See. \nOpposition of William the Conqueror. \xe2\x80\x94 Church involved by Hilde- \nhrand in contentions with all the European Princes. \xe2\x80\x94 Success of his \nefforts. \n\nDuring the eleventh century, the power and authority of the Latin \nChurch continued to increase steadily, though not without encounter- \ning many difficulties. In the preceding age, the pontiffs had acquired, \nas has been before observed, a great degree of authority over the whole \nChristian Church, and their influence continued to increase toward the \ncommencement of this century. \n\nThey then received the titles of masters of the icorld and Popes; \nthey presided every where in the councils by their legates ; assumed \nthe authority of supreme arbiters in all controversies that arose con- \ncerning religion and church discipline; and maintained the pretended \nrights of the church against the encroachments of kings and princes. \n\nTheir authority, however, was confined within certain limits for on \nthe one hand it was restrained by sovereign princes, that it might not \narrogantly aim at civil dominion, and on the other it was opposed by \nthe bishops themselves, that it might not become a spiritual despot- \nism, and utterly destroy the liberty of synods and councils. \n\nFrom the time of Leo IX. the popes employed every method which \nthe most artful ambition could suggest, to remove these hmits, and ren- \nder their dominion both despotic and universal. They not only aspir- \ned to the character of supreme legislators in the church, to an unlimi- \nted jurisdiction over all synods and councils, to the sole distribution of \nall ecclesiastical honours and benefices, as divinely authorized and ap- \npointed for that purpose, but they carried their insolent pretensions so far \nas to claim to be lords of the universe, arbiters of the fate of kings and \nempires, and supreme rulers over the kings and princes of the earth. \n\n\n\n72 THEHISTORTOF \n\nBefore Leo. IX. no pope was so impudent as to claim this unbound- \ned authority, or to assume the power of transferring territories and \nprovinces from their lawful possessors to their new masters. This \n\xe2\x96\xa0pontiff left the exam.ple of his pretensions to his ho]y successors, by \ngranting to the Normans, who had settled in Ital}^, the lands and terri- \ntories they had usurped, or were employed in forcing out of the hands \nof the Greeks and Saracens. The am.bition of the aspiring popes was \nopposed by the emperors, the kings of France, by William the Con- \nqueror, who was now seated on the throne of England, and tlie \nboldest asserter of the rights and privileges of sovereignty against the \nhigh claims of the apostolic see ; and also by several other princes. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe bishops, particularly of France and Germany, did not sit tamely \nunder the papal yoke, many of them endeavoured to maintain their \nrights and the privileges of the church; others, seduced by the al- \nlurements of interest or the dictates of superstition, sacrificed their li- \nberties and yielded to the pontiffs; in consequence, these imperious \nlords of the church, though they did not entirely gain their point, or \nfully satisfy their raging ambition, yet they obtained a vast increase of \npower, and extended their authority from day to day. \n\nThe see of Rome after the death of Silvester II. in the year 1005, \nwas filled successively by John XVII. John XVIII. and Sergius IV. \nnone of whom were distinguished ; these three popes were confirmed \nin the papal dignity by the emperors under whose reign they were \nelected. Benedict VIII. who was raised to the papal chair in the year \n1012, being obliged by his competitor, Gregory, to leave Rome, fled \nto Germany for succor, threw himself at the feet of Henry II. by \nwhom he was reinstated in the apostolic chair, which he possessed in. \npeace until the year 1024. It v/as during his pontifieate, that the Nor- \nmans, who make a shining figure in history, came into Italy, and re- \nduced several of its richest provinces under their dominion. Bene- \ndict was succeeded by his brother John XIX. who ruled the church \nuntil 1033. \n\nThe five last mentioned pontiffs did not dishonour their high station \nwith that licentiousness and immorality, which rendered so many of \ntheir successors infamous ; their lives were virtuous, or at least their \nconduct was decent. But their examples had little effect on Benedict \nIX. a most abandoned profligate, and wretch capable of the most hor- \nrid crimes, whose conduct drew upon him the just resentment of the \nRomans, who, in the year 1038, degraded him from his office. He \nivas indeed afterwards restored, by the emperor Conrad, to the papal \n\n\n\nR O M A N CA T H L I C I S M . 73 \n\nchair ; but instead of learning circumspection and prudence from his \nformer disgrace, his life and manners became still more infamous, and \nso provoked the Roman people by his crimes, that they deposed him \nthe second time, in the year 1044, and elected in his place John, bish- \nop of Sabina, who assumed the name of Silvester III. Three months \nafter this new revolution, the relations and adherents of Benedict rose \nup in arms, drove Silvester out of the city, and restored the degraded \npontiff to his forfeited honours, which however he did not long enjoy, \nfor perceiving that there remained no hope of appeasing the Romans, \nhe sold the pontificate to John Gratian, archpresbyter of Rome, who \ntook the name of Gregory VI. \n\nThus the church, at the same time had two chiefs, Silvester and \nGregory, whose rivalry was the occasion of much trouble. This con- \ntest was terminated in the year 1046, in a council held at Sutri, by the \nemperor Henry III. who so ordered matters that Benedict, Gregory \nand Silvester were declared unworthy of the pontificate, and Suidger \nbishop of Bamberg, was raised to that dignity, which he enjoyed for a \nshort time under the title of Clement 11. \n\nAfter the death of Clement II. in the year 1047, Benedict IX. \nthough twice degraded aimed anew at the papal dignity, and succeed- \ned in forcing himself, a third time into St. Peter\'s chair. But in the \nfollowing year he was obliged to surrender the pontificate to Poppo, \nbishop of Brixen, known by the name of Daniaseus 11. whom Henry \nII. elected pope in Germany, and sent from thence into Italy to take \npossession of that dignity. Damascus died after having ruled the see \nof Rome twenty three days. Henry then, in the diet held at Worms, \nin 1048, appointed Bruno, Bishop of Toul, to succeed him in the pon- \ntificate. This prelate is known by the name Leo. IX. and his private \nvirtues, as well as his public acts of zeal and piety in the government \nof the church, were deemed meritorious enough to entitle him to a \nplace among the saintly order. \n\nBut if we deduct from these pretended virtues his zeal for increas- \ning the wealth and authority of the church of Rome, and his severity \nin correcting the vices which were common among the clergy during \nhis pontificate, little will remain in the life or administration of this \nman to give him claim to this high distinction. \n\nMany who industriously excuse the numerous infirmities and fail- \nings of this pontiff, censure with tl^e utmost freedom the temerity and \ninjustice of the measures he took towards the conclusion of his days. \nAmong others, mav be mentioned the war which he undertook in the \n10 \n\n\n\n74 THEHISTORYOF \n\nyear 1053, with the Normans, whom he grieved to see in the possefe= \nsion of Apulia. His rashness was indeed severely punished by the is- \nsue of this war, from which he experienced the bitterest fruits, being \ntaken prisoner by the enemy, and led captive to Benevento Here re- \nflections upon his unhappy fate preyed upon his spirits, which threw \nhim into a dangerous fit of sickness ; after a year\'s imprisonment he \nwas sent back to Rome where he ended his days in April 1054. \n\nAfter the death of Leo. the papal chair was filled in the year 1055, \nby Gebhard, bishop of Eitchstadt, who assumed the name of Victor \nn. and after governing the church about three years, was succeeded \nby Stephen IX. brother to Godfrey, duke of Lorraine who died soon \nafter his election. Nothing memorable happened under the adminis- \ntration of these two pontiffs. Gerrard, bishop of Florence, who ob- \ntained the papacy in 1058, and took the name of Nicholas II. makes \na greater figure in history than several of his predecessors. \n\nWe pass in silence John, bishop of Veletri, who usurped the pontifi- \ncate, with the title of Benedict X. after the death of Stephen, and who \nwas deposed with ignominy after having possessed about nine months \nthe dignity, to which he had no other title than what he gained by law- \nless violence. Nicholas, upon the removal of this usurper, assembled \na council at Rome in the year 1049, in which among^ many salutary \nlaws to heal the disorders of the atflicted church, one decree was \npassed for changing the ancient form of electing the pontiff ^ this \nalteration was designed to prevent the commotions which arose in \nRome, and the factions which divided Italy, when a new Pope was to \nbe elected. The same pontiff received the homage of the Normans, \nand created Robert Guiscard Duke of Apulia, Calabria and Sicily, on \ncondition that he should observe an inviolable allegiance to the Roman \nchurch, and pay an annual tribute in acknowledgment of his subjec- \ntion to the Apostolic See. \n\nWe know not by what authority Nicholas confirmed the Norman \nprince in the possession of these provinces : it is certain he had na \nproperty in the lands which he granted so liberally to the Normans, \nwho already held them by the right of conquest. The lordly pontiff \nmay have founded this right of cession upon the fictitious donation of \nConstantine, which has already been noticed ; or perhaps, seduced by \nthe ambitious suggestions of Hildebrand, who had fixed his eye on the \npontificate, which he afterwards filled under the adopted name of Gre- \ngory VII., he imagined that, as Christ\'s vicegerent, the Roman Pontiff \nwas king of kings, and had the whole universe for his domain. Hil- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 76 \n\ndebrand had a supreme ascendant in the councils of Nicholas, who \nneither undertook nor executed any plan v/ithout his direction. This \nfeudal grant, made to Guiscard by the Pope, laid the foundation of \nthe kingdom of Naples or the two Sicilies, and of the sovereignty over \nthat kingdom, which the Roman pontiffs constantly claim, and the \nSicilian monarchs annually acknowledge. \n\nBefore the pontificate of Nicholas II. the popes were not only cho- \nsen by the suffrages of the cardinals, but also of the whole Roman \nclergy, the nobility, the burgesses, and the assembly of the people. \nAn election in which such a confused multitude was concerned, pro- \nduced continual factions and tumults. To prevent these, this artful \npontiff had a law passed, by which the cardinals were empowered, up- \non a vacancy in the See of Rome, to elect a new Pope, without any \nprejudice to the ancient privileges of the Roman emperors, in this im- \nportant matter. The remainder of the clergy, with the burgesses and \npeople, were not excluded from all part in this election, since their \nconsent was demanded, and esteemed of much weight. In conse- \nquence of this new regulation, the cardinals acted the principal part \nin the creation of the new pontiff, for which they suffered much op- \nposition both from the sarcedotal orders and the Roman citizens, who \nwere constantly either reclaiming the ancient right or abusing the pri- \nvilege they yet retained, of confirming the election of every new pope \nby their consent. In the following century, Alexander III. put an \nend to these disputes, by finishing what Nicholas had commenced ; he \ntransferred to the college of cardinals the right of electing to the Holy \nSee, excluding the nobility, the people and the rest of the clergy, from \nany agency in the papal election. \n\nThough Nicholas II. had acknowledged and confirmed in his edict \nthe right of the Emperor to ratify by his consent the election of the \npontiff, his eyes were no sooner closed than the Romans, at the insti- \ngation of Hildebrand, afterwards Bishop of Rome, violated this im- \nperial privilege in the most presumptuous manner. They elected to \nthe pontificate Anselm, Bishop of Lucca, who assumed the name of \nAlexander II., and solemnly installed him in that high office without \nconsulting the Emperor, Henry IV., or giving him the least informa- \ntion of the fact. \n\nAgnes, the mother of the young emperor, no sooner received an \naccount of this irregular transaction by the bishops of Lombardy, to \nwhom the election of Anselm was extremely disagreeable, than she \nassembled a council at Basil, in order to maintain the authority of her \n\n\n\n76 T H E H 1 S T R Y O F \n\nson, who was yet a minor ; and caused Cadolaus, Bishop cf PariDo, \nto be created pontiff, under the title of Honorius II. A hue; and fu- \nrious contest arose between the rival pontiffs, who maintained then- \nrespective pretensions by the force of arms, and presented a scene of \nbloodshed in the Church of Christ, which was designed to be the seat \nof peace. In this contention Alexander triumphed, though his adver- \nsary never desisted from his pretensions. \n\nThis contest, however, was of Tittle consequence, when viewed in \ncomparison with the commotions, which Hildebrand, the successor of \nAlexander, under the title of Gregory VII., excited both in church \nand state, and nourished until the end of his days. This pontiff was \na Tuscan, born of mean parents, but rose by various steps from the \nobscure station of a monk of Clugni to the rank of archdeacon in the \nRoman church ; and from the time of Leo IX., who treated him with \npeculiar marks of distinction, he was accustomed to govern the Roman \npontiffs by his counsels. In the year 1073, on the same day that Al- \nexander was interred, he was elected pope by the unanim.ous vote of \nthe cardinals, bishops, abbots, monks, and people ; and consequently \nhis election was confirmed by the approbation of Henry IV. king of \nthe Romans, to whom embassadors had been sent for that purpose. \nThis prince soon had reason to repent of the consent he had given to \nan election, which became prejudicial to his own authority, fatal to \nthe interests and liberties of the church, and detrimental in general to \nthe repose and welfare of Europe. \n\nHildebrand was a man of uncommon genius, whose ambition in \nforming the most arduous projects was equalled by his dexterity in \nbringing them into execution ; sagacious, crafty, and intrepid, noth- \ning could exceed his penetration, defeat his stratagems, or daunt his \ncourage; haughty beyond measure, impetuous, and obstinate, he look- \ned up to the summit of universal empire with a wishful eye, and la- \nbored up the steep ascent with ardor and perseverance ; void of all \nprinciple, he suffered little restraint in his pursuits, from the dictates \nof religion or the remonstrances of conscience. \n\nSuch was the character of Hildebrand, and his conduct was every \nway suitable to it ; when he found himself in the papal chair, his am- \nbition was displayed to the world. Not contented to enlarge the ju- \nrisdiction, and augment the opulence of the See of Rome, he labored \nto render the universal church subject to the government and power \nof the pontiff alone, to dissolve the jurisdiction which kings and empe- \nrors had hitherto exercised over various orders of the clergy, and to \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 77 \n\nexclude them from all part in the management and distribution of the \nrevenues of the church. He went still further, and even attempted \nto coerce under his jurisdiction the emperors, kings, and princes of all \nChristendom, and to render their dominions tributary to the See of \nRome. \n\nSuch were the exploits that employed the activity of Gregory VII., \nand rendered his pontificate a continual scene of tumult and blood- \nshed. Were it necessary to bring any further proof of his tyranny \nand arrogance, his impetuosity and ambition, we might appeal to those \nfamous sentences which are called the dictates of Hildebrand; these \nshow, in a lively manner, the spirit and character of this restless pontiff. \nUnder the pontificate of Hildebrand, the face of the Latin church was \nentirely changed, its government subverted, the most important lights \nand privileges, v/hich had been formerly vested in its councils, bishops, \nand sacred colleges, were usurped by the greedy pontiff. \n\nThe vievv\'s of Hildebrand were not confined to the erection of an \nabsolute and universal monarchy in the church ; they also aimed at \nthe establishment of a civil monarch}^, equally extensive and despotic ; \nand this aspiring pontiff, after having drawn up a system of ecclesias- \ntical canons for the government of the church, had he been permitted \nto execute the plan he had formed, would have introduced a new code \nof political laws. His purpose was to engage in the bonds of allegi- \nance to St. Peter all the kings and princes of the earth, and to estab- \nlish at Rome an annual assembly of bishops ; by whom the contests \nbetween kingdoms or states were to be decided, the rights and pre- \ntensions of princes to be examined, and the fate of nations and em- \npires to be determined. This ambitious project met with the warmest \nopposition, particularly from the resolution of the emperors, and the \nBritish and French monarchs. \n\nThat Hildebrand laid this plan, is evident from his own epistles and \nother authentic records of antiquity. The nature of the oath which \nhe drew up for the King of the Romans, from whom he demanded \na profession of subjection and allegiance, shows the arrogance of his \npretensions. His conduct towards the kingdom of France is worthy \nof particular notice. It is well known, that whatever dignity and do- \nminion the popes enjoyed was originally derived from the kingdom of \nFrance, or the princes of that nation ; and yet Hildebrand, entitled \nGregory VII., pretended that the kingdom of France was tributary \nto the See of Rome, and commanded his legates to demand yearly, in \nthe most solemn manner, the payment of that tribute ; their demands \n\n\n\n78 THEHISTORYOF \n\nwere, however, treated with contempt ; and the tribute was neither \nacknowledged nor offered. Nothing can be more insolent than the \nlanguage in which Gregory addressed himself to Philip I., King of \nFrance, to whom he recommends an humble and obliging carriage, \nfrom the consideration that both his kingdom and his soul were under \nthe dominion of St. Peter; i.e. his vicar, the Roman Pontiff"; who \nhad power to bind and loose him, both in heaven and upon earth. \n\nGregory likewise contended that Saxony v/as a feudal tenure, held \nin subjection to the See of Rome, to which it had formerly been yield- \ned by Charlemagne, as a pious offering to St. Peter. He extended \nalso his pretensions to the kingdom of Spain, maintaining that it was \nthe property of the Apostolic See from the earliest ages of the church, \nyet acknowledging that the transaction, by which the successors of St. \nPeter had acquired this property, had been lost among other ancient \nrecords. His claims, however, were more respected in Spain, for the \nKing of x\\rragon, and Bernhard, Count of Besalu, gave a favorable \nanswer to the demands of Gregory, and paid him regularly an annual \ntribute ; and their example was followed by other Spanish provinces. \n\nThe despotic views of this lordly pontiff* were attended with less suc- \ncess in England than in any other country. William the Conqueror \nwas a prince of great spirit and resolution, extrem.ely jealous of his \nrights, and tenacious of the prerogatives he enjoyed as a sovereign and \nindependent monarch ; and accordingly, when Gregory wrote him a \nletter demanding the arrears of the Peter-pence,\'^ and at the same time \nsummoning him to do homage for the kingdom of England, as a fief \nof the Apostolic See, William granted the former, but refused the \nlatter, declaring that he held his kingdom of God only, and his own \nsword. Obliged to yield to the obstinacy of the English monarch, \nwhose name struck terror into the boldest hearts, the restless pontiff \nnext addressed his mandates where he imagined they would be better \nreceived. He wrote circular letters to the most powerful German \nprinces, to Geusa, King of Hungary, and Sueno or Swein, King of \nDenmark, soliciting them to make a solemn grant of three kingdoms \nand territories to the prince of the apostles ; and to hold them under \n\n\n\n\xe2\x99\xa6 Peter- pence was an annual tribute of one penny paid at Rome, out of every family \nat the feast of St. Peter. This, Ina the Saxon Kmg, when he went into Rome about the \nyear 740, gave to the Pope ; partly as alms, and partly in recompense of a house erected \nin Rome for English pilgrims. It continued to be paid generally until the time of King, \nHenry VIII., when it was enacted that henceforth no person should pay any pensiontj, \nPeter-pence, or other impositions, to the uee ol the Bishops and the See of Rome, \n\n\n\nH O M A N CATHOLICISM. 79 \n\ntiie jurisdiction of his vicar at Rome, as fiefs of the Apostolic See. \nWhat success attended his demands upon these princes, we cannot \nsay ; but it is certain that in many places his efforts were effectual, \nand his modest proposals were received with the utmost docility and \nsubmision. \n\nHad the success of this pontiff been equal to the extent of his insolent \nviews, all the kingdoms of Europe would soon have been tributary to \nthe Roman See, and its princes, the soldiers or vassals of St. Peter, in \nthe person of his pretended vicar on earth. But though his most impor- \ntant projects were ineffectual, yet many of his attempts were crowned \nwith a favorable issue. From the time of his pontificate, the face of \nEurope underwent a considerable change, and the pi-erogatives of the \nemperors and other sovereign princes were much diminished. It was \nparticularly under the administration of Gregory, that the emperors \nwere deprived of the privilege of ratifying by their consent the elec- \ntion of the Roman Pontiff; a privilege of no small importance, and \nwhich as yet they have never recovered. \n\nGregory, while he was throwing all Europe into combustion by his \nviolence and impostures, affected an anxious care for the purity of \nmanners, and even the chaste pleasures of the marriage bed were in- \nconsistent, in his opinion, with the sanctity of the sacerdotal charac- \nter. He issued a decree prohibiting the marriage of priests, excom- \nmunicating all clergymen who retained their wives, declaring such un- \nlawful commerce to be fornication, and rendering it criminal in the \nlaity to attend to divine worship when such profane priests officiated \nat the altar. This point was a great object in the politics of the Ro- \nman Pontiffs, and it cost them infinitely more pains to establish it than \nthe propagation of any speculative absurdity which they had ever at- \ntempted to introduce. Many synods were summoned in different \nparts of Europe before it was finally settled, and it was then constant- \nly remarked that the younger clergymen complied cheerfully with the \ndecrees of the Vatican, and that the chief reluctdnce appeared in those \nof more advanced years \xe2\x80\x94 an event so little consonent with men\'snat- \numlI expectations, that it could not fail to elicit many specious com- \nments even in that superstitious age. \n\nThe death of Gregory did not restore either concord to the church \nOT tranquility to the empire. The successor whom at the solicitation \nof the cardinals he nominated on his death bed, testified a singular but \nsincere repugnance for a dignity, which being probably too weak to \nsustain J he was too wise to desire, Desiderius, abbot of Mount Cas= \n\n\n\nso T H E HISTORY OF \n\nsino, held for a short period a disputed rule, under the name of Victor \nIII. and on his early death in 1087, Urban II. anativeof France, was \nproclaimed in his place. But Clement, the anti-pope, was still in \npossession of the capital, where the imperial party was triumphant. \nFive years of dissensions intervened before the authority of Urban was \nfully established. \n\nThat Pope had been a monk of Cliigni, and owed his preferment to \nthe see of Ostia, to the favor of Gregory ; and he continued to exhibit \nto the end of his life, his fidelity, by following, as far as his talents per- \nmitted him, the schemes which had been traced by his patron. \n\nOf the numerous councils held during his pontificate, two are enti- \ntled to particular attention those of Placentia and Clermont, in both of \nthese he confirmed the laws and asserted the principles of Gregory to \ntheir full extent ; for by the fifteenth canon of the latter he enacted, \n\' that no ecclesiastic shall receive any church dignity from the hand of \na layman, or pay him liege honours for it, and that no prince shall \ngive the investiture. But that council is recommended to general \nhistory, by other and more important recollections. And while at \nPlacentia the final sanction was given to the two strongest character- \nistics in the doctrine and discipline of the Roman church \xe2\x80\x94 namely \ntransubstantiation and the celibacy of the clergy ; it was the council \nof Clermont which first sounded that blast of fanaticism, which shook \nthe whole fabric of society from the extremities of the west even to \nthe heart of Asia, for above two centuries. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\nThe Crusades. \xe2\x80\x94 Their origin and object. \xe2\x80\x94 Peter the Hermit. \xe2\x80\x94 Council \nof Clermont. \xe2\x80\x94 Character of the Crusaders. \xe2\x80\x94 Mvance towards Pales- \ntine. \xe2\x80\x94 Disasters of the Expedition. \xe2\x80\x94 Jerusalem taken. \xe2\x80\x94 Godfrey of \nBouillon proclaimed King. \xe2\x80\x94 His death. \xe2\x80\x94 Disputes concerning the \nright of investiture : final settlement. \xe2\x80\x94 First Later an Council. \xe2\x80\x94 Civil \ndissensions at Rome. \xe2\x80\x94 Arnold of Brescia. \xe2\x80\x94 Rome placed under anin- \nierdlct by Adrian IV. \xe2\x80\x94 Schism. \xe2\x80\x94 Success of Alexander. \xe2\x80\x94 His charac- \nter. \xe2\x80\x94 Second, Third and Fourth Crusades. \n\nFrom the time oi Sylvester II. the Roman Pontiffs had been form- \ning plans for extending the limits of the Church in Asia and more \nespecially, for driving the Turks out of Palestine. But the troubles in \nwhich Europe was so long involved, prevented the execution of their \ndesigns. They considered it as an intolerable reproach upon Chris- \ntians, that the very land in which the divine author of their religion \nhad received his birth, exercised his ministry, and made expiation for \nthe sins of the world, should be abandoned to the enemies of his name. \nGregory VII. the most enterprising and audacious pontiff that ever \nsatin the Apostolic chair, moved by these considerations and animated \nand inflamed by the repeated complaints, which the Asiatic Churches \nmade of the cruelty of the Saracens, resolved to undertake in persona \nholy war for the deliverance of the Church, and upwards of fifty \nthousand men were already assembled to follow him in this bold ex- \npedition. But his quarrel with Henry III. of which we have already \nspoken, and other unforeseen occurrences obliged him to lay aside his \nintended invasion of the Holy Land. The project, however, was re- \nvived towards the conclusion of this century, by the enthusiastic zeal \nof Peter, commonly called the Hermit. This celebrated individual \nwas born at Amiens in Picardy. In his youth he had been a soldier, \nand had served with reputation under the counts of Bologne. He soon \nrelinquished the sword and all worldly employments with it. He made \na tedious and painful pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and during his residence \nin that city and in Palestine, he beheld, with inexpressible concern, \nthe sufferings which the christians endured, from the tyranny and in- \nsolence of the Saracens. Immediately upon his return, he conceived \n11 \n\n\n\n82 THEHISTORYOF \n\nthe design of arming the sovereigns, and people of Europe, in order \nto rescue the holy sepulchre from the pollution of the infidels. For \nthis purpose he travelled from kingdom to kingdom, representing the \nsufferings of the pilgrims, and calling aloud for vengeance. He de- \nclared that he was willing to lead the armies himself, if no better gen- \neral could be found : he spoke with confidence of special revelations, \nand preternatural assurrances of success. \n\nAs he travelled from place to place, the Hermit exhibited in his own \nperson, the most complete specimen of monkish abstemiousness and \nfi-antic enthusiasm. His body which was covered with a coarse gar- \nment, seemed wasted with fasting; his head was bare, his feet naked ; \nhe bore aloft in his hand a large and weighty crucifix ; and his pray- \ners were frequent, long and loud. He accosted every person whom he \nmet, and entered without hesitation, both the palaces of the great and \nwealthy, and the cottages of the poor. If the power of eloquence is \nto be estimated by the effect it produces, it certainly did not expire \nwith Demosthenes and Cicero. The exhortations of the hermit to \nrepentance and to arms roused the people from their lethargy ; he \npainted the sufferings of the pilgrims in such glowing colours that ev- \nery heart was melted into compassion ; and touching with the hand of \na master the chivalrous spirit of the age, he challenged the brave to \nrescue their brethren from the hand of oppression, and to protect the \nholy earth in which their Saviour had been interred. Every eye kin- \ndled with indignation as he spoke, and the sword was already drawn \nto carry into effect the purpose of vengeance. Nor were these the \nonly arts practiced by this enthusiastic preacher. He built his hopes \nof success from the assurances of heaven. He affirmed that Jesus \nChrist, and the holy Virgin, his mother, had both appeared to him ; and \nhe mentioned the names of many saints with whom he had personally \nconversed. He even produced a letter which he assured the people \nwas written in heaven ; and said it was addressed to all true christians \nresiding on the earth ; and its only object was to arouse their courage \nand animate their zeal in the great and pious work which he urged \nthem to undertake. This letter, we presume, was not too curiously \ninspected. It was, perhaps thought unnecessary to examine it ; and \nsome who might wish to satisfy themselves might be unable through \nthe ignorance which prevailed, to decipher its contents. \n\nIn consequence of the zeal and labors of the Hermit, a great sen- \nsation was produced in many parts of Europe. It seemed to be just \nand reasonable that the pilgrims should be relieved ; and it was ac- \n\n\n\nROMANCATHOLICISM. 83 \n\nknowledged as the will of heaven that the holy sepulchre should be no \nlonger defiled. Urban 11. the reigning pope availed himself of the pre- \ndominating feeling. He assembled a council at Clermont, in Auverg- \nne. The prelates, lords, and princes of Europe, with their numerous \nretainers, hastily obeyed the summons. No house could be found large \nenough to receive the multitude that were met together, and the de- \nliberations took place in the open air. The pope himself, the head of \nall the churches, and representative of the true God, addressed the \ncouncil ; he made a deep and powerful impression on the audience, \nespecially the French, who were present, and whose character natur- \nally susceptible and impetuous, rendered them the most proper subjects \nfor the papal oratory. \n\nThe hermit in his turn was not deficient. Plenary indulgence, and \nfull absolution, were proclaimed to all such as devoted themselves to \nthe service of the cross. And such .was the effect, that the whole as- \nsembly, as if moved by some divine impulse, cried out with one voice, \n\' it is the will of God, it is the will of God" ! Nor were these words \nwithout import or consequence. An incredible number enlisted them- \nselves in the sacred cause : peasants and artisans, nobles with exten- \nsive domains, and sovereigns renowned for their romantic valour, ea- \ngerly pressed forward, and requested permission to fight under the \nconsecrated banner. Early in the year 1096, no fewer than 300,000 \nmen under the orders of Peter the Hermit and Walter the Moneyless, \nset out from the confines of France and Lorraine, and marched \nthrough Hungary and Bulgaria to the capital of the Grecian empire.* \nThese, however, were an undiciplined rabble ; laborers, indolent \ntradesmen, malefactors let loose from prison, monks and slaves ; all, to \nwhom warfare was amusement, or plunder desirable. Many of them \nwere partially armed, others were entirely unprovided with any milita- \nry weapon. Behind this promiscuous and noisy assemblage, more \nlike the collected banditti of Europe than a constituted soldiery, the \nregular troops advanced. \n\nThese were men properly trained and appointed, conducted by the \nleaders of their respective nations or provinces, eager for the combat, \nas well as experienced in the field. By universal consent, the supreme \n\n\n\n* This expedition was distinguished in the French language by the name of a croisade \nand all who were embarked in it were called croises, or crossbearers ; not only because \nthe end of this holy war was to wrest the cross of Christ out of the hands of infidels, \nbut on account of the consecrated cross of various colours, which every soldier wore on \nhis right shoulder. \n\n\n\n84 THE HISTORY OF \n\ncommand was conferred on the illustrious Godfrey, of Bouillon, duke \nof Lorraine. He was supported by Baldevin, his brother, Robert duke \nof Normandy, Hugh, count of Vermaindois, Reymond, count of \nTholouse, and Stephen count, of Blois. \n\nWhen the troops were numbered on the plains of Asia they amoun- \nted to 700,003 fightinj^ men. The fortune of the crusaders was vari- \nous. Many of the soldiers died in battle, or perished through fatigue, \nand the diseases incident to the climate. In the end, however, the \nholy city was taken, and purified from infidel pollution ; and Godfrey \nwas saluted King of Jerusalem by all the troops under his command. \nBut this illustrious hero, whose other eminent qualiiies were adorned \nwith the greatest modesty, refused that high title, though he governed \nJerusalem with that valour, equity and prudence, that have rendered \nhis name immortal. Having chosen a small army to support him in \nhis new dignity, he permitted the rest of the troops to return to Eu- \nrope. He did not enjoy long the fruits of a victory, in which his he- \nroic valour had been so gloriously displayed, but died about a year af- \nter the conquest of Jerusalem, leaving his dominions to his brother \nBaldwin, prince of Edesse, who assumed the title of King, without the \nleast hesitation. \n\nUrban H. the patron of the crusades, died in the year 1079, and \nwas succeeded by Pascal H. Nearly contemporaneous with the de- \ncease of Urban, was that of Clement HI. the anti-pope, who had \nmaintained with some interruptions, the possession of the capital, \nthough unacknowledged by the great body of the church. The im- \nperial party was at that moment too weak to appoint a successor, and \ntherefore Pascal, as well as Gregory and Urban, had been educa- \nted in the monastery of Clugni : like the former he was a Tuscan ; \nlike the latter he was indebted for his early advancement ; and thus \nthe spirit of that extraordinary man, by animating the congenial bo- \nsoms of his two disciples, continued to haunt the pontifical chair, and \nto regulate the councils of the Vatican, for above thirty years after his \ndeparture. \n\nThe question respecting investitures, after having variously agitated \nthe kingdoms of the west for half a century, was now drawing near \nits final decision. After a short interval of disputed succession, then \nusual on the death of every pope, Calixtus II. Archbishop of Vienna, \na count of Burgundy, and a near relative to the emperor was raised to \nthe pontificate. It does not appear, however, that he sacrificed to the \nclaims of consanguinity any portion of the rights or pretensions of the \n\n\n\nR M A ?; C A T K L i C I S M . 86 \n\nholy see ; but he consented that the diiTerences should be submitted \nfor their final arrangement to a Couiicil, or Diet, to be assembled at \nWorms for that purpose. \n\nA convention was there concluded v/hich was reasonabip and per- \nmanent ; its substance was this, (1.) That the election of bii^hops and \nabbots, in his Teutonic kingdom, take place in its rightful form, with- \nout violence or simony, in the presence of the emperor or his legate, \nso that in case of a diiference, his protection be given with the ad- \nvice of the metropolitan, to the claim. (2.) That the ecclesiastic elec- \nted receive his regalia at the hand of the emperor, and do homage for \nthem. But (3.) that in the ceremony of investiture, the emperorno \nlonger use the insignia of spiritual authority, but the sceptre only. A \nsimilar arrangement had previously taken place in England between \nHenry I. and Pascal II. and in France, if the custom of investiture \nby the ring and crosier* ever prevailed, which seems uncertain, it had \nbeen abolished about the same time. \n\nSubsequent to this final adjustment, of the long contested right of \ninvestiture, a numerous assembly was held at Rome, which is com- \nmonly acknowledged in that church as the ninth general, and the first \nLateran council. Of the twenty two canons which resulted from its \nlabors, the greater part were in confirmation of the acts of the pre- \nceding popes ; and we observe that the object of several of the origi- \nnal enactments was to protect the property of the church from aliena- \ntion, and holy usurpations ; there was one which promoted the cru- \nsading zeal both by spiritual promises and menaces. And am.ong the \nmost important, we may consider that which prohibited abbots and \nmonks from the performance of public masses, the administration of \nthe holy chrism, and other religious services, and confided those sol- \nemn offices entirely to the secular clergy. This was a public manifes- \n\n\n\n* The right of appointment to the sacred benefices which occurred in the diocess, un- \nder their respective jurisdictions was annually claimed and practised by the princes of \nEurope. For this purpose they ordered that as soon as a bishop expired, his ring and cro- \nsier or pastoral staff, the sacred insignia of his office, should be immediately transmitted \nto them. For it was by the solemn delivery of the rincp and croiser of the deceased to \nthe new bishop that the new election was irrevocably confirmed and this ceremony was an \nessential part of his consecration, so that when these two badges of the episcopal di. nity \nwere in the hands of the sovereign, the Clergy could not consecrate the persons whom \ntheir suffrage had appointed to fill the vacancy. From the exercise of this power, prin- \nces derived much revenue and influence either by the sale of the vacant benefice, or its \nbestowment upon some court favorite. It affords them no matter of surprise that the pas- \nfive relinquishment of this power did not follow the edicts of Hildebrand. \n\n\n\n86 T H E n I S T R Y F \n\ntation of that jealousy between the two orders of the Roman hierar- \nchy, which in a later age displayed itself so generally as to become an \nefficient instrument in working its overthrow. \n\nCalixtus died in 1 124, and during the thirty years which followed \nthe pontificial city enjoyed scarcely any intermission from discord and \nconvulsion. The names of Honorius and Innocent, and Anaclete \nand Eugenius, with some others, pass by in rapid and tumultuous suc- \ncession. The chair which was generally contested, was never main- \ntained to any good purpose; and one of its successors, Lucius II. \nwas actual murdered by the populace, in an attempt to resto^\'e tran- \nquility. \n\nThe popular commotions of this period were not of the same de- \nscription with those we have already found occasion to notice ; the \nquestion of papal election had ceased to be their principal cause; the \nturbulence which had been occasioned by the abuse of that right, and \nprolonged by the endeavor to reclaim it, was now founded in a deeper \nand much more powerful motive. A party had lately grown up in the \nRoman city of patriots ambitious to restore the name, and as some \nmight fondly deem, the glory of the ancient repubhc. The first neces- \nsary step, towards the accomplishment of this scheme was the subver- \nsion, or at least, the entire reconstruction of the ecclesiastical system. \nTo diminish the privileges, to reduce the revenues of the church, to \ndeprive the pontiff of temporal power, and all civil jurisdiction, and to \ndegrade (or rather exalt) his stately splendor to the homeliness of \nfiis primitive predecessors \xe2\x80\x94 these were the projects preparatory to \nthe political regeneration of Rome. \n\nAbout the year 1135, Arnold of Brescia, a disciple of the celebra- \nted Abelard, returned to Italy from the schools of Paris, and having \nassumed the monastic habit, began publicly to preach against the vi- \nces of the clergy. The pomp of the prelates and the soft licentious \nlife both of the clerks and monks, furnished abundant materials for his \ndenunciations ; but it is complained that he exceeded the bounds of \ntruth and moderation, and that his orthodoxy was liable to suspicion, \nand that he held some unsound opinions respecting the eucharist and \ninfant baptism. In consequence of these charges he was condemned \nby a Lateran council in 1139 : he immediately retired from Italy, and \ntransferred his popular declamation to Zurich in Switzerland. \n\nNot many years afterwards, encouraged by the independent spirit \nwhich was rising at Rome, he boldly selected that metropolis for the \nscene of his two-fold exertions against papacy and despotism. In the \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 87 \n\nyear 1 154 a man of decided firmness and energy had obtained posses- \nsion of the papal chair, entitled Adrian IV., the only Englishman who \never attained that dignity, had raised himself from the lowest office in \nsociety, to the throne of St. Peter ; and though the arrogance which \nhe then exhibited might entirely belong to his future fortunes ; an in- \ntrepid resolution tempered with the most refined address, must have \ncharacterized every stage of his progress, since these are qualities \nwhich offices and dignities may exercise, but can never bestow. \n\nIn the year following his elevation, one of his cardinals was dan- \ngerously wounded in some tumult occasioned by the associates of Ar- \nnold. Adrian instantly placed the city of Rome under an interdict ; \nthe churches were closed, and the divine offices for some time suspend- \ned, in the very head of the Catholic church. The priests and people \nincessantly supplicated for a recall of the edict, but Adrian did not re- \nlent until Arnold and his associates were expelled from the city. The \npeople blessed God for this mercy ; on the day, they rushed from every \nquarter to receive absolution ; a vast multitude of pilgrims was also \npresent. Then the Pope, attended by bishops and cardinals and a nu- \nmerous troop of nobles, came forth from his residence, and crossing \nthe extent of Rome, amidst the acclamations of the people, arrived at \nthe Lateran palace, where he celebrated the festival of Easter. \n\nSoon after, Arnold unhappily, fell into the power of Frederick Bar- \nbarossa, who was then in Italy, on his advance to Rome ; and the \nemperor, actuated by a common dislike to independence and innova- \ntion under every form, yielded up his prisoner to the solicitation of the \npope. He was conducted to Rome, and subjected to the partial judg- \nment of an ecclesiastic tribunal. His guilt was pronounced, \xe2\x80\x94 the \nprefect of the city delivered his dreadful sentence and he was burnt \nalive, in the presence of a careless and ungrateful people. But lest \nthis same multitude should presently turn to adore the martyr^ and \noffer worship at his tomb, his ashes were contemptuously scattered \nover the bosom of the Tiber. His name has been the subject of both \npanegyric and calumny : with its claims to political celebrity this his- \ntory is not concerned ; but in respect to his disputes with the church, \nwe may rank Arnold of Brescia with those earnest, but inconsiderate \nreformers whose premature opposition to established abuses produced \nlittle immediate result except their own destruction ; but whose mem- \nory has become dear, as their example has been useful, to a happier \nand wiser posterity, whom we celebrate as martyrs to the best of hu- \n\n\n\n88 THE HISTORY OF \n\nman principles, and whose indiscretions we almost consider as piety \nand virtue. \n\nFrederick Barbarossa. whose elevation wns nearly contemporane- \nous with that of Adrian, had also announced his intention to restrain \nthe wealth and moderate the insolence of the pope and his clergy; in \n1155 he proceeded to Rome for the purpose of celebrating his coro- \nnation and commencing his reform ; but he found the pontiff as firm \nand powerful to resist imperial interference, as to quell domestic dis- \norders. Adrian on this occasion was so far from betraying the inter- \nests of his order or the prerogatives of his office, that he even asserted \na new claim : he demanded the personal service of the emperor to \nhold the stirrup of his saddle when he mounted his horse. A prece- \ndent for this indignity having been pointed out to him, Barbarossa, the \nhaughtiest prince in Europe, at the head of a powerful army, submitted \nto an office of servitude which he might have mistaken for Christian \nhumility. Be that as it may, the triumph of the see over so great a \nmonarch proved the substantial reality of its power, and the awe which \nit inspired into the most intrepid minds. \n\nAfter Adrian\'s death, Alexander III. ivas immediately elected by \na large majority of cardinals ; but as some of the other party persisted \nin supporting a rival, named Octavian, Frederick summoned a gener- \nal council at Pavia to decide on their respective claims. Alexander \ndisputed the emperor\'s right to interfere in the schisms of the church, \nand as he refused to present himself at the council, his rival was de- \nclared to be duly elected, and the decision received the approbation of \nthe emperor. Alexander was still sustained by the more faithful and \npowerful party within the church, and ackcowledged by most of the \nsovereigns of Europe, and from these supports he derived sufficient \nconfidence to excommunicate his adversary, and to absolve his sub- \njects from their oath of fidelity. But Frederick did not feel the blow; \nhe proceeded to place his creature in possession of the pontificial city, \nwhile Alexander sought security in the territories of France. \n\nHe withdrew to Montpelier with his whole court, and resided in \nthat neighborhood three years, until circumstances enabled him to re- \ntuin to Rome, in 1165. He was soon after assailed by Frederick, in \nperson, and though defended for a little time by the Romans, he was \nobliged to escape in the guise of a pilgrim. Fie retired to Benevento, \nbut not till he had thundered another anathema against Frederick : on \nthis occasion he not only deprived him of his throne, but also forbade \n\xe2\x80\xa2\'by the authority of God, that he phould thereafter have any force in \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 89 \n\nbattle, or triumph over any Christian ; or that he should enjoy any \npeace or repose, until he had given sufficient proofs of his penitence." \nThe denunciations contained in this frightful sentence were not in- \ndeed, wholly accomplished, yet it so happened that Frederick was \nobliged to retire from Rome, by the sickness of his army ; and in the \nlong and destructive war which followed, he suffered such reverses \nas to find it expedient to sign a disadvantageous treaty with the Pope. \nThe war was for the most part carried on in the north part of Italy ; \nand as it was fomented by the address and policy, rather than by the \nsword of Alexander, the calm expression of his exultation was in \nsome measure justified \xe2\x80\x94 \'it hath pleased God (he said) to permit an \nold man and a priest to triumph, without the use of arms, over a power- \nful and formidable emperor. \n\nAlexander who was so successful in his contest with Frederick \nL, was also engaged in a warm dispute with Henry II., king of \nEngland, which was occasioned by the arrogance of Thomas Beck- \net, archbishop of Canterbury. In the council of Clarendon, held \nin the year 1164, several laws were enacted, by which the king\'s \npower and jurisdiction over the clergy were explained, and the rights \nand privileges of the bishops and priests reduced to narrower bounds. \nBecket refused obedience to these laws, which he considered as pre- \njudicial to the divine rights of the church in general, and particularly \nto the prerogatives of the Roman Prelate. A violent debate immedi- \nately arose betwen the king and the archbishop which resulted in the \nretirement of the latter into France, where Alexander III. was at that \ntime in a kind of exile. This pontiff and the king of France interpo- \nsed their good offices in order to compose these differences, in which \nthey succeeded so far as to encourage Becket to return into England \nwhere he was reinstated in his former dignity. The generous and in- \ndulgent proceedings of his sovereign towards him were not sufficient \nto conquer his arrogant and rebellious obstinacy in maintaining what \nhe called the privileges of the church, nor could he be induced, by \nany means, to comply with the views and wishes of Henry. The \nconseqences of this resistance were fatal to the haughty prelate; for \nsoon after his return to England, he was assassinated before the altar \nwhile he was at vespersin his cathedral, by four of the king\'s cour- \ntiers, who probably committed this act of violence with the king\'s \nknowledge and approbation. \n\nThis event produced warm debates between the king of England \nand the Roman pontiff, who soYar gained his point as to make the \n12 \n\n\n\n90 THEHISTORYOF \n\nsupplicant monarch undergo a severe course of penance, in order to \nexpiate a crime of which he was considered the chief author, while the \nmurdered prelate was enrolled in the highest ranks of saints and mar- \ntyrs. \n\nFrom this time Alexander possessed in security the chair which he \nhad merited by his persevering exertions, as well as by his various vir- \ntues. He turned his attention to the internal condition of the church, \nand his first object was to remove from his successors an evil which \nhad so long and dangerously afflicted himself. Accordingly he sum- \nmoned a council, in 1779 commonly called the third Lateran, and \nthere enacted those final regulations respecting the papal election which \nhave already been mentionnd. \n\nAmong the few characters which throw an honorable lustre upon \nthe dark procession of pontificial names we may confidently record \nthat of Alexander III. not only from the splendor of his talents, his \nconstancy andhis success, but from a still nobler claim which possesses \nour admiration. He was the champion of intellectual advance- \nment, and the determined foe of ignorance. The system of his inter- \nnal administration was regulated by this principle, and he carried it \nto the most generous extent. He made enquiries in foreign coun- \ntries, and especially in France, for persons eminent for learning, that \nhe might promote them, without regard to birth or influence, to the \nhighest ecclesiastical dignities. He caused large numbers of the \nItalian clergy, to whom their own country did not supply sufficient \nmeans of instruction to proceed to Paris for their more liberal educa- \ntion, and having learned that in some places the chapters of cathedrals \nexacted fees from young proficients before they licensed them to lec- \nture publicly, Alexander removed the abuse, and abolished every re- \nstriction which had been imposed on the free advance of learning. At \nthe same time he was not so blinded by this zeal as to consider the \nmere exercise of the understanding as a sufficient guarantee for moral \nimprovement. But observing on the contraiy, with great apprehen- \nsion the progress of the scholastic system of theology, and the vain dis- \nputations to which it gave rise, he assembled a very large council of \nmen of letters, for the purpose of condemning that system, and dis- \ncouraging its prevalence at Paris. He died in 1181. In the course \nof the following year four pontiffs ruled and passed away : ui 1 191 the \nchair was occupied by C destine III. the fifth from Alexander. Un- \nder his pontificate the third expedition was fitted out for the recovery \nof the Holy Land. \n\n\n\n11 M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 91 \n\nThe new kingdom of Jerusalem which had been erected by the ho- \nly warriors of France, towards the conclusion of the preceding cen- \ntury, seemed to flourish considerably at the beginning of this, and to \nrest upon firm and solid foundations. This prosperous scene was how- \never but transitory, for when the Mahometans saw vast numbers of \nthose that had engaged in this holy war, returning into Europe, and \nthe Christian chiefs that remained in Palestine divided into factions, \nrecovered courage and attacking on all quarters the settlements of the \nEuropeans had reduced these adventurers to great difficulties and obli* \nged them to apply soon for succors from the west. \n\nA second crusade under Conrad the emperor, and Lewis VII. king \nof France, in which there perished upv/ards of 200,000 men, brought \nthem but a temporary relief, and those princes, after losing such im- \nmense armies, and seeing the flower of their nobility fall by their side, \nreturned with little honor to Europe. But these repeated misfortunes, \nwhich drained the westein world of its people and treasure, were not \nsufficient to cure men of their passion for spiritual adventures ; and a \nnew incident rekindled with fresh fury the zeal of the ecclesiastics \nand military adventures among the Latin churches. Saladin a prince \nof great generosity, bravery and conduct, having fixed himself on the \nthrone of Egypt, began to extend his conquests over the east, and find- \ning the settlements of the christians in Palestine, an invincible obsta- \ncle to the progress of his arms, he bent his whole force to subdue that \nsmall and barren but important territory. \n\nTaking advantage of dissensions which prevailed among the cham- \npions of the cross, and having secretly gained the count of Tripoli, \nwho commanded their armies, he invaded the frontiers with a mighty \npower ; and aided by the treachery of that count, gained over them \nat Tiberaide a complete victory, which utterly annihilated the force of \nthe languishing kingdom of Jerusalem. \n\nThe holy city itself fell into his hands, after a feeble resistance, the \nkingdom of Antioch was almost entirely subdued ; and except some \nmaritime towns, nothing considerable remained of those boasted con- \nquests, which near a century before it had cost the eflbrts of all Eu- \nrope to acquire. The western Christians were astonished on receiv- \ning this dismal intelligence. Pope Urban III. it is pretended died of \ngrief; and his successor, Gregory VIII. employed the whole time of \nhis short pontificate, in rousing to arms all the christians who ack- \nnowledged his authority. The general cry was, that they were un- \nworthy of enjoying any inheritance in heaven, who would not rescue \n\n\n\n93 THEHISTORYOF \n\nfrom the dominion of infidels, the inheritance of God on earth, and \ndeliver from slavery that country v^hich had been consecrated by the \nfootsteps of the Redeemer. \n\nThe third expedition v^as undertaken in the year 1 189, by Frederick \nsurnamed Barbarossa, emperor of Germany, who, with a great army \npassed through several Grecian provinces where he had innumerable \ndifficulties and obstacles to overcome into Lesser Asia, from whence \nafter having defeated the sultan of Iconium, he penetrated into Syria. \nHis valour and conduct promised successful campaigns to the army \nhe commanded, when by an unhappy accident, he lost his life in the \nriver Saleph, which runs through Seleucia. \n\nThe manner of his death is not known with any degree of certainty; \nthe loss, however, of such an able chief, dejected the spirits of his \ntroops, so that considerable numbers of them returned into Europe. \nThose that remained continued the war under the command of Fre- \nderic, son of the deceased emperor ; but the greatest part of them \nperished miserably by a pestilential disorder, which raged with vio- \nlenoa in the camp, and swept off vast numbers every day. The new \ngeneral died of the same disease in the year 1171; those that escaped \nits fury were dispersed, and few ever returned to their own country. \n\nThe example of Frederic Barbarossa was followed in the year 1190 \nby Philip Augustus, king of France, and Richard the lion hearted \nking of England. These two monarchs set out from their respective \ndominions with a considerable number of ships of war, and transports \narrived in Palestine, in the year 1191, each at the head of a separate \narmy, and were quite successful in their first encounters with the infi- \ndels. After the reduction of the strong city of Acca or Ptolemais, \nwhich had been defended by the Moslems with the most obstinate val- \nour, the French monarch returned into Europe in July 1191, lea- \nving behind him a considerable part of the army which he had con- \nducted into Palestine. \n\nAfter his departure, the king to England pushed the war with the \ngreatest vigor, \xe2\x80\x94 gave daily marks of his heroic intrepidity and military \nskill, and not only defeated Saladin in several engagements, but reduced \nY\'afFa or Joppa and Caesarea. Deserted, however, by the French \nand Italians, and influenced by other motives and considerations of the \ngreatest weight, he concluded a truce with Saladin, in the year 1192, \nof three years, three months andfthree days, and soon evacuated Pal- \nestine\'with his whole army. Such was the issue of the third expedi- \ntion against the infidels, which exhausted England, France and Ger- \n\n\n\nR M A N G A T H L I C I S M . 95 \n\nmany of both men and money, without bringing any solid advantage, \nor giving even a favorable turn to the affairs of the Christians in the \nHoly Land. \n\nPope Celestine died in 1198, and was succeeded by Lotharius, \nCount of Segni, who assumed the name of Innocent III. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER YIII. \n\nInnocent III. \xe2\x80\x94 -Power of Ecclesiastical tribunals. \xe2\x80\x94 Quarrel with Philip \nAugustus. \xe2\x80\x94 France placed in interdict. \xe2\x80\x94 Submission of Philip. \xe2\x80\x94 \nKing John of England, deposed and excommunicated. \xe2\x80\x94 Triumph of \nPapal power. \xe2\x80\x94 Fourth Lateran Council. \xe2\x80\x94 Doctrine of Transubstanti- \nation. \xe2\x80\x94 Auricular Confession. \xe2\x80\x94 Reformation attempted. \xe2\x80\x94 Commence- \nment of Persecution. \xe2\x80\x94 Petrobrusians, Waldenses and Albegeois. \xe2\x80\x94 Cru- \nsade against the Albegeois. \xe2\x80\x94 Piedmont ravaged. \xe2\x80\x94 Origin of the In- \nquisition. \xe2\x80\x94 Death and Character of Innocent. \n\nDuring the period of one hundred and thirteen years, which inter- \nvened, between Gregory VII. and Innocent III. the progress of \necclesiastical power and influence was very considerable ; and the \nlatter ascended the pontifical chair unembarrassed by many of the \ndifficulties which impeded the enterprises of the former. The reven- \nues of the Pope had received no considerable augmentation between \nthe ninth century and the time of Inocent ; but those of the clergy, \nand especially of the monastic orders, had been swelled during the \nsame period, by the most abundant contributions. Indeed in most \ncountries, the tentorial dominions of the church were at that time \nspread so widely, as almost to justify the camplaint that they compre- \nhended half of Eur5pe ; nor should we omit to mention that the cler- \ngy, though in some kingdoms, liable to annual donations, and to arbi- \ntrary plunder in all ; were still legally exempt from taxations, and \nevery regular contribution to the service of the state. From such \nimmunities they must have reaped great advantages, especially in \npeaceful periods. But such partial profits, have always a drawback in \nthe jealousy which the distinction occasions, and exposes those who \nenjoy it, to the distrust and dislike of their fellow subjects. \n\nA great facility was also afibrded for enlarging the boundaries of \necclesiastical jurisdiction, by the want of definiteness in the nature of \nthe offences subject to it. These were designated spiritual, but in an \nignorant age, that term might be so extended by an artful priesthood, \nas to embrnce every sin and almost every crime ; since there are no \nsins and few crimes which do not indicate some disease of the soul, \nand touch its eternal safety. \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H O L I C rs M . 95 \n\nThe general term, by which ecclesiastics contrived to comprise the \ngreatest number of causes was Bad Faith, as being unquestionably a \nsin, yet such that an action could seldom occur, in which both parties \nwere clear from the suspicion of it. Thus they claimed for their tri- \nbunals all trials on executions of contracts, because the contract was \nfounded on oath. They also claimed to be interpreters and execu- \ntors of wills and testaments, as being matters pecuharly connected with \nthe conscience ; and thus they gradually extended the spiritual net over \nthe entire field of civil litigation. \n\nThey forgot, that what properly belonged to them was censure, not \njurisdiction ; or they affected artfully to confound the office of penal \nchastisement with that of penitential correction. The encroachments \nof the church were aided by the negligence and almost justified by the \nincompetence of the lay tribunals, and they had already made consid- \nerable^advances, with little opposition, and acquired extensive con- \nquests in the domains of secular jurisdiction, when Innocent III. took \nthe pontificial chair. \n\nFrom the above circumstances, we have reason to presume that in \nactual authority, not less than in moral influence, the church had ac- \nquired growth and strength since the era of Gregory VII, and the sa- \ncred militia, whom Innocent was appointed to command, and by whose \naid he meditated and almost accomphshed the destruction of the tem- \nporal authorities, then exerted a much more powerful control over \nevery department of society, than it had ever possessed at any former \nperiod. \n\nIn respect to the usurpations of papal over royal authority, we see \nthat the glory of creating it is not due to Innocent ; he received it from \nformer ages, among the established duties of the apostolical office. It \nwas sealed by the consent of many venerable pontiffs; by the author- \nity of Gregory VII. It was congenial to the unconverted pride of the \nhuman heart, that passion, which burned most fiercely in the breast of \nInnocent, and which the waters of the gospel were seldom invited to \nallay. This was indeed, the character formed to fill up the outlines \nso daringly traced, and to pursue the scheme which his great prede- \ncessor had bequeathed him. The same circumstances which forwar- \nded his other temporal projects were, as far as they extended, favora- \nble to this, once more he drew his strength from the divisions of the \nempire. \n\nHe deposed Philip \xe2\x80\x94 Philip denied his right \xe2\x80\x94 but it was willingly \nacknowledged by his rival Otho, who did not scruple to accept the \n\n\n\n96 THEHISTORYOF \n\ndiadem from the pontificial hand. Only three years afterwards, lie \npronounced, in the same plentitude of power, the same sentance of \nanathema and deposition against Otho ; with what justice could Otho \ndispute the power by which he had deigned to rise ? The vacant \nthrone was then conferred on Frederic. The first interference of the \npontiff in the affairs of the French court was defended by precedents \nand occasioned by an offence, at all times pecuharly liable to spiritual \njurdisdiction. Philip Augustus having espoused a Danish princess, \nnamed Ingerberge or Isemburg, hastened the day following their nup- \ntials to divorce her. He pretended to have discovered that they were \nconnected by too near a degree of affinity ; and after some investiga- \ntion, at which two legates and pope C destine assisted, the marriage was \ndeclared null and void. \n\nInnocent, probably considering that concession as drawn from the \ntimidity of his predecessors, lost no time in setting aside the divorce, \nand commanding the king to take back his bride. He refused, and \nan interdict was immediately thrown on the whole kingdom.* \n\n\n\n\xe2\x99\xa6 The following account of the pronanciation of this interdict drawn by an eminent \nmodern writer, exhibits at once the imposing character of this ceremony, and the deep and \nsuperstitious reverence universally entertained towards the Roman Church. \n\n" At midnight all the churches of Dijon, began to toll as for the dead. The street was \nsuddenly filled with a multitude of individuals, flocking towards the Cathedral which \nwas soon filled with citizens and ecclesiastics. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 " The sight that presented itself was certainly awful, no tapers were lighted at the high \naltar ; not a shrine gave forth a single ray ; but on the steps before the table, stood the \ncardinal legate dressed in the deep purple stole worn on days of solemn fast in the \nchurch of Rome. On each hand, the steps, and part of the choir were crowded with \nbishops and mitred abbots,each in the solemn habiliments appropriated by his order to fu^ \nneral fasts, and each holding in his hand a black and smoky torch of pitch, which spread \nthrough the whole church their ungrateful odour, and their red and baleful light. The \nspace behind the altar was crowded by ecclesiastics and monks, on the upper part of \nwhose pale and mergre faces the dim torch-light cast an unearthly gleam ; while streanv- \ning down the centre of the church, over the kneeling congregation, on whose dark vest- \nments it seemed to have no efiect, the red glare spread through the nave and aisles, catch- \ning faintly on the tall pillars and gothic tracery of the cathedral, and losing itself at last \nin the deep gloom all around. The choir of the cathedral were in the act of singing, \nand the deep and solemn notes of the chant echoed by the vaulted roof, and long aisles \nand galleries, while it harmonized with the gloominess of the scene ; offered frightful dis- \ncord when the deep toll of the death bell broke across with sounds entirely dissonant. \nWhen it ceased,the legate advanced, and in a voice that trembled even at the sentence it \npronounced, placed the whole realm of France in interdict \xe2\x80\x94 bidding the doors of the \nchurches to be closed ; the images of the saints and the cross itself, to be veiled ; the \nworship of the Almighty to be suspended , marriage to the young, the eucharist to \nthe old and dying, and sepulture to the dead to be refused ; all the rites, the cere-monies \nand the consolations of religion to be denied to every one ; and France to be a dead land \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nROMANCATHOLICISM. 97 \n\nThe public offices of worship were suspended, even the doors of the \nchurches were closed, the sacrament of Christ was no longer admin- \nistered, and the rites of marriage and sepulture remained unperform- \ned. We should here recollect, that with the mass of an ignorant peo- \nple, professing a corrupt form of faith, the public exercises of religion \nconstitute its entire substance. Deprived of that, they had no refuge \nin private prayer, or the consolations of internal devotion. To such \npersons the sentence of an interdict must have fallen like an immedi- \nate edict of rejection and separation from heaven, and such at that \ntime was the multitude of every class. Though Philip Augustus was \na prince of uncommon resolution and address, he found it expedient \nto bend before the tempest, and obey the pontificial mandates. \n\nNot contented to influence the most vigorous monarchs of the most \npowerful kingdoms of the age, he descended to issue his edicts to in- \nferior princes. He sent forth instructions to the king of Navarre re- \nspecting the restoration of certain castles to Richard. He distributed \nthe insignia of royalty to Briscislaus, duke of Bohemia and to the dukes \nof Wallachia and Bulgaria. He conferred the crown of Arrgon on \nPeter H. and finally he gave a king to the Armenian nation, dwelling \non the border of the Caspian Sea. \n\nWith all this extent of despotic sway it was in England that his bold- \nest pretensions were advanced, and with the most surprising success. \n\ntill such time as PiiiUp, the king, should separate himself from Agnes, and take again to \nhis bosom Ingerberge, his lawful wife. \n\n" The legate proceeded to anathematize and excommunicate Philip, according to the \nterrible form of the church of Rome, calling down upon his head the curses of all the pow- \ners of Heaven. \n\n" May he be cursed in the city and in the field and in the highway / in Uving and dy- \ning" / said the legate, " cursed be his children, and his flocks, and his domains ! Let no \nman call him brother, or give him the kiss of peace / Let no priest pray for him, or ad- \nmit him to God\'s altar / Let all men flee from him living, and let consolation and hope \nabandon his death bed .\' Let his corpse remain unburied, and his bones whiten in the \nwind / Cursed be he on earth, and under the earth, in this life and to all eternity: , \n\nSuch was in some degree, though far short of the original, the anathema which the le- \ngate pronounced against Philip Augustus \xe2\x80\x94 to our ideas unchristian and almost blasphe- \nmous, but then the people heard it*with reverence and trembling-, and even when he sum- \nmed up the whole, by announcing it in the name of the Holy Trinity \xe2\x80\x94 of the father of all \nmercy .\' \xe2\x80\x94 of the son. \xe2\x80\x94 the Saviour of the world ! \xe2\x80\x94 and of the Holy Ghost the Lord and \ngiver of life / the people instead of starting from the impious mingling of Heaven\'s holi- \nest attributes, with the violent passions of man, joined the clergy in a loud and solemn \n^men ! \' \n\nAt the same moment all the sounds ceased ; the torches were extinguished: and in \nobscurity and confusion, the dismayed multitude made their way out of the cathedral," \n\n13 \n\n\n\n08 THEHISTORYOF \n\nThe circumstances are known to all readers. In the year 1199, Rich- \nard I. was succeeded on the throne by John, the feeblest of the hu- \nman race ; and that prince was soon assailed by an outrage from the \nholy see, which, for some years, disturbed the repose and allegiance of \nhis subjects, and the stability of his throne. \n\nOn the vacancy of the see of Canterbury, the monks publicly elec- \nted to that dignity John, bishop of Norwich, who was recommended \nand confirmed by the king. At the same time they chose Reginald, \nsub-prior, at a private meeting, and sent him to Rome for institution. \nWhen this matter was referred to Innocent, he immediately reversed \nboth elections, and nominated Stephen Langton, a Roman cardinal, of \nEnglish descent. The chapter, who made the election, listened to the \nspiritual, in preference to the temporal tyrant ; and the monks were \nin consequence expelled from their residence, and their property was \nconfiscated. The pope proceeded with no less energy to enforce his as- \nserted rights, and commanded the bishops of London, Worcester and \nEly, to lay the whole kingdom under an interdict. There were some \nprelates who hesitated to enforce this edict ; and since John made no \nconcession. Innocent issued in the following year, a bull of excom- \nmunication against the name and person of the sovereign. This sen- \ntence still ineffectual, was followed by another yet more appalling. \nThe subjects of John were absolved from their allegiance, and com- \nmanded to avoid his presence. Yet as this measure was insufficient \nfor his entire success, he had then recourse to the last and most dan- \ngerous among the bolts of the Vatican. He pronounced the final sen- \ntence of deposition, and having declared the vacancy of the throne, \ngave force to his words, by conferring it on Phillip Augustus of France. \nAt the same time he ordered that monarch to execute the sentence. \n\nPhilip\'s obedience was secured by his ambition ; he was joined by \nthe exiles of his rival\'s tyranny; and to insure success, or, more pro- \nbably, to complete the consternation of John, Innocent proclaimed a \ncrusade against the English king, as against an infidel or a heretic. \nThe armies were assembled on both sides, and hostilities were on the \npoint of commencing, when Pandulph, the legate of the pope, pre- \nsented himself at the camp at Dover. He there displayed the final \ndemands of the pope, and the king had courage to resist no longer. \n\nThe demands to which he submitted were these, that he should re- \nsign his crown to the legate, and receive it again as a present from the \nholy see, \xe2\x80\x94 that he should declare his dominions tributary to the same, \naud that he should do homage and swear fealty to Innocent, ai a va\xc2\xbb- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 99 \n\nsal and a feudatory. The shame of this humiliation was increased by \nthe ceremony attending it ; by the muhitude of sorrowful and indig- \nnant witnesses, and by the very manner in which the haughty legate \nbore himself on his triumph. To the eye of an earnest and fer- \nvent papist, the degradation of England\'s monarch, while he stood \nwaiting, amid his nobles and his soldiers, to accept his crown from the \nsuspended hand ofPandulph, is pleasing \xe2\x80\x94 yet is it, after all, a spectacle \nof such lofty exultation \xe2\x80\x94 is it a picture so flattering to his spiritual pride, \nas the half naked form of the imperial penitent of older days, shivering* \nwith his scanty train of attendants, before the castle gates of Gregory\'? \nAmong the most important acts of Innocent\'s pontificate was the \nconvocation of the fourth Lateran council; the most numerous and \nmost celebrated of the ancient assemblages of the Latin church. This \nbody consisted of nearly five hundred arch bishops and bishops, besides \na much greater number of abbots and priors, and delegates of absent \nprelates, and ambassadors from most of the Christian courts of the \nwest and of the east. It met together in November 1215, for the \nprofessed consideration of two grand objects. The first was the re- \ncovery of the holy land ; the second was the reformation of the church \nin faith and discipline. Seventy canons were then dictated by Inno- \ncent, and received its obsequious confirmation. It does not appear \nthat its deliberations were attended with any freedom of debate ; and \nin a month from the day of its opening, having executed its appointed \noffice, it was dismissed. \n\nAmong the articles on that occasion enacted, there were several \nwisely constructed for the welfare of the Roman Catholic church ; \nthey amplified the body of the canon law, and regulated in many re- \nspects, the practice of ecclesiastical procedures, which is followed to \nthis day. But as we cannot in this work pursue such a variety of mat- \nter in its detail, we shall select only those which were the most impor- \ntant in substance or in consequence. \n\nIf any doubt remained in the orthodox church, of the manner in \nwVich the body and blood of Christ were present at the Eucharist, it \nwas on this occasion removed by Innocent, who unequivocally estab- \nlished, or rather confirmed, that which is now, and which had then \nbeen for some time the doctrine of Roman Catholics.* As he well \n\n\n\n\xe2\x99\xa6 From the view which papists take of the consecrated host, that it is the real body of \nChrist, and that those who swallow the host into their stomachs have received Christ and \nhave Christ in them, are united to Christ &c &c. it becomes them, as will be seen, to ba \nvery careful of the host. The communicant must not spit soon after taking it, lest ha \n\n\n\n100 THEHISTORYOF \n\nknew the efficacy of a name to propagate and perpetuate a dogma, and \nthat he might have a fixed test whereby to try the opinions and obvi- \nate evasions of heretics, he invented and stamped on that tenet the name \nof *Transubstantiation.\' \n\nAnother canon strictly enjoined to all the faithful of both sexes, to \nmake at least once a year, a private confession of their sins, and that \nto their own priest or curate ; and to fulfil the penance he might im- \npose on them. They were at the same time prohibited from confess- \ning to any other priest, without the special permission of their own. \nThey were also directed, under severe ecclesiastical penalties in case \nof neglect to receive the Eucharist at Easter, unless a particular dis- \npensation should be granted them by their own priest. \xe2\x80\x94 By this regula- \ntion, the system of auricular confession was carried to a refined perfec- \ntion, and there is no reason to doubt that a canon, which imparted even \nto the lowest of the priesthood such close and searching influence over \nthe conscience and conduct of a superstitious generation, was speedi- \nly brought into universal operation. \n\nBy the proposed reformation in the faith of the church, nothing was \nmeant except the extirpation of heresy, and this was the first object \n\n\n\nshould eject something of Christ with his sahva. Great care must also be taken that the \nconsecrated host be not profaned by coming within the reach of aey animal- A catas- \ntrophe of this kind once occurred at a Dominican convent. A lady who had a lap-dog> \nwhich she always carried along with her, went to receive the sacrament with the dog un- \nder her arm, and the dog looking up and beginning to bark, when the friar went to put the \nwafer in the lady\'s mouth, he let the wafer fall whi-ch happened to fall into the dog\'s \nmouth. Both the friar and the lady were in deep amazement and confusion, and knew not \nwhat to do, so they sent for the reverend father prior, who quickly resolved this nice point, \nand ordered them to call two friars and the clerk, and bring the cross and two candlesticks \nwith hghted candles, and to carry the dog in form of procession into the vestry, and to \nkeep the poor creature there with illumination, as it he were ilie host itself, till the diges- \ntion of the wafer was over, and then kill the dog and throw him into the drain. Another \nfriar said it was better to open the dog immediately and extract the fragments of the host \nand a third was of opinion that the said dog should be burned and all there were in him, \nupon the spot. The lady who dearly loved her little cupid, entreated the father prior to \nsave the dog\'s life if possible, and she would give any thing to make amends. Then the \nprior and friars retired to consult upon the case, and it v/as resolved, 1. That the dog \nshould be called for the futnre.the sacrament dog, 2. If the dog should happen to die the \n?ady was to give it burial in consecrated ground. 3. The lady must take care not to let \nh play with other dogs. 4. She must give a silver dog, which should be placed upon the \ntabernacle where the host was kept. 5. She must pay twenty pistoles to the convent- \nEvery article was performed accordingly, and the dog was kept with a great deal of care \nand veneration. The case was printed and so came to the ears of the inquisitors, and Don \nPedio Guenero, first inquisitor thinking the thing very scandalous, sent for the poor dog, \nand kept him in the inquisition, to the grc^t grief of his raistreas. What becaine of th@ \ndog wo jire not informed- \n\n\n\nROMANCATHOLICISM. 101 \n\npresented to the attention of the council. After a formal exposition \nof faith, upon those points especially in which the existing errors were \nsupposed to have arisen, the Pope and Prelates proceeded to anathe- \nmatize every heresy. As soon as they are condemned (says the coun- \ncil,) they shall be abandoned to the secular power, to receive suitable \npunishment. The g\'oods of laymen shall be confiscated ; those of \nclerks applied to the use of their respective churches. Those who \nshall only be suspected of heresy, if they do not clear themselves, by \nsufficient justification, shall be excommunicated. If they remain a \nyear under the suspicion they shall be treated as heretics. \n\nSince the termination of the controversy concerning- images, nearly \nfour hundred years had elapsed, during v/hich the church had been \nrarely disturbed by doctrinal dissensions ; and amid the various vices \nwhich may have stained in so long a space, her principles and her dis- \ncipline, she was at least, free from the blackest of all her crimes, since \nher hands were free from blood. The eucharistical opinion of Jo- \nhannes Scotus, as it had been nourished by the partial brightness of \nthe ninth century, and overshadowed, but not oppressed by the indif- \nference of the tenth, so, when revived by Berenger, it disappeared in \nthe superstition of the eleventh, without violence or outrage. \n\nNot, because the ecclesiastics of that age were tolerant or tempe- \nrate, but because its advocates were not sufficiently numerous, or for- \nmidable, to make a general persecution necessary for its suppression. \nBut in the dawning light of the tv/elfth age some new heresies were \ncalled into life and others, which had previously lain hid, were discov- \nered and exposed ; so that the attention of men was more generally \nturned to the subject, and the rulers of the church were roused from \ntheir long and harmless repose. Since it was even thus early that \nsome of the protestant opinions were publicly professed and expiated \nby death ; and since these may be traced, under a variety of forms \nand names, but with the same identifying character, from the begin- \nning of the twelfth century to the reformation, it is proper to notice \nthe first obscure vestiges they have left in history, and in so doing we \nshall first describe the sects which were founded at that time ; we shall \nthen proceed to the mention of the Yaudois, to whom a still earlier \nexistence is ascribed. \n\nAbout the year 1118, a preacher, named Pierre de Bruys, began to. \ndeclaim against the corruptions of the church, and the vices of its \nministers. The principal field of his exertion was the south of France, \nProvence and Languedoc, and he continued for about twenty years^ \n\n\n\n102 \n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF \n\n\n\nto disseminate his opinions with success, and what may appear more \nstrange, with impunity. Those opinions may have contained much \nthat was erroneous, but they are known to us only through the repre- \nsentations of their adversaries. In a letter or treatise composed \nagainst his followers, who were called Petrobrussians, by the venerable \nabbot of Cluni, they are charged with a variety of offences, which the \nwriter reduces under five heads, viz. The rejection of infant baptism. \nThe contempt of churches and altars, as unnecessary for the service \nof a spiritual and omnipresent being. The destruction of crucifixes, \non the same principle, as instruments of superstition. The disparage- \nment of the holy sacrament of the eucharist, in asserting that the bo- \ndy and blood was not really consecrated by the priests. Disbelief in \nthe efficacy of the oblations, prayers, and good works of the living, for \nthe salvation of the dead. \n\nThese errors, however various in magnitude, are controverted with \nequal warmth by Peter the abbot ; that which appears most danger- \nous to the heretic was the third. We learn that in the year 1130, the \ninhabitants of St Giles in Languedoc, were roused by their priests \nto holy indignation against that sacrelege ; and consigned the offender \nto those flames, which his own hand had fed with the images of Christ. \nHe was burnt alive in a popular tumult ; but the errors were not thus \neasily consumed, the list on the contrary, was enlarged by many addi- \ntional notions, proceeding some from the piety, and others from the \nignorance of his followers. \n\nOne of these named Henry, an Italian by birth, attained a place in \nthe contemporary records, and gave appellation to a sect called Hen- \nricans. This enthusiast traversed the south of France, from Lausanne \nto Bordeaux, preceeded by two disciples who carried, like himself, long \nstaffs, sub mounted with crosses, and were habited as penitents. His \nstature was lofty, his eyes rolling and restless, his powerful voice, his \nrapid and uneasy gait, his naked feet and neglected apparel, attracted \nan attention, which was fixed by the fame of his learning and his sanc- \ntity. These qualities gave additional force to his eloquence ; and as \nit was not uncommonly directed against the unpopular vices of the \nclergy, he gained many proselytes, and excited some commotions. \n\nEugenius III. sent forth for the suppression of this evil, a legate \nnamed Alberic, but his mission would have been attended with little \nsuccess, had he not prevailed on St. Bernard to share with him the la- \nbour and glory of the enterprise. Henry was then in the domain of \nAlfonso, count of St. Giles and Toulouse ; and St. Bernard wrote to \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 103 \n\nprepare that prince for his arrival, and to signify his motives. \' The \nchurches\' (said he) \'are without people ; the people without priests ; \nthe priests without honour ; and Christians without Christ. The church- \nes are no longer considered holy, nor the sacraments sacred, nor are the \nfestivals any more celebrated. Men die in their sins ; souls are hur- \nried away to the dreadful tribunal, without penitence or communion, \nbaptism is refused to infants, who are thus precluded from salvation. \nHe added many reproaches against Henry, whom he accused of be- \ning an apostate monk, a mendicant, a hypocrite and a debauchee. The \nbiographers of that saint relate, that he was received, even in the most \ncontaminated places, like an angel from heaven; and at Albi, the place \nmost fatally infected, an immense multitude assembled to hear his \npreaching. The day which he selected for their conversion was St. \nPeter. He examined the peculiarities of their belief and showed their \ndeviation from the Catholic faith. He then required the people to \ntell him which of the two they would have. The people declared \ntheir horror of heresy, and their joy at the prospect of returning to the \nbosom of the church. \n\nHenry fled to Toulouse, whither the abbot pursued him. Thence \nhe once more escaped and St. Bernard followed him; at length the fu- \ngitive was seized, and convicted at Rheims before Eugenius, and \nconsigned to prison where he soon expired. \n\nAbout the same time, other sects, differing somewhat among them- \nselves, but united in a sort of opposition to the Roman Church, had \ngained footing, not only in France, but in Flanders, in Germany and \neven in the south of Italy. Without any formal separation from the \nchurch, or an entire disregard of its public offices, they had their own \nministers both bishops and priests, whom they affirmed to be the only \nlegitimate descendants from the apostles. The opposition of these \nheretics seems to have been directed against the wealth and temporal \npower of the Catholic clergy \xe2\x80\x94 but at the same time they rejected in-, \nfant baptism, the intercessions of saints and purgatory, professing to \nreceive only those truths which are delivered by Christ or his apos- \ntles. They are described as having been extremely ignorant, and \nconfined to the lowest classes. But in the principality of Toulouse, \nthe nobility had engaged with some obstinacy in the heresy of the Pau* \nlicians ; less through error than design, from a satisfaction in the humili- \nation of the clergy. The same motives are not less likely to have op\xc2\xab \neratedj wherever the same or similar principles were promulgated. \nThe Waldensis derived their name from Peter Waldus, a native of \n\n\n\n104 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nLyons, a merchant; but notwithstanding the avocations of a secular \nlife, he had studied the real character of his church, with attention fol- \nlowed by shame. Stung by the spectacle of so much impurity, he \nabondoned his profession, distributed his wealth among the poor, and \nformed an association for the difFasion of scriptural truth. He com- \nmmenced his mission about the year 1180 Having caused several \nparts of the scripture to be translated into the vulgar tongue, he ex- \npounded them with great effect to an attentive body of disciples, both \nin France and Lombardy. He visited the valleys of Piedmont, where \nhe found a people of congenial spirits. They were called Vaudois or \nWaldenses ; and as the preaching of Peter may have confirmed their \nopinions and cemented their discipline, he acquired his surname by \nhis residence among them. \n\nSome believe the Vaudois enjoyed the uninterrupted integrity of the \nfaith of the Apostolic ages; others suppose them to have been the dis- \nciples of Claudius Turin, the evangelical prelate of the ninth century. \nIt is certain that they had been long in existence before the visit of \nPeter Waldus. A Dominican named Rainer Saccho, who was first a \nmember, and afterwards a persecutor of their communion, described \nthem as follows, "There is no sect so dangerous as this, for three rea- \nsons: first, it is the most ancient, some say as old as Silvester, others \nas the apostles themselves. Secondly, it is very generally dissemina- \nted that there is no country where it has not gained some footing. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThirdly, while other sects are profane and blasphemous, this retains \nthe utmost show of piety, they live justly before men, and believe noth- \ning respecting God which is not good, only they blaspheme against the \nRoman Church and the clergy, and thus gain many followers." \n\nThe author of the above passage lived about the middle of the fol- \nlowing century ; and if the sect had originated from the preaching of \nPeter Waldus some eighty years before, he would not have sanctioned \nits claim to great antiquity. St. Bernard says, "There is a sect which \ncalls itself after no man\'s name, which pretends to be in the direct line \nof apostolic succession, and contends that the church is wrong, and \nthat itself alone is right. It must derive its origin from the devil, \nsince there is no other extraction we can assign to it." \n\nIt may be thought more important to learn their doctrine than to \nspeculate on their origin. On almost all material points, they were \nthose of the Reformation. In their discipline they endeavored to at- \ntain the rigid simplicity of the Christians, and perhaps they exceeded \nit, for while they maintained the three orders in the priesthood, they \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 105 \n\nreduced their clergy to the temporal condition of the apostles them- \nselves ; they denied them all worldly possessions, and while they obli- \nged them to be poor and industrious, they compelled them to be illit- \nerate also. \n\nThe persecution of Peter Waldus, and the dispersion of his follow- \ners, occasioned in many instances, the dissemination of their opinions; \nand notwithstanding some partial sufferings inflicted in Picardy, by \nPhilip Augustus, the)\'- were a numerous and flourishing sect at the con- \nclusion of the twelfth century. They were often confounded in name \nwith the Vaudois \xe2\x80\x94 in crime and calamity with the Catharists and Pe- \ntrobrussians, and other adversaries of papacy. \n\nOf these various descriptions, such as were found in France dti- \nring the pontificate of Innocent, were known by the general name of \nAlbigenses, derived from Albi, a city in Languedoc, which was pe- \ncuUarly prolific of heresy. Such, very briefly described, were the \nfactions which distracted the church, on the accession of Innocent III. \nIt now remains to consider the measures which he adopted to repress \nthem, after having first enquired to what extent he might plead the \nprevious practice of the church. \n\nA synod held at Orleans, A. D. 1017, under the reign of Robert, a\' \nnumber of persons of no mean condition or character, were accused \nof heretical opinions. Manicheism, was the frightful term made use \nof to express theii^ delinquency ; but it is more probable that their \nreal off\'ence was- the adoption of certain mystical notions, proceeding \nfrom the most ardent piety, but too spiritual to be tolerated in that \nage and that church. It is said they despised all external forms of \nworship, and rejected the rites, ceremonies and even the sacraments \nof the church ; that they valued nothing save the religion within \xe2\x80\x94 the \nabstracted contemplation of the Deity, and the internal aspirations of \nthe soul after things celestial. They may have admitted some philo- \nsophical speculations respecting God, the Trinity and the human soul, \nwhich excited the fears of that generation in the same degree that \nthey surpassed its comprehension. \n\nWe observe no important pontificial edicts for the extirpation of \nheresy earlier than the reign of Alexander III. That pope, in a coun- \ncil held at Tours, in 1 1 63, published a decree to this efl"ect : " Whereas\' \na damnable heresy has for some time lifted its head in the parts about \nToulouse, and already spread infection through Gascony and other \nprovinces, concealing itself like a serpent in its folds ; as soon as its \nfollowers shall have been discovered, let no man afford them refuge \n14 \n\n\n\n106 T HE HISTORY OF \n\non his estates ; neither let there be any communication with them in \nbuying and selling : so that, being deprived of the solace of human \nconversation, they may be compelled to return from error to wisdom." \nThe same pontiff, in the third La\'teran council, held in 1179, pub- \nlished other edicts against the heretics, pursuing them with anathemas, \nrefusal of christian sepulture, and other spintual chastisements. It \ndoes not appear that he invoked on either occasion, the secular arm to \nhis assistance, but his power v/as sufficient, without that aid, to expel \nPeter Waldensis from his native city, and subsequently to pursue him \nfrom Dauphiny to Picardy, and thence to Germany, till he found his \nfinal resting place among the Bohemian mountaineers, the ancestors of \nHuss and Jerome. The fugitive died in that country in the year 1 1 80. \nWhen the torch of persecution was transmitted to Innocent, the \ntwo principal seats of religious disaffection were the vaUies of Pied- \nmont and the cities of Languedoe ; with this difference however, that \nthe Yaudois flourished in comparative, perhaps despised security, while \nthe latter, called Albigenses, were rendered more notorious, and more \ndangerous, by the protection afforded them by Raymond VI., Earl of \nToulouse. Against these the pope\'s earnest efforts were directed,^and \nobserving that the bishops in those provinces were deficient in true \nCatholic zeal for the unity of the Church, he sent, in 1198, two le- \ngates into the rebellious districts, for the purpose of exploring and \nmenacing, rather than for commencing the contest. Soon afterwards, \na more numerous commission were despatched, who invaded the \nhaunts of heresy, and brought argument and eloquence in support of \nintimidation. \n\nThis body received great additional efficiency from the accession of \na Spaniard named Dominic, a young ecclesiastic, remarkable for the \nseverity of his life, the extent of his learning, the persuasiveness of \nhis manner, and the ardour of his zeal, These qualities, and some \nsuccessful service, infused a new spirit into the ranks of the orthodox. \nTheir exertions were no longer confined to verbal exhortation or \nreproof ; they aimed to animate the civil authorities in their favor, and \nto enforce the infliction of capital punishment, whenever they had in- \nfluence to do so. This expedition lasted six or seven years, and at the \nend of that time, the spiritual missionaries engaged in it were called \nInquisitors, a name, not indeed honorable or innocent in its origin, but \nnot yet associated with horror and infamy. \n\nStill matters did not proceed with the rapidity desired by the pontiff \nand then the missionaries had recourse to a new and harmless expedi- \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 107 \n\nent to accelerate success. They laid aside the pompous dignity of \ntheir train and habits, discharged the parade of servants and equipage, \nand continued preaching with the more imposing pretension of apos- \ntolic humility. But this measure produced not the effect expected from \nit. At length in the year 1207, Innocent at once addressed himself to \nthe arms of Philip Augustus. He easily exhorted that monarch to \nmarch into the heretical provinces and extirpate the spiritual rebels by \nfire and sword. \n\nAbout the same time one of his inquisitors or legates, Pierre de \nCastelnovo, was assassinated by the populace in the states of Ray- \nmond, and the act was imputed to the connivance if not to the direct \ninstigation of that prince. The pope immediately launched the bolt \nof excommunication ; and his emissaries, by his command, proceeded \nto those measures which introduced a new feature into the history of \ninter-christian warfare. \n\nThey proclaimed a general campaign of all nations against the Al- \nbegeois, at the same time promised a general grant oi indulgences \nand dispensations to all who should take arms in that holy cause. \nHaving thus reduced those dissenting christians to the same level, in \na religious estimation, to the Turk or Saracen, they let loose an infu- \nriated multitude of fanatics against them ; and the word \' crusade\', \nwhich had hitherto signified religious madness, was now extended to \nthe more deliberate atrocity of sectarian persecution. Several monks \nand some prelates were the spiritual directors of this tempest , but the \nmilitary leader was Simon, Count de Montfort, \' a man like Cromwell; \nv/hose intrepidity, hypocrisy and ambition marked him for the hero of \na holy war.\' \n\nTo irritate his ambition, the pope artfully held out to him the earl- \ndom of Toulouse, as the recompense of his exertions in the service \nof the church. Plis hypocrisy was displayed and hardened by the \nseeming devotion with which he perpetrated the most revolting enor- \nmities, and his intrepidit}^ was exercised by the resistance of the here- \ntics. It would be a painful office to pursue the frightful details of re- \nligious massacre which followed. \n\nIt is sufficient to say, that after many conflicts and some variety of \nsuccess, but no intermission of barbarity, the triumaph rested with the \nCatholics. It was not, how^yer, so complete as either to exterminate \nthe rebels, or to place the promised sceptre in the hands of the perse- \ncutor. In the year 1218, Montfort was killed in battle, before the \nwalls of the city which Innocent had vainly bestowed on him. \n\n\n\n108 THEHISTORYOF \n\nThe contest was continued by succeeding popes, according to the \nprinciples of Innocent ; and eight years after the death of Montfort, \nLouis VIII., king of France, was engaged to gird on the sword of \npersecution. Another crusade was preached, and in 1228, a system \nof inquisition was permanently established within the wails of Tou- \nlouse. Soon after, a council there assembled, published decrees \nwhich obliged laymen of all ranks, to close their houses, cellars, for- \nests, &c. against the heretical fugitives, and to take all means to detect \nand bring them to trial. Heretics voluntarily converted, were com- \npelled to wear certain crosses on their garments ; those v/ho should \nreturn to the church, under the influence of fear, were still to suffer \nimprisonment at the discretion of the bishops ; all children of the age \nof twelve or fourteen were compelled by oath, not only to abjure all \nheresy, but to expose and denounce any they should detect in others : \nand this code of bigotry was properly completed by a strict prohibition \nto all laymen to possess any copies of the scriptures. \n\nThe count, who succeeded to the sceptre and the moderation of \nRaymond, did not manifest sufficient ardor in the catholic cause, and \nit was not till the archbishop of the city was formally associated with \nJiim in the office of destruction, that the work was thought to proceed \nwith becoming rapidity. In 1253 the count entered seriously on the \nhateful task, and from that moment the remnant of the Albegenses \nwere consigned, without hope, or mercy, to the eager hand of the in- \nquisitors. \n\nInnocent did not himself live to behold the success of his measures, \nand the cause which is assigned for his premature death is the more \nremarkable, as it arose out of the most triumphant exploit of his life. \nSince the humiliation of John, the crown of England had been con- \nsidered by the pope as a possession valuable to his ambition no less \nthan to his avarice : and when on the deposition of John, Louis of \nFrance was proclaimed and actually proceeded to take possession of \nthe country, in spite of the pontiff\'s determined opposition. Innocent \nwas indignant at the affront and the injury. He preached a sermon \non some public occasion, and selected for his text, \' Even say thou \nthe sword, the sword is drawn \xe2\x80\x94 for the slaughter it is furbished.\' In the \ncourse of his passionate harangue, he pronounced a solemn sentence \nof excommunication, against Louis and his followers, and immediately \nafterwards, while in the act of dictating to his secretary some harsh \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 109 \n\ncensures^\'against Philip and his kingdom, he was seized by a fatal fe- \nver, which was perhaps ordained to prevent some new enterprise of \nwarfare and desolation. \n\nIf we would reconcile the lofty panegyric, with the violent vitupe- \nrations which are alike bestowed upon the name of Innocent III., we \nmust first distinguish his private from his public character, and next \nreflect how different are the principles on which the latter has in dif- \nferent ages been judged. The same exploits which would naturally \ncall forth approbation of the catholic historians of those days, and of \nsome perhaps at this moment, are made the subject of severe censure \nby protestant writers. This difference is less properly historical than \nmoral. It does not question the reality of the acts ascribed to him, \nbut only the light in which we are bound to regard them. \n\nIn respect to the private quaUties of Innocent there is not much di- \nversity ; and that they were great and noble is attested by most of his \nbiographers. That he was gifted with extraordinary talents \xe2\x80\x94 that he \nwas a profound canonist, and generally conversant with the learning \nof his time \xe2\x80\x94 that he was frequent in charitable offices, generous and \neven lavish in the distribution of his personal revenues \xe2\x80\x94 that his \nmoral conduct was without reproach, and that he was sometimes not \nuntouched by sentiments of piety, is clear from the contemporary au- \nthors, and of his own writings. But great perscyial virtues are con- \nsistent \'with great pubUc crimes, and it is a truth that leads to melan- \ncholy reflections, that some of the greatest evils\' which have ever been \ninflicted on churches or nations, have proceeded from the weak or \neven wicked policy of men of immaculate private characters. \n\nSuch was Innocent III. ; charitable to the poor who surrounded his \npalace \xe2\x80\x94 steeled against the wretch who deviated from his faith \xe2\x80\x94 gener- \nous in the profusion of his private expenditure \xe2\x80\x94 avaricious in the ex- \nactions which he levied for the apostolic treasury \xe2\x80\x94 humane in his mere \nsocial relations\xe2\x80\x94 merciless in the execution of his ecclesiastical pro- \njects \xe2\x80\x94 pious in the expressions of internal devotion \xe2\x80\x94 impious and \nblasphemous in his repeated profanation of the name of God and of \nthe cross of Christ. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. \n\nMonorius III.; succeeded by Gregory IX. \xe2\x80\x94 Another Crusade attempted. \nDefection of Frederick \xe2\x80\x94 is excommunicated by Gregory. \xe2\x80\x94 Innocent \nIV. \xe2\x80\x94 Continuation of the quarrel with Frederick ; is deposed by In- \nnocent. \xe2\x80\x94 Attempt to usurp the government of Sicily and Jfaples. \xe2\x80\x94 \nPapal Succession. \xe2\x80\x94 Celestine V. ; his character and habits ; resigns \nthe pontificate and retires to private life ; succeeded by Boniface VIII. \nContention with Philip the Fair. \xe2\x80\x94 Bidl Unum Sanctum. \xe2\x80\x94 Papal pal- \nace seized and plundered by a party of Frenchmen. \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Boni- \nface. \n\nInnocent III. was succeeded by Honorius III., a native of Rome, \nwho for four years had been governor of Palermo under Frederick II.; \nbut the remembrance of that connexion was early thrown off, as soon \nas he rose from the condition of a subject to that of a rival. Freder- \nick had made a solemn vow to Innocent, to engage without loss of \ntime in a new crusade : and on his coronation at Rome, in 1220, he \nrenewed that promise with still greater solemnity to Honorius. The \nnext year, instead of proceeding on his expedition, he appears to \nhave made an appointment to some vacant see^ on his own authority, \nand as he maintained, by virtue of his royal authority ; as the pope as- \nserted, in violation of the liberties of the church. \n\nDuring the time consumed in this dispute Damietta fell into the \nhands of the Mahometans. In the year 1223, at a council held at \nTarentino, in Campania, the emperor renewed his oath to depart, \nwithin the space of two years ; and to give earnest of his sincerity, he \nespoused the daughter of John of Brienne, king of Jerusalem. In the \nfollowing year, that he might atone to the church for his continual de- \nlay, and evince to her the sincerity of his affections, he published some \nsavage constitutions against heretics, which are worthy of some notice. \nAt the same time, in a long letter to the pope, he complained of the \ngeneral indifference to the cause of crusades, which then prevailed \nthroughout Europe. Some disputes v/ith the Lombards formed his \nnext excuse, and in 1227, Honorius died, still pressing the departure \nthe monarch and pressing it in vain. \n\nGregory IX., nephew of Innocent ILL, was raised lo the pontificial \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. Ill \n\nchair, with loud and unanimous acclamations. On the day of his \ncoronation he proceeded to St. Peter\'s, accompanied by several pre- \nlates, and assumed the paUium, according to custom ; and after having \nsaid mass he marched to the palace of the Lateran covered with gold \nand jewels. On Easterday he celebrated mass solemnly at St. Maria \nMaggiore, and returned with a crown on his head. On Monday, hav- \ning said mass at St. Peter\'s, he returned, wearing two crowns, mount- \ned on a horse richly caparisoned, and surrounded by cardinals clothed \nin purple, and a numerous clergy. The streets were spread with \ntapestry, inlaid with gold and silver, the noblest productions of Egypt, \nand the richest colors of India, and perfumed with various aromatic \nodors. \n\nThe people chaunted aloud Kyrle eleisGn, and their songs of joy \nv/ere accompanied by the sound of trumpets. The judges and offi- \ncers shone in gilded habits and caps of siJk- The Greeks and Jews \ncelebrated the praises of the pope, each in his own language; a count- \nless multitude marched before him carrying palms and flowers ; and- \nthe senators and prefect of Rome were on foot at his side, holding his \nbridle, and thus the proud prelate was conducted to the palace of the \nLateran. The first act of a pontificate so georgeously undertaken, was \nto urge the renewal of the crusades, both by persuasion and menace, \nat the various courts of Europe. The forces of Frederic were alrea- \ndy collected at Otranto, and if we may believe some writers, the em- \nperor did actually embark and proceed on his destination as far as the \nnarrow sea between the Morea and Crete, when a dangerous indispo^ \nsition obliged him to return. It is at least certain, that he once more \ndeferred the time of his final departure. The pope was infuriated; he \ntreated the story of illness as an empty pretence, and without waiting \nor asking an explanation, instantly excommunicated the Emperor. \xe2\x80\x94 ;. \nThis took place on the 39th of September, within six months after his \nelevation to the see; and the sword of discord, which was drawn on \nthat memorable day, had no lasting interval of rest until the death of \nFrederick. \n\nThe emperor wrote several papers in his justification, and among \nthem a letter to Henry III. of England, containing much severe and \njust reproach against the Roman church. The following is the sub- \nstance of his upbraiding; "The Roman church so burns with avarice, \nthat as the ecclesiastical revenues do not content it, it is not ashamed \nto despoil sovereign princes and make them tributary. You have a \nvery touching example in your father, king John, you have that also of \n\n\n\n112 THEHISTORYOF \n\nthe count of Toulouse, and so many other princes whose kingdoms \nit holds under interdict, until it has reduced them to similar servitude. \nI speak not of the simonies, the unheard of exactions, which it exer- \ncises over the clergy, the manifest or cloaked usuries with which it in- \nfects the whole world. In the mean time these insatiable leeches use \nthe most honeyed discourses, saying, that the court of Rome is the \nchurch, our mother and our nurse, while it is our step\'mother and the \nsource of every evil. It is knownby its fruits. It sends on every side \nlegates with power to punish, to suspend, to excommunicate, not to dif- \nfuse the word of God, but to amass money, and reap that which they \nhave not sown. \n\n" And so they pillage churches, monasteries and other places of reli- \ngion, which our fathers have founded for the support of pilgrims and \nthe poor. And now these Romans without nobility and without val- \nour, inflated by nothing but their literature, aspire to kingdoms and \nempires. The church was founded on poverty and simplicity, and \nno one can give it other foundation than that w^hich Jesus Christ has \nfixed." \n\nAt the same time the emperor continued to prepare for immediate \ndeparture, in spite of the sentence which hnng over him. The pope \nassembled a numerous council, and thundered forth a second excom- \nmunication ; and in the spring following, wdthout making any humilia- \ntion or obtaining any repeal of the anathema xmder which he lay, Fre- \nderick set sail for the holy land. \n\nIf there had been a shadow of sincerity in Gregory\'s professed en- \nthusiasm for the liberation of Palestine ; if he had loved the name \nand birth place of Christ with half the ardour with which he clung to \nhis own papal and personal dignity, he would not have pursued the \ndeparted emperor, with his perverse malevolence, he would not have \nprostituted the ecclesiastical censures, to thwart his projects and blast \nhis hopes. \n\nYet he did so : his mendicant emissaries were despatched to the \npatriarch and military orders of Jerusalem, informing them of the sen- \ntence under which Frederic was placed, and forbidding them to act or \ncommunicate with him. At the same time, provoked as some assert, by \nFrederick\'s lieutenant, he invaded with all his forces, the Apulian do^ \nminions of the emperor. Under these adverse circumstances, Fre- \nderick made a hasty but not inglorious treaty with the Saracens, and \nimmediately returned to the defence of his own kingdom, a measure \nwhich became the more necessary, since the pope had issued a third \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 113 \n\nexcommunication, releasing his subjects from their oath of allegiance. \nWe do not profess to describe the details of military adventures, or to \ntrace the perplexed and faithless politics of Italy. We must be con- \ntented to add, that some successes of the emperor led to a hollow and \nfruitless reconciliation ; that this again, in the year 1228, broke out \ninto open war, which lasted until the death of the pope, three years \nafterwards. The period of nominal peace had been disturbed by the \nconstant complaints and recrimination of both parties. Undoubtedly \nthe pope is entitled to the greater share of blame, though the style he \nassumes is that of an offended and injured protector; the language of \nthe emperor, though never abject, frequently descends to the borders \nof humility. \n\nThe cause of Frederick gained nothing by the death of Gregory, \nsince he was succeeded by Innocent IV. This extraordinary person, \nnamed Sinibaldo Fieschi, a Genoese, had been distinguished as cardi- \nnal by his attachment to the person, if not to the cause of the emperor ; \nand on his election to the pontificate, the people of Italy indulged the \nnatural expectation, that the dissensions which blighted their happi- \nness, would at length be composed. Not so with Frederick, for he \nwas familiar with the soul of Innocent, and had read his insolent and \nimplacable character. To his friends, who proffered their congratu- \nlations, he replied that there was cause for sorrow rather than joy, \nsince he had exchanged a cardinal, who was his dearest friend, for a \npope who would be his bitterest enemy. And so it proved. On the \noccasion of an early and amicable conference, Innocent refused to \nwithdraw his predecessor\'s excommunication, until Frederick should \nrestore all that he was charged with having plundered from the church. \nThe meeting had no result, and Innocent immediately repaired to \nFrance, and summoned a very numerous council at Lyons. \n\nAs soon as the members were assembled. Innocent, taking his \nthrone, with Baldwin emperor of the east on his right hand, began the \nproceedings by conferring the use of the red bonnet on his cardinals, \nthat they might never forget in the use of that color, that their blood, \nat all times was due to the service of the church. After making ma- \nny accusations against Frederick, and premising some constitutions \nrespecting the holy land. Innocent to the astonishment and horror of \nall who heard him, pronounced the final and fatal sentence. \n\nHe declared that prince deprived of the imperial crown, with all its \nhonors and privileges, and of all his other states ; he released his sub-. \njects from their oath ; he even forbade their obedience on pain of ex- \n15 \n\n\n\n114 THEHISTORYOF \n\ncommunication ; and commanded the electors of the empire to choose \na successor. He immediately recommended to that dignity, Henry, \nLandgrave of Thuringia. For the kingdom of Sicily, \' he took upon \nhimself, with the counsel of the cardinals, his brethren,\' to provide a \nsovereign. \n\no \n\nFrederick was at Turin when he received the news of this proceed- \ning. He turned to the barons who surrounded him, and with deep \nindignation, addressed them: \' The pontiff has deprived me of the im- \nperial crown \xe2\x80\x94 let us see if it be so.\' He then ordered the crown to \nbe brought to him, and placed it on his head, saying, * that neither \npope nor council had power to take it from him.\' Most of the princes \nof Europe, indeed, were of the same opinion, and continued to ac- \nknowledge him to the end of his life. And we remark that the usur- \npation of Innocent was marked, in one respect with peculiar audacity, \n\xe2\x80\x94 he did not even plead the approbation of the holy council, but con- \ntented himself with proclaiming that the sentence had been pronoun- \nced in its presence. \n\nNevertheless his edict found willing obedience from the superstition \nof the German barons. Henry was supported by numerous partizans, \nand waged a prosperous warfare against Conrad, the son of Freder- \nick ; and on his early death, William count of Holland, was substitu- \nted by the pope as a candidate for the throne. Innocent\'s genius and \nactivity suggested to him the most refined arts to ensure success, and \nhis principles permitted him to adopt the most iniquitous. He even \ndeparted so far from the observance of humanity, and the most sacred \nfeelings of nature, as to employ his intrigues to seduce Conrad from \nthe service of his father, into rebellious and parricidal allegiance to \nthe church. That virtuous prince rejecting with firmness the infamous \nproposition, replied, that he would defend the side he had chosen to \nthe last breath of life ; and neither the pope nor the church, gained a \ntemporary advantage by an attempt which covers them with eternal \ninfamy. \n\nThe same industrious hostility which had kindled rebellion among \nthe German barons, was exerted with no less effect among the con- \ntentious states of Italy. The Guelphic interests were every where \nstrengthened, by Innocent\'s energy ; and the utmost efforts of Fred- \nerick were insufficient to restore tranquility to Italy, or even to obtain \nany important triumphs over his Italian enemies. He died in Apulia, \nin the year 1259; and though he had never formally renounced the \ntitle of emperor, his deposition was virtually accomplished by the edict \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 116 \n\nof Innocent, since the restof his life was spent in cOnRision and alarm, \nin the midst of bloodshed, sedition and treason, without any enjoyment \nof the repose of royalty, and with a limited possession of its dignity \nor authority. \n\nWhen Innocent received the news of the death of Frederick, his \nexultation broke forth without restraint or moderation; "Let the \nheavens rejoice, and let the earth be in festivity ; for the thunder and \nthe tempest with which a powerful God has threatened your heads, \nare changed by the death-of that man, into refreshing breezes and fer- \ntilizing dews.\'* It was thus he addressed the clergy of Sicily, while \nat the same time he prepared to reduce that province, together with \nthe kingdom of Naples, under his own immediate government and at- \ntach it perpetualy to the dominions of the church. In pursuance of \nthis project he quitted Lyons, his constant residence during the uncer- \ntainties of the war, and visited, in a kind of triumphal procession, the \nGuelphic cities of Italy. He was every where received with an en- \nthusiasm he had not merited by any regard for any interests but his \nown ; and he is even supposed, to have chilled the misplaced gratitude \nof his allies, by the unexpected assertion of some spiritual pretension \nover themselves. \n\nIn Sicily and the south of Italy, he succeeded in creating a power- \nful party ; but it was overthrown by the armies of Conrad and Man- \nfred, the sons of Frederick. Foiled by force, the pope had recourse \nto intrigue ; and he began to treat successively with the kings of Eng- \nland andFrance, with the view to bestow thecrown of the Sicilies on \na branch either of one family or the other. In the mean time, the \ndeath of Conrad, revived in him the expiring hope of annexing it to \nhis own. Ambition resumed her sway and he broke off the imperfect \nnegociations. The kingdom of Naples was again thronged with his \nemissaries ; seditions were in every quarter excited in his favor ; and \neven Manfred himself, in the belief that resistance would be vain, ad- \nvanced to the frontiers to offer his submission, and deigned to lead by \nthe bridle, the horse of the pontiff, as he crossed the Garigliano. \n\nThis event, which seemed to secure to the court of Rome the \nthrone of Naples and Sicily, and thus to extend its former limits, took \nplace in 1254. The duration of this unnatural prosperity, was even \nshorter than could have been predicted by the most penetrating states- \nmen ; for before the conclusion of the very same year, Manfred had \nagain possessed himself of the keys of the kingdom. But Innocent \n4id not live to witness this second reverse \xe2\x80\x94 he had already expired at \n\n\n\n116 THEHISTORYOF \n\nNaples in mature old age, and in the confident persuasion that he had \nachieved the dearest object of his ambition, and that he died the most \npowerful prince that had ever filled the throne of St. Peter. \n\nDuring a pontificate of eleven years and five months he had display- \ned all the qualities which constitute an artful politician, and which \ndisgrace a bishop and christian. As a statesman he designed daringly, \nhe negotiated skillfully, he intrigued successfully ; he perfectly com- \nprehended the means at his disposal, and adapted them so closely to \nhis purposes, that his reign presented a series of triumphs, which are \nusually designated glorious. \n\nAs a churchman he bade defiance to the best principles of religion ; \nhe set at naught the common feelings of humanity. The spiritual \nguide to eternal life, he had no fixed motive of action, except vulgar \ntemporal ambition. \' The servant of the servants of God,\' he reject- \ned with scorn the humiliation of Frederick, and Spurned a suppliant \nemperor who had been \'his friend. And lastly, when the infant son of \nConrad was presented to his tutelary protection by a dying father, the \nprayer was haughtily refused; and *the father of all christians, and \nthe protectoi of all orphans,\' hastened to usurp the hereditary rights \nof a christian child and orphan. These circumstances duly consid- \nered, with every allowance for times and prejudices, seem indeed to \njustify the expression of the snUan of Egypt, in his answer to a letter \nof Innocent; the taunt of a Mussulman addressed to Christ\'s vicar \non earth ; \xe2\x80\x94 \'* We have received your epistle, and listened to your en- \nvoy: he has spoken to us of Jesus Christ \xe2\x80\x94 whom we know better \nthan you know, and whom we honor more than you honor.^^ \n\nAlexander VII. succeeded to the chair, the passions, and the pro- \njects of Innocent ; and it was the leading object of his reign of six \nyears to maintain, or recover the temporal possessions of the kingdom \nof Manfred. But he possessed neither the firmness of character, nor \nthe various faculties necessary for success. The machine which had \nnot always moved obediently even to the hand of Innocent, seemed \nto lose, in his feeble grasp, all the elasticity of its action, and it be- \ncame evident, before the end of his pontificate, that the sceptre of Na- \nples, and Sicily, was not destined for a bishop of Rome. At the same \ntime, Alexander was celebrated for the exercise of some of those vir^ \ntues, which were not found in his predecessor \xe2\x80\x94 for earnestness of pi- \nety, or, at least, for assidutity in prayer, and the strict observance of \nchurch regulations. The favors which he bestowed upon the mendi- \ncant orders will prove his zeal, indeed, rather than the wisdom of his \n\n\n\nR M AN C ATH LI CI S M. 117 \n\npolicy. But the crusade, which he preached, against Eccelino, the \ntyrant, was almost justified by the crimes of that miscreant ; for though \na war proclaimed "in the name of God," is in most instances, only \nwickedness cloaked by blasphemy, yet we may view it with some in- \ndulgence, when it is directed against the convicted enemy of mankind. \nFor the seven following years, from 1261, to 1268, the chair was \noccupied by two Frenchmen, Urban IV. and Clement IV., who have \nobtained on eminent place in civil as well as ecclesiastical history, by \nthe introduction of Charles of Anjou, to the throne of Naples. Whe- \nther from personal hostility to the actual occupant of that throne, or \nfrom ecclesiastical rancour against the sons of Frederick, or from a \npolitical determination to cut off connexion between the south of Ita- \nly and the empire, or from all these causes united, the holy see, by \nwhomsoever administered, did not relax its exertions for the expulsion \nof Manfred. The negotiations with the court of France, which In- \nnocent IV. had commenced and interrupted, were renewed and con- \ncluded by Urban IV.; and during the following reign of Clement, the \ncrusade against a legitimate and virtuous monarch was completed with \nthe most sanguinary success. The brother of St. Louis supported \nhis usurpation by the same merciless sword which had achieved it ; \nand the historians of Italy still recount with tears of indignation, the \nmore than usual horrors of the French invasion. But however strong \nthis pope\'s nationality may have been, it did not cause him to forget \nhis papal interests. The conditions which he exacted from Charles,, \non investing him with the crown of Naples, contained most of the \nclaims in dispute, between kings and popes, such as the unqualified ap\xc2\xbb \npointment to vacant sees, \xe2\x80\x94 the exclusive care of temporalities during; \nvacancies, and even the abolition of all pretensions arising from the \nregalia. \n\nOn the death of Clement, the see was vacant, through the disunion \nof the cardinals, for nearly three years. At length in 1 273, an Ital- \nian, a native of Placenzia, was elected and assumed the name of \nGregory X., a person of little learning, but of great experience in sec- \nular affairs, and more given to the distribution of alms, than the amass- \ning of riches. He was in the holy land at the time of his appoint- \nment : and as he returned with a keen and recent conviction of its \nsufferings, the first act of his pontificate was directed to the revival of \nthe crusading ardor ; and the same continued to the end of his life, to \nbe a favorite object of his exertions. He was successful because he \nwas sincere. Those who cared not for his reasoning, listened to his \n\n\n\n118 T HE HI S T OR Y F \n\ndisinterested supplications ; those who were not inflamed by his en- \nthusiasm, still respected and loved it. It was no longer against a \nchristian sectarian, or a. catholic emperor and his persecuted race* \nthat the monarchs of Europe were called upon to arm ; it was no \nlonger for the peculiar aggrandizement of the court or church of \nRome, that the father of Christians summoned them to battle ; they \nhad" already learned to distinguish between the interests of the Vatican \nand the honor of Christ ; and the magic which a spiritual pope had so \nlong exercised over the mind, lost much of its fascination, as soon as \nhe degenerated into a temporal prince. \n\nBut Gregory X. had higher and less ambigious claims on the grati- \ntude of Christendom, than any zeal for the deliverance of Palestine \ncould possibly give him. He labored to compose the dissensions of \nhis distracted country ; to heal the wounds which had been so wan- \ntonly inflicted, by the selfish ambition of his predecessors. He inter- \nposed, impartially, and therefore not vainly, to reconcile the opposite \nfactions of Guelphs and Ghibelines ; and exhibited the new and \nvenerable spectacle of a pacific pope. He interposed, too, in the af- \nfairs of the empire ; but it was again for the purpose of terminating \na division, which threatened the peace of Germany; and he proved \nthe sincerity of his intentions, by conOrmiiig the election of Rodolph, \nwho had dc;served and secured the utFections of the people. Another \nproject on which he was earnestly bent, had the same respectable \ncharacter, \xe2\x80\x94 the reconciliation of the Greek and Latin churches ; and \nin this diflicuk affair he obtained a complete, though transient, success, \nby the concessions of the emperor Michael, and the temporary or \nnominal submission of his church. \n\nIt vvas at the second council of Lyons, that the deputies pf the \neast presented their faithless homage to the Roman pontiff\xe2\x80\x94 But that \nprelate had two other, and perhaps dearer objects in the summoning \nof that vast assembly. The one was to complete the preparations for \nhis lon^ projected crusade ; the other was worthier of his wisdom, and \neven of his piety \xe2\x80\x94 the reform of obnoxious abuses of his church. \n\nBut that, among the acts of this assembly, which was at the time \nthe m.ost celebrated, and in effect the most permanent, was the law \nwhich regulated the method of papal election, by severe restr-aints im- \nposed upon the conclave. It was then enacted, that the cardinals \nshould be lodged in one chamber, without any separation of wall or \ncurtain, or any issue ; that the chamber should be so closed on every \nside, as to leave no possibility of entrance or exit. \' No one shall ap- \n\n\n\nROM AN CATHOLICISM. 119 \n\nproach them or address them privately, unless with the consent of all \npresent, and on the business of election. The conclave, properly \nthe name of the chamber, shall have one window, through which ne- \ncessary food may be admitted, without there being space enough for \nthe human body to enter. And if in three days after their entrance \nthey shall not have come to a decision, for the fifteen following days \nthey shall be contented with a single dish as well for dinner as for sup- \nper. But after these fifteen days they shall have no other nourish- \nment, than bread, wine and water, until the election shall be made. \nDuring the election they shall receive nothing from the apostolical \nchamber, nor any other revenues of the Roman church.\' \n\nThe expedition to Palestine, gave promise of the most favorable \nissue. The emperor Rodolph had engaged to conduct it ; Philip the \nhardy, king of France, Edward of England, James of Arragon, and \nCharles of Sicily had pledged their faith to attend it : supplies had \nbeen procured by the universal imposition of a tax on ecclesiastical \nproperty ; and the following year was devoted to the necessary pre- \nparations. At the end of that year, before one galley had departed, \nor one soldier embarked, the pope himself fell sick and died. From \nthat moment the kings into whom he had inspired a chivalrous spirit, \nrenou\xc2\xab.ced the project ; the Greeks returned to their schisms, and the \ncatholics, divided afresh, turned against each other those arms which \nthey had consecrated to the deliverance of Palestine. \n\nThe short reigns of Innocent V., Adrian V., and John XXI. were \nnot distinguished by any memorable event. Nicholas III., a Roman \nof the family of the Ursini, succeeded in 1277, and devoted himself \nwith great prudence and success, not so much to enlarge the temporal \nedifice of the church, as to secure the foundation on which it .stood. \n\nFor that purpose he resumed some negociations, commenced by \nGregory X., at Lyons, with Rodolph, king of the Romans, and brought \nthem to so fortunate a termination, that that prince finally satisfied all \nthe donations of preceding emperors, and recognized the cities of the \necclesiastical states, as being absolutely independent of himself, and \nowing their entire allegiance to the pope. \n\nNicholas had another object of jealousy, in the increasing power of \nCharles, king of Sicily, and he had the address to engage that prince \nto resign two very important dignities, which he had acquired through \nthe subserviency of Clement IV. One was the office of imperial-vi- \ncar-general in Tuscany ; the other ^was, that of senator of Rome. \n\nNicholas reigned only two years and nine months. He is described \n\n\n\n120 THEHISTORYOF \n\nas possessing many good qualities ; and we read of no other serious \ncharge against him, than that he heaped upon his greedy relatives and \nconnexions the most splendid benefices of the church, with unmerited \nand shameless profusion. \n\nThe king of Sicily, was successful in procuring the election of a \nFrenchman, Martin IV., who is chiefly remarkable in history for his \nsubservience to the interests of his patron. In violation of both the \nclauses of the constitution of Nicholas, he accepted the office of sen- \nator, and held it for life. As this was the first instance of such con- \ndescension on the part of St. Peter\'s successors, it has not escaped \nthe notice of the historian. And if the claims to the temporal sove- \nreignty of Rome, which they had asserted above two centuries, had \nbeen well founded, it would have been a strange and unprecedented \ndegradation of a prince in his own city, to exercise a civil magistracy. \nBut Martin probably was less disposed to examine the remote and gen- \neral question of right, than to avail himself of the substantial power, \nthus firmly vested in his own person. He enjoyed his dignity for a very \nshort time, though sufficient to make him witness of the \'Sicilian Ves- \npers\', and the misfortune of his countrymen. He was buried in the \n=church of St. Lawrence, and many sick were healed at his tomb, in \npresence of vast numbers of the clergy and laity, according to the \n^evidence of a contemporary author, who affirmed that those miracles \njstill lasted while he was writing, which was six weeks after the death \nof the pontiff. The mention of these imppstures is so common, even \nin the pages of the most enlightened catholic historians, that we are \nnot justified in passing over them in entire silence. In fact they form- \ned so essential a part of the Roman Catholic system, that we should \ndo injustice to its whole character, if we were not occasionally to no- \ntice them. \n\nMartin was succeeded by a noble Roman, Honorius IV., and he by \nanother native of the Roman states, Nicholas IV., who was elected in \n1288. The claims of this pope to historical notice, are confined to \nsome diligent but almost hopeless exertions to excite the princes of \nEurope to another crusade ; and to some as zealous and fruitless ef- \nforts for the extirpation of heresy. In 1288, he stimulated his men- \ndicant emissaries to peculiar diligence both in Italy and Provence, and \nput in practice a somewhat singular method for securing the orthodoxy \nof his people. He obliged the converted heretic to be bound in a pe- \ncuniary recognizance against relapse, and to find sufficient securities \nfor payment. Avarice had scarcely become the ruling passion of the \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 121 \n\nVatican; but since the sway of Innocent III., it had been gradually \ngaining ground; and the edict of Nicholas gives fearful indications of \nits progress. In the year following, an ordinance was published at \nVenice, for the purpose of facilitating the operations of the Inquisi- \ntion: and it was approved and confirmed by the pontiff. Nicholas \ndied soon afterwards, and the history of his successor was distinguish- \ned by so many strange circumstances from the ordinary annals of pa- \npal biography, that it may afford relief as well as advantage to unfold \nits particulars. Through the disunion of the cardinals, the see had \nalready been vacant twenty seven months, and no progress seemed \nyet to have been made towards a decision. They were still assembled \nin conclave, and still without any prospect of immediate accommo- \ndation, when, on some day in the beginning of July, 1294, one of \ntheir number was prevented from attending the deliberation by the \nsudden and violent death of his brother. By this casual occurrence, \nthe thoughts of the venerable society were directed to man\'s mortality; \nand their reflections assumed a solemn character. At length, return- \ning to the subject before them, the bishop of Tusculum asked with \nvehemence, \'Why then delay we so long to give ahead to the church? \nWhence this division among us V To which cardinal Latino added, \n*It has been revealed to a holy man, that unless we hasten to the elec- \ntion of a pope in less than four months, the anger of God will burst \nupon us." \n\nBenedict Gaietano, afterwards Boniface VIII. sarcastically smiled \nand said, \' Is it brother Pietro di Morone, to whom that revelation hag \nbeen vouchsafed\'? Latino answered, \'The same ; he has written to \nme, that when engaged in his nocturnal devotions before the altar, he \nhad received the command of God to communicate this warning.* \nThen the cardinals began to discourse of what they knew of that \nholy man. One dwelt on the austerity of his life, another on his vir- \ntues, another on his miracles ; presently some one proposed him as a \npapal candidate, and a discussion immediately arose on that question. \nThe debate was of very short duration, for reason had given place \nto passionate emotion, and passion was mistaken for inspiration. Car- \ndinal Latino first gave his suffrage for Pietro di Morone : his example \nwas eagerly followed by his colleagues, and the sudden and ardent \nunanimity of the conclave, was attributed to the immediate im^pulse of \nthe Divinity. \n\nIts choice had fallen on a weak and aged recluse, whose life had \nbeen devoted to the most rigorous observances of superstition, and \n\n16 \n\n\n\n122 THEHISTORYOF \n\nwhose inveterate habits of solitary meditation disqualified him for the \nmost common office of society. His very name was derived from the \nmountain top where his existence had passed away. The cave in \nwhich he dwelt had been the refuge of a dragon, who obseqiously re- \nsigned it to his human successor ; and we are seriously assured, that \nhis infancy had been the object of that miraculous agency which he so \nprofusely exercised in his later years ; and that even at his entrance \ninto this polluted world, he was protected by the semblance, or the \nreality of the monastic habit. \n\nThe deputies proceeded to announce to him the astounding change \nin his fortune. They arrived at the city of Sulmone, and having re- \nceived permission to present themselves, ascended the narrow and rug- \nged path, which led through a desolate wilderness to the place they \nsought. The cell was closed against them and they were compelled \nto make their communication through a small grated window. \nThrough the interstices they beheld a pale old man, attenuated with \nfastings and macerations, with a beard disheveled, and eyes inflamed \nwith tears, trembling with the agitation into which the awful announce- \nment had thrown him. The archbishop of Lyons then assured him \nof the enthusiasm which had united the cardinals in his favor, and \npressed him, by accepting the dignity, to compose the troubles of the \nchurch. Pietro answered, I must consult God \xe2\x80\x94 go and pray likewise. \nHe then prostrated himself on the earth and after remaining some \ntime in supplication, he rose and said, I accept the pontificate, I con- \nsent to the election, I dare not resist the will of God, I will not be \nwanting to the church in her necessity ! No sooner was the result of \nthis interview spread abroad, tnan the sides of Mt. Morone were fre- \nquented by assidious visitants, whom piety, or interest, or curiosity con- \nducted to the cavern of the hermit-pope. Churchmen and laymen of \nevery rank hastened to pay homage to his virtues or his dignity ; and \nhis earliest levee was adorned by the presence of two kings. \n\nIt was immediately discovcicd that Celestine V., which name he as- \nsumed, fell far short even of the ordinary hmits of monastic capacity. \nHe was entirely ignorant of all science and all literature ; even the \nLatin language was nearly strange to him; against the comprehension \nof worldly matters his eyes were closed by perpetual seclusion, and \nhis bhndness was confirmed by old age , his simplicity tempted and \nrewarded deception, and he was guilty of the most extraordinary errors \nn the discharge of his easiest duties. \nBesides this, he brought with him from his cell and his convent (for \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 123 \n\nhe had founded a new order of monks distinguished for their illiterate \nvulgarity) a disaffection towards the higher ranks of secular clergy, \nwhich, perhaps, was not without reason; and a contempt for their lux- \nuries, and abhorrence for their vices, which formed the holiest feature \nin his character. It was probably this disposition that endeared him \nto thelaiety, as well as to many among the regular clergy; and no \ndoubt, it was the alienation from his own official counsellors, which \nsubjected him to the influence of the king of Sicily. For under this \ninfluence he was assuredly acting, when he added to the college of \ncardinals seven natives of France. \n\nThese were circumstances sufficient to excite the dissatisfaction of \nthat body, and then suspicions of the nature of the spirit which had \ndecided their choice. They professed apprehensions which were not \nwholly unreasonable, lest by some new impudence, the pope should \ncompromise or concede the inviolable rights of the church. They dis- \nliked the frugal severity of his court; they complained with justice that \nhe preferred an obscure residence in the kingdom of Naples to the ho- \nly and imperial city, and the bitterness of their displeasure was comple- \nted when he revived in all its rigor the obnoxious constitution of Greg- \nory X. respecting the manrer of papal elections. \n\nIn the mean time Celestine had discovered his own disqualifications \nand his inability to correct them. Amidst the incessant toil of occu- \npations which he disliked and dignities which he despised he sigheil for \nthe tranquility of his former solitude, and then that his pious meditation \nmight not be wholly discontinued, he caused a cell to be constructed \nin the centre of his palace whither he frequently retired to prayer. \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nOn such occasions he sometimes gave vent to his deep disquietude. \n\nI am told that I possess all power over all souls in this world why \nthen can I not assure myself of the safety of my own, that I cannot rid \nmyself of all these anxieties and impart to my own breast that repose \nwhich I can dispense so easily to others\'? Does God require from me \nthat which is impossible or has he raised me in order to cast me down \nmore terribly? I observe the cardinals divided and I hear from every \nside complaints against me. Is it not better to burst my chains and \nresign the holy see to some one who can rule it in peace ? if only I \ncould be permitted to quit this place and return to my solitude ! \n\nSeveral of the cardinals having observed that disposition were sedu- \nlous to encourage it. It was entirely in accordance with their general \nwishes and most especially with that of Benedict Gaietano who design- \ned himself for the next successor. Those on the other hand who \n\n\n\n1J4 THEHISTORYOF \n\nprofited by Celestine\'s simplicity, or reverenced his piety, or admired \nhis popular austerities, dissuaded him from so unprecedented a project. \nBut the good man was sincere and inflexible, and after tasting for five \nmonths the bitterness of power he pronounced his solemn renunciation \nof the pontificate. \n\nThus far his vows were accomplished without any obstruction. But \nthe last aspirations of his prayer were not recorded, nor was it given \nhim again to breathe the peaceful breezes of St. Morone. The shad- \now of his dignity continued to haunt him after he had cast away the \nsubstance. The man who had possessed the chair of St. Peter and \nabdicated it, could not possibly descend to insignificance, or rise to in- \ndependence. The merit of resigning a throne was insufficient to \natone for the impudence m accepting it, and Celestine was condemn- \ned for the remamder of his life to strict confinement, by the jealousy of \nBoniface. \n\nWhatever flexibility, or show of moderation Benedict Gaietano may \nhave exhibiied before his advancement, he threw off all disguise and \nall restraint as soon as he had attained the object of his ambition. His \npride seemed to acknowledge no limit, and no considerations of reli- \ngion, policy or decency, could repress his violence. In 1298, Albert \nof Austria, caused himself to be saluted king of the Romans; and hav- \ning killed his competitor in battle, made the usual overture to the pope \nfor confirmation. But this favor Boniface was so far from awarding, \nthat he placed the crown on his own head, and siezing a sword, ex- \nclaimed, \'It is I who am Caesar, it is I who am emperor ; it is I who \nwill defend the rights of the empire. There is a solemn and affecting \nfunction celebrated in the Roman church on the first day of Lent, in \nwhich ashes are thrown on the Jieads of the proud and great to remind \nthem of their insignigcance and mortality. While the pope was per- \nforming this ceremony, one Spinola, archbishop of Genoa, a politica \nadversary, presented himself in turn, to receive the lesson of humilia- \ntion. Boniface beheld him, and dashing the ashes in his face said to \nhim, \'Ghibeline! lemember that thou art but dust, and that with thy \nbrother Ghibelines thou wilt return to dust.\' \n\nHis first measures, indeed, wore a very specious appearance, since \nhe presented himself as the advocate of peace. He endeavored to rec- \noncile Charles of Sicily, and James of Arragon; and more than once \nobtruded his mediation upon the kings of France and England : these \nattempts seem to have had no other fruits than a considerable contri\xc2\xbb \nbution levied on the English clergy. He then turned his attention in \n\n\n\nROMAN C A T II L I C I S M . 125 \n\nanother direction. In 1297, he gave the king-dom of Corsica and Sar- \ndinia in hefto James of Arragon and hisposterit}*, on certain conditions \nof aid and subsidy to Rome. In 1300 he laid claim to Scotland and \ndirected Edward 1. to withdraw his soldiers from that country and in \nthe correspondence thus occasioned between these two great usurpers \neach party might have found it easier to invalidate the claims of the \nother, than to establish his own ; this burst of arrogance, of course, \npassed without eifect. \n\nHe pretended to the disposal of the crown of Hungary and gave it to \na grandson of Charles le Boiteaux ; and v/hen some of the nobles, in \n1302, ventured to support a rival prince, he addressed his legate there \nestablished, in the following terms, \' The Roman Pontiff established \nby God over kings and kingdoms, sovereign chief of the hierarchy in \nthe church militant, and holding the first rank above all mortals, sit- \nteth in tranquility on the throne of judgment, and scattereth away all \nevil with his eyes. A\'ou have yet to learn that St. Stephen, the first \nChristian king of Hungary, offered and gave that kingdom to the Ro- \nman Church, not willing to assume the crown on his own authority^ \nbut rather to receive it from the vicar of Jesus Christ; since he knew \nthat no man taketh this honor on himself, but he that is called of \nGod.\' \n\nIn 1303 Boniface found it expedient to acknowledge as king of the \nRomans, the same Albert whom he had formerly reviled : this conces- \nsion was attended by a recognition of his own authority, by that \nprince to the following effect. \' I acknowledge that the Roman Em- \npire has been transferred by the holy see, from the Greeks to the Ger- \nmans in the person of Charlemagne ; that a right to elect a king of \nthe Romans, destined to be emperor, has been accorded by the holy \nsee to certain princes ecclesiastical and secular , and that the kings \nand emperors receive from the holy see, the power of the sword.\' \n\nHe concluded that act ol subservience, by an unconditional promise \nof miUtary aid, if it should be required by the pope. His sincerity was \nnever put to trial, and when we consider for how long a period, and \nwith what general success, the dependence of the empire had been \nasserted by the Popes, and recollect the peculiar foundation on which \nthat claim rested, we shall scarcely wonder at its acknowledgment by \nAlbert. From the facts, at least, we may observe the assiduity, with \nwhich Boniface pressed his temporal pretensions in every quarter of \nEurope. We shall now proceed to the principal theatre of of his ex- \n\n\n\n126 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nertions, and watch the accumulation of the tempests which followed \nthem. \n\nThe throne of France was then occupied by Philip the Fair ; a man \nas jealous, as arrogant and as violent as Boniface, and perhaps even \nsurpassing him in audacity. The first difference between Boniface \nand Philip was merely sufficient to show the disposition and inflame \nthe animosity of both. The people had learned that the kings, both \nof France and England, had levied contributions on their clerical as \nwell as lay subjects for the purposes of state. In consequence, he pub- \nlished, in 1298, his celebrated bull, beginning Clericis Laicos, of \nwhich the substance was this: ^Antiquity relates to us the inveterate \nhostility of the laity to the clergy, and the experience of the present \nage confirms it manifestly ; since without considering that they have \nno power over ecclesiastical persons or property, they load with impo- \nsitions, both prelates and clergy, regular and secular; and also, to our \ndeep affliction, prelates and other ecclesiastics are found, who, from \ntheir greater dread of temporal than eternal majesty, acquiesce in this \nabuse. He then proceeded to pronounce sentence of excommunica- \ntion against all such as shall hereafter exact such impositions, whether \nkings, princes or magistrates, and against all who shall pay them. \n\nVery soon afterwards, Philip published in retort, an edict, forbidding \nthe export of money, jewels and other articles specified, out of his do- \nminions. The pope, tiicreby deprived of his ecclesiastical reven- \nue, immediately put forth a long reply and remonstrance, in which he \nexplained his preceding bull to mean, that the consent of the pope is \nnecessary for the levying of the aforesaid contributions : that, in cir- \ncumstances of great national exigency, even that might be disposed \nwith ; and that the prohibitions did not extend to donations strictly \nvoluntary. At the same time he enlarged on the liberty of the church \xe2\x80\x94 \nthe ark of Noah \xe2\x80\x94 the spouse of Jesus Christ \xe2\x80\x94 to which he had given \nall power over the body of the faithful, and over every individual mem- \nber of it. By these general expressions he intended to insinuate, not \nonly that princes had no power over the church, but that the church \npossessed unlimited control over princes. The rejoinder on the part \nof the king had more reason in its theology, and more piety in its rea- \nson. It professed a holy fear of God, and respectful reverence for \nministers of the church ; but in the full consciousness of justice, it re- \npelled with disdjin the sensaless menaces of man. In the following \nyear, the pope had the prudence to address the archbishop of Rheims \nguch an interpretatioaof the bull, as left to Philip no reasonable ground. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 127 \n\nof complaint ; and French historians, with probability, attribute the \nrare moderation of Boniface to his necessities or his avarice. \n\nThe trace thus tacitly established between the parties was of very \nshort duration. Indeed, where there were so many undefined and \ndisputable rights, it was not possible that peace could long subsist be- \ntween two rivals equally disposed to encroachment and usurpation. \nIn the year 1301, Philip arrested Bernard de Saisset, bishop of Pa- \nmiers, a creature of the pope, on the charge of sedition and treasona- \nble language, and caused him to be confined until the sentence of deg- \nradation should be passed on him, previous to the infliction of legal \npunishment. At the same time he wrote a respectful letter to Boni- \nface, praying him to deprive the culprit of his clerical privileges, or at \nleast to take measures for his conviction. _., \n\n/^ut Boniface, having learnt that a bishop had been placed in con-^ \n/linement, addressed his answer which he sent by a special legate, to I \nI that point only ; and denying that laymen had received any pow- \nI er over the clergy, he desired the king to dismiss the prisoner freely { \n\\ to the pontificial presence, wdth full restitution of all his property, atj \nthe same time reminding him that he had himself incurred canonical/ \npunishment, for having rashly laid his hands on the person of a bishop.l \nOn the same day he published a bull, addressed to Philip, in which,! \n/ after exhorting his son to hsten with docility to his instructions, he \\ \nproceeded in the following terms : *God has set me over the nations \nI and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy I \nand to throw down, to build and to plant in his name and by his doc- 1 \nI trine. Let no one persuade you then that you have no superior, orf \nI that you are not subject to the chief of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. \nI He that holds that opinion is senseless, and he that obstinately main- \n; tains it is an infidel, separate from the flock of the good shepherd.\' \nI He then continued, still out of his aflection for Philip, to charge him. \nwith many general violations of the ecclesiastical privileges and con-| \neluded by informing him, that he had summoned all the superior cler-j \ngy of France to an assembly at Rome, on the first of November fol-l \nlowing, 1302, to deliberate on the remedies for such abuses. ^ \n\nPhilip was astonished at this measure, but not so confounded as to de ^ \nate either into timidity or rashness. He convoked a full and early \nassembly or parliament of his nobles and clergy. In the mean time \nhe burnt the bull of the pope as publicly as possible, and caused that \nact to be proclaimed with trumpets throughout the whole of Paris. In \nhis subsequent address to his parliament, he mentioned the proceed- \n\n\n\n128 T II E H I S T R Y F \n\nings of Boiiiface, disclaimed v/ith scorn any temporal allegiance to \nhim, retorted the charges of corruption and mal-administration, de- \n^clared his readiness to risk any luss or suffering in defence of the com. \nmon interests, and referred the decision of the question to the assem- \nbly. The barons and lay members pronounced their opinions loudly \nand unhesitatingly in the favor of the king. With them the question \nwas in a great degree national. They were jealous of the honour of \nthe crown, and eager to protect it from any foreign insult. \n\nThough perhaps, a calmer judgment would have taught them, that \nsuch a restraint upon the monarchy, in its effects, might be beneficial \nto all classes of the people, they sacrificed every consideration of poli- \ncy to the passion of the moment. The situation of the clergy was ex- \nceedingly difficult, since they had two duties to reconcile which were \nin direct opposition. Their first attempt was to explain and justify \nthe intentions of the pope ; but that was repelled with contempt and in- \ndignation. Then they expressed a dutiful anxiety to assist the king, \nand maintain the liberties of the kingdom ; but at the same time they \npleaded the obedience due from them to the pope, and prayed for \npermission to attend his summons to Rome. This permission was \nclamorously refused by the king and his barons. \n\nThe clergy then directed a letter to the pope, in which they expres- \nsed an apprehension lest the violent and universal hostilit}^ not of the \nking and his barons only, but of the body of the laity, should lead to \nan entire rupture between France and Rome, and even between the \nclergy and the people ; and they prayed that he would release them \nfrom the summons to Rome. At the same time also the the barons \nwrote, not indeed to the pope, but to the college of cardinals, in very \nsevere censure of the new and senseless pretensions of Boniface, on \nwhom personally they cast the whole blame of the difference. In re- \nply the cardinals disavowed on the part of Boniface, any assertion \nthat the king of France held his temporalities of the pope, while in de- \nfence of his ghostly authority, they maintained, \'that no man in his \nsenses can doubt, that the pope as chief of the spiritual hierarchy, can \ndispense with the sin of any or every man living. In his reply to \n(he dutiful supplication of the prelates, the pope rebuked them for the \nwant of courage and attachment, enforced on them the indisputable \nsubjection of things temporal to things spiritual, and persisted in com- \nmanding their attendance at RomaC. \n\nThe great majority disregarded the summons ; bat some few were \nfound who considered their first obedience as due to the sovereign \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 129 \n\npontiff. These proceeded to Rome, and in spite of their small num- \nber, Boniface availed himself of the name of this council to publish \nthe decretal commonly known as the bull Unam Sanctum. The pro- \npositions asserted in this celebrated constitution, are first, the unity of \nthe Holy Catholic Church, without which there is no salvation ; \nwherein is one Lord, one faith, one baptism. Hence it follows, that \nof this one and only church there is one body and one head, namely, \nChrist and Christ\'s vicar, St. Peter, and the successors of St. Peter. \nThe second position is, that in the power of this chief are two swords, \nthe one spiritual and the other material ; but that the former of these \nis to be used by the church, the la\':ter for the church ; the former is ia \nthe hand of the priest, the latter in the hands of kings and soldiers, \nbut at the nod and sufferance of the priest. It is next asserted, that \none of these swords must be subject to the other sword, otherwise we \nmust suppose two opposite principles, which would be Manichaean \nand heretical. Thence it is an easy inference that the spiritual is that \nwhich has rule over the other, while itself is liable to no other judge- \nment or authority than that of God. The general conclusion is con- \ntained in one short sentence. Wherefore we declare, define and pro- \nnounce, that it is absolutely essential to the salvation of every human \nbeing, that he be subject unto the Roman pontiff.\' \n\nBut Boniface did not content himself with mere assertions. On \nthe same day he published a bull of excommunication against all per- \nsons, of whatsoever rank, even kings or emperors, who should inter- \nfere in any way to prevent or impede those, who might desire to pre- \nsent themselves before the Roman See. This edict, was of course, \nunderstood to be levelled, directly, against Philip. Soon afterwards \nhe sent a legate into France, the bearer of twelve articles, which bold \nly expressed such papal pretensions, as were in opposition to those of \nthe king; and concluded with a menace of temporal as well as spiri- \ntual proceedings. The answer of Philip was exceedingly moderate ; \nhe even- condescended to explain away much that seemed objectiona- \nble in his conduct ; and promised to remedy any abuses which his \nofficers might have committed, and expressed his strong desire for con- \ncord with the Roman church. \n\nHis moderation may have been affected, and his explanations frivo- \nlous, and the abuses in question he may not have seriously intended to \nalleviate. But it is at least true, that he had never sought the enmity \nof Rome ; and had Boniface availed himself of that occasion to close \nthe breach, when he might have closed it with profit and dignity, his \n17 \n\n\n\njaa THEHISTORYOF \n\nlast days might have been passed in lofty tranquility ; he would have \nbeen respected and feared, even by those who hated him ; and pos- \nterity would still have admired the courage and policy which had con- \ntended against the most powerful prince in Europe, in no blind or su- \nperstitious age, without disadvantage or dishonour. But the pope did \nnot perceive this crisis in his destiny. He proceeded in his former \ncourse ; he proclaimed his dissatisfaction at the answers of the king, \nand repeated and redoubled his menaces. \n\nPhilip had then recourse to that public measure, which so deeply \ninfluenced the future history of papacy ; the convocation of a general \ncouncil, to pronounce on the proceedings of the pope. But while he \nwas engaged in preparation for this great contest, and for the establish- \nment of a principle, to which his clergy were not yet prepared to list- \nen, a latent and much shorter path was opened to the termination of \nhis perplexities. \n\n/ William of Nogaret, a celebrated French civilian, in conjunctid^i \n/with, certain Romans of the Colonna family, who had fled for refug^ \n/to Paris from the oppression of Boniface, passed secretly into Italy,\\ \n/ and tampered successfully with the personal attendants of the pope. \\ \n/ The usual residence of the pope was Anagni, a city forty or fifty miles \\ \nj southeast of Rome, and his birth place. There in the year 1303, he j \nI had composed another bull, in which he maintained * that, as vicar of / \nI Jesus Christ, he had the power to govern kings with a rod of iron, / \nf and to dash them in pieces like a potter\'s vessel ;\' and he had design-/ \nI ed the eighth of September, the anniversary of the nativity of the viii \n\\ gin, for its promulgation. \n\n^ A rude interruption disturbed his dream of omnipotence, and disco- \nvered the secret of his real weakness. On the day preceding the pub- \nlication of his bull, Nogaret, with Scianna Colonna, and some other \nnobles, escorted by about three hundred horsemen, and a larger num- \nber of partizans on foot, bearing the banners of France, rushed into \nAnagni, with shouts of * success to the king of France ! Death to \npope Boniface !\' After a feeble resistance, they became masters of \nthe pontificial palace. The cardinals dispersed and fled, through \ntreachery as some assert, but more probably through mere timidity. \nThe greater part of the pope\'s personal attendants fled also. \n\nBoniface, when he perceived that he was surprised and abandoned, \nprepared himself with uncommon resolution for the last outrage. \n* Since I am betrayed,\' cried he, * as Jesus Christ was betrayed, I will \nat least die like a pope.\' He then clothed himself in his official vest- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 181 \n\nments, and placed the crown of Constantine on his head, and grasp- \ned the keys and the cross in his hands and seated himself in the pon- \ntificial chair. He was now eighty six years of age. When Sciarra \nColonna, who first penetrated into his presence, beheld the venerable \nform and dignified composure of his enemy, his purpose, which doubt- \nless was sanguinary, seemed to have deserted him, and his revenge did \nnot proceed beyond verbal insult. Nogaret followed. He approach- \ned the pope with some respect, but at the same time imperiously infor- \nmed him, that he must prepare to be present at the council forthwith \nto be assembled on the subject of his misconduct, and to submit to its \ndecisions. The pope addressed him. * William of Nogaret, descen- \nded from a race of heretics, it is from thee, and such as thee, that I can \npatiently endure indignity.\' The ancestors of Nogaret had atoned for \ntheir errors in the flams. But the expression of the pontiff was not \nprompted by any oftence he felt at that barbarity, not by any consci- \nousness of the iniquity of his own oppression, or any sense of the jus- \ntice of the retribution ; it proceeded simply from the sectarian hatred \nwhich swelled his own breast, which hs felt to be implacable, and be- \nlie /ed to be mutual. \n\nWhile their leaders were thus employed, the body of the conspira- \ntors dispersed themselves throughout the splendid apyrtments in eager \npursuit of plunder. Any deliberate plan which might have been form- \ned against the person of the pope, was disappointed by their avarice. \nDuring the day of the attack and that which followed, the French ap- \npear to have been wholly occupied in the ransack. But in the mean \ntime the people of Anagni, were recovered from their panic ; and took \nup arms, assaulted the French, and having expelled or massacred them \nrestored to the pontitf his freedom and his authority. \n\nBut they were unable to restore his insulted honor and the spirit \nwhich had been broken by indignity. Infuriated by the disgrace of \nhis captivity, he hurried from Anagni to Rome, burning for revenge. \nThe -s iolence of his passion soon overpowered his reason, and his \ndeath immediately followed. He v/as attended by an ancient servant \nwhoexhorted him to ccnfde himself in his ca\'cmiiy, to the Consolevof \nthe afflicted. Boniface made no reply. His eyes were haggard, his \nmouth white with foam, and he gnashed his teeth in silence. He \npassed the day without nourishment, the night without repose; and \nwhen he found that his strength began to fail, and that his end was not \nfar distant, he removed all his attendants, that there might be no wit- \nness to his final feebleness and his parting struggle. After some inter- \n\n\n\n132 THEHISTORYOF \n\nval, his domestics burst into the room, and beheld his body stretched \non his bed, stiff and cold. The staff which he carried bore the mark \nof his teeth, and was covered with foam ; his white locks were stained \nwith blood, and his head was so closely wrapped in the counterpane, \nthat it is believed that he anticipated his impending death by violence \nand suflbcation. \n\nThis took place on the tenth of October, and on the same day, af- \nter an interval of three hundred and three }ears, his body was dug up \nand transferred to another place ofsepultre. Spondamus, the Cath- \nolic historian, was at Rome at the time. He relates the circumstan- \nces, and mentions the eagerness with which the citizens rushed to the \nspectacle. His body was found, covered with the pontificial vestments \nstill fresh and uncorrupted. His hands, which his enemies asserted to \nhave been bitten away in his rage, were so free from decay and mu- \ntilation, with every finger entire, that even the veins and nerves ap- \npeared to be swelling with life. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. \n\nClement V. \xe2\x80\x94 Removal of the Papal Residence to Avignon. \xe2\x80\x94 Suppress- \nion of the Order of Templars. \xe2\x80\x94 John XXII; his origin and charac- \nter ; deposed^ hut again restored to the pcniijicate ; is charged with her- \nesy ; disclaims the imputation. \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict XII. \xe2\x80\x94 Attempt to reform \nthe Monastic Orders. \xe2\x80\x94 Clement VI. \xe2\x80\x94 Celebration of the Jubilee at \nRome. \xe2\x80\x94 Purchase of Aoignon. \xe2\x80\x94 Innocent VI. \xe2\x80\x94 UrFan V. \xe2\x80\x94 Gregory \nXI. \xe2\x80\x94 Pdpal residence removed back to Rome. \xe2\x80\x94 Tumidtuous election of \nUrban VL \n\nAfter the death of Boniface, the French interest prevailed in the \ncollege, and in the year 1305, the archbishop of Bordeaux, a native \nof France, was elected to the chair. He took the title of Clement V. \nand soon transferred the papal residence from Rome to Avignon. \n\nThe first act of the pope elect was to assemble his reluctant cardi- \nnals at Lyons, to officiate at his coronation, and his reign, which be- \ngan in 1 305, and lasted nine years, was entirely passed in the country \nwhere it commenced. Clement V^. was alternately, resident at Bor- \ndeaux, Lyons and Avignon ; and he was the first among the spiritual \ndescendants of St. Peter, who insulted the chair and tomb of the \napostle by continual and voluntary absence ; his example was follow- \ned by his successors until the year 1376. Thus for a period of se- \nventy years, the mighty pontifical authority, which was united by so \nmany ties to the name of Rome, which in its nature was essentially. \nItalian, and v/hich claimed a boundless extent of despotism, was exer- \ncised by foreigners, in a foreign land under the sceptre of a foreign \nprince. This humiliation, and as it were, exile of the holy see, has \nbeen compared by Italian writers to the Babylonian captivity ; and a \nnotion, which may have originated in the accidental time of its dura- \ntion, has been recommended by other points of similarity. French \nauthors have regarded the secession to Avignon in a very different \nlight, but we will venture no remarks on the general character of this \nsingular period, until we have described the leading features Nv^hich dis- \ntinguished it. \n\nClement V. restored the partizans of the French king to their hon- \nors; he erected several new cardinals, Gascons or Frenchmen, he \nrevoked the various decrees made by Boniface VHI. against France, \neven the bull Unam Sanclam, or at least he so qualified its operations. \n\n\n\n1^4 THEHISTORYOF \n\nas not to extend it to a country, which had merited that exception by- \nits faithful attachment to the holy see ; but when called on to publish \na formal condemnation to the memory of that pontiff, he receded from \nhis engagement with the direct avowal, that such an act exceeded the \nlimits of his authority, unless fortified by the sanction of a general \ncouncil. \n\nIn October, 1311, the council assembled. Its professed objects \nwere three. First. To examine the charge against the Templars, and \nsecure the purity of the catholic faith. Second. To consult for the \nrelief of the holy land. Third. To reform the manners of the cler- \ngy and the system of the church. The first of these terminated in \nthe entire suppression of the order ; their property was trans^rred to \nthe knights of the hospital, who were considered a more faithful bul- \nwark, against the progress of the infidel, while their persons were con- \nsigned to the justice of provincial councils, to be guided by the char- \nacter, confession, or contumac}\' of the individuals accused. By these \nmeans the greater part escaped with their lives ; but several were ex- \necuted, and among these the grand master and the commander of Nor- \nmandy suffered under singular circumstances. They had confessed \ntheir guilt, and were consequently condemned by the bishops, to whom \nthat office had been assigned by the pope, to the mitigated punishment \nof perpetual imprisonment. On hearing this sentence, they retracted \ntheir confession, and inflexibly protested their entire innocence. The \ncardinals remanded them for farther trial on the morrow, but in the \nmean time Philip, having learnt what had passed, and not brooking \neven so trifling a delay in the chastisement of an enemy, caused them \nto be burnt alive, the same evening, on a small island in the Seine. \nThey endured their torments with gr-eat constancy ; and the assem- \nbled crowd, as it believed their guilt, was astonished at their firmness. \n\nOn the reality of their guilt or innocence, depends the character \nof Clement V. for it is not probable he was deceived in so important \na matter, involving the prosperity and lives of so numerous and pow- \nerful a body, and to a certain extent, the interest and honor of so ma- \nmany kings and nations. It is true that it was by Philip that the first \nattack was made, both upon their character and their persons ; but \nthe blast which he sounded, was soon repeated by the Pope, and reit- \nerated in every quarter of Europe. The Templars were rich ; and \nnotwithstanding the nominal disposal of their property which \nwas made at Vienna, there were few princes who entirely lost so fa- \nvourable an opportunity for spoliation. It is, indeed admitted, that \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 135 \n\nPhilip continually disclaimed an}^ avaricious motive for his aggression; \nand that he does not appear in fact, to have turned his success to \nthose ends ; but he was irritated by their opposition to some former \nschemes, and against the grand master, in particular, he was known to \nentertain a personal and implacable animosity. \n\nAs to the proofs of their guilt, the confessions, which several are af- \nfirmed to have made, do not rest on satisfactory evidence, though it \nseems probable, that some did really acknowledge all that was impu- \nted to them. But of these some may have been driven into weakness \nby torment or terror ; while others, individually guilty, may have im- \nputed to the society their private crimes. At any rate, their confes- \nsions were confronted by many others, who repelled, under every risk \nand torture, the detestable accusations. Many of the charges were \nof a nature so very monstrous, so very remote from reason or nature, \nas almost to carry with them their own confutation ; at least, the most \nexplicit and unsuspicious evidence was necessary to establish their \ntruth ; and none such was oflfered. \n\nPhilip was more successful in his efforts to destroy an ancient mili- \ntary order, than to disgrace the memory of an insolent pontiff; and \nthe council, which suppressed the Templars with such little show of \njustice, or humanity, contended with invincible eagerness, for the rep- \nutation of Boniface. It was perseveringly attempted to attach the \nstain of heresy to his name ; but though the king pursued this design \nwith all the eagerness of revenge, the prelates assembled at Vienna, \nthree hundred in number, unanimously proclaimed his spotless ortho- \ndoxy, and that he died as he had lived in the bosom of the catholic \nfaith. Disappointed in this favorite hope, the king was compelled to \nseek consolation in an edict published at the same time by the pope, \nwhich accorded a gracious pardon to the enemies and calumniators of \nBoniface. \n\nFor the third and worthiest object of the labor of this council, an \nabundant harvest was provided, by the multiplied abuses of the church. \nIt was complained that the Lord\'s day was more generally devoted to \nbusiness or to pleasure than to divine worship ; that the ecclesiastical \njurisdiction was frequently delegated to improper persons, and by them \nso perverted, that the censures of the church had lost their power and \ntheir terrors, that many contemptible individuals, defective alike in \nlearning and morals, were admitted to the priesthood ; that prebends \nand other dignitaries, being now in most cases filled by the pope, sel \n<lom by the bishop, were usually presented to strangers and even for- \n\n\n\n136 THEHISTORYOF \n\neigners, men of dissolute morals, elevated by successful intrigues at \nthe court of Rome ; and that thus the young\' and deserving: aspirants \nfor eclesiastical promotion, were often compelled to abandon the pro- \nfession wi-h disg\'ust, and become the bitterest and most dangerous en- \nemies to the church. \n\nAnother abuse was, the immoderate indulgence of pluralities ; ma- \nny held at the same time four or five, some not fewer than a\' dozen \nbenefices. Another evil mentioned was, the non-residence of many \nof the higher clergy, occasioned by the necessity of their personally \nwatching their interests at the Vatican. The sumptuous luxury in \nwhich tliey lived, and the neglig\'ence and indecency with which the \ndivine services were performed, constituted another charge against \nthe beneficed clergy. The profligacy and simony, publicly practiced \nat the Roman court, swelled the long list of its acknowledged deform- \ni ies. \n\nOn the dissolution of the council, Clement published its canons, fif- \nty-six in number. Most of these were nominally directed to the re- \nformation of the church; the progress of heresy was vigorously oppo- \nsed; and attempts were made to prevent or heal some divisions now be \nginning to spring up within the church. Some constitutions regulated \nthe relation of the bishops to the monashc orders; and others imposed \ngreater decency on the lower orders of the clergy; but the grand and \nvital disorders of the church, those from which its real danger proceed, \nand which were the roots from whence others started into life and no- \ntice, these were left to flourish unviolated, and to spread more and \nmore deeply into the bosom of the comnmnion. \n\nClement V. died very soon afterwards, and his death was followed \nby an obstinate difference between the French and Italian cardinals, \nrespecting the nation of his successor. This was prolonged by the \nimpatient interference of the populace, excited by some Gascon sol- \ndiers, who proposed to terminate the dispute by seizing the persons of \nthe Italians. Accordingly they set fire to the conclave ; but the ter- \nrified cardinals escaped by another exit, and immediately dispersed and \nconcealed themselves in various places of refuge. Such was their \npanic, or disinclination, that two years elapsed before they could be \nre-assembled. At length after a second deliberation, which lasted \nforty days, they elected James of Euse, a native of Cahors, cardinal \nbishop of Porto, who assumed the name of John XXII. \n\nThat pope was of very low origin, the son of a shoemaker or tap- \nster ; but he had natural talents and a taste for letters, which were \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. I3T \n\nearly discovered and encouraged, and his gradual rise to dignity in the \nchurch was not disgraced by any notorious scandals. But he had not \nlong been in possession of the highest eminence, before he abandoned \nhimself without scruple or shame, to his ruling passion, avarice. He \nwas not indeed, exempt from the ambitious arrogance without the \n.church, and the vexatious intolerance within it, which seem, at this \ntime to have been communicated by the chair of St. Peter to its suc- \ncessive possessors ; in a greater or less degree to each, according to \nhis previous disposition to those quahties ; but avarice was the vice by \nwhich John was individually and peculiarly characterized, and to \nwhich he gave, during his long pontificate, an intemperate indul- \ngence. \n\nNot contented with the usual methods of papal extortion he display- \ned his ingenuity in the invention of others more effectual ; he enlarg- \ned the rule of the apostolical chancery ; he imposed the payment of \nannates \xc2\xa9n ecclesiastical benefices : he multiplied the profitable abuse \nof dispensations ; he increased in France the number of bishoprjcks ; \nand commonly took -advantage of the vacancy of a rich see, to make \nfive or six translations, promoting each prelate to a dignity somewhat \nwealthier than that he had before held ; so that all were contented, \nwhile all paid their fees. In a word, he considered kingdoms, cities, \nXJattle and territories to be the real patrimony of Christ ; and held the \ntrue virtue of the church to consist, not in contempt of the world and \nzeal for the faith and evangelical doctrines ; but in oblations and \ntithes, and taxes and collections and purple and gold and silver. \nBuch is the language of the Italian historians, and if it be somewhat \nexagerated by their general prejudice against the popes of Avignonj \nthe immense treasures which were amassed by John, prepare us to \nbelieve much that is asserted of the methods of his exaction. \n\nThe circumstances, by which this pontificate was most distinguish- \ned, and which for a moment raises us from the sordid details of fraud \nand extortion to the recollection of the loftier vices of the Gregories \nand the Innocents, was a contest which the pope perseveringly main- \ntainned with the emperor, Louis of Bavaria. The electors assembled \nat Frankfort in 1814, were divided ; and while some chose Louis for \nsuccessor to the throne, others supported Frederic, arch duke of \nAustria. John refused to confirm either of the pretenders, and they \n-continued to dispute the empire with the sword, till the year 1323, \nwhen Frederic was defeated and taken prisoner. The duke of Bava- \nria then took upon himself the imperial administration, without at alt \n18 \n\n\n\niS8 THE HISTORY OF \n\nsoliciting the sanction of the pope. The pope immediately pronounc- \ned sentence against him, and prepared to support Leopold, the broth- \ner of Frederick. Louis boldly appealed to a general council, and to a \nfuture and legitimate pope, and in return he received an ineffectual \nsentence of excommunication and deposition. In the mean time, the \nwar between the opposite parties had been maintained with great fury \nin Italy, and rather in favor of the Guelphs, through the powerful aid \nof the king of Naples, who was still faithful to the Roman see. Lou- \nis was pressed to cross the Alps. He assembled a parliament at Mi- \nlan, and assumed with great solemnity, the iron crown. From Mi- \nlan he advanced to Rome ; the celerity of his march anticipated all \nopposition, and the ceremony of his coronation was there performed, \nwith abundant pomp and acclamation, in January 1328. \n\nVigorous measures of hostility were at the same time adopted ; a \nsentence of degradation against John XXII. and the appointment of a \nnew and imperial pope, who assumed the name of Nicholas V. \nThough an emperor might, at this time be sufficiently powerful to re- \npel, with impunity, the pontifical censures ;- his aggressive attempts \nwere, at least as futile as those of his adversary. Nicholas was rejec- \nted by the catholic world ; and after two years of vain pretension, \nsurrendered his title and his person to John. The emperor had been \npreviously compelled to retire from Rome ; so after a fruitless contest \nof seven years, the relative situation of the combatants was little alter- \ned ; and the sentence of degradation and deposition, mutually reitera- \nted, had no other effect than to prove to the world that there was \nsomething in the claims of both parties, extravagant and unfounded ; \nand that the temporal authority on the one hand, and the spiritual on \nthe other, though often confounded by the abuse of both, were in fact, \nas they were in their origin, independent. \n\nIn one respect Louis deviated during this contest, from the treaties \nof his two predecessors, and adopted those of the French king. The \nappeal from the authority of the pope to that of the general council \nwas the severest wound which could be inflicted on papal arrogance, \nand even more than that, since it led to the limitation of papal power. \nIn an age of darkness, such an appeal might have been considered as a \nwanton, though bitter insult. But reason was at length awakened, and \nmen were beginning to consider what ought to be, as well as what had \nbeen. Tlie promulgation of a new ecclesiastical principle on the au- \nthority of a king and emperor, would excite some consideration even \namong the most bigoted ; and there would be few who did not begin \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. isa \n\nto entertain a question respecting the spiritual omnipotence of the \npope. \n\nIn an assembly held at Milan, at which several prelates attended, \nthe emperor caused John XXII. to be formally impeached on the \ncharge of heresy. Sixteen articles were specified, in which he erred \nagainst the constitution of the general councils ; and he was pronoun- \nced to have virtually forfeited the pontifical dignity. The accusations \nwere probably false, and certainly fruitless ; they acquired no general \ncredit at the time, nor have they adhered to the memory of the accus- \ned. Nevertheless, the mere assumption of papal fallibility in matters \nof faith, by two powerful monarch*, naturally confirmed the confi- \ndence of those whom reason had already led to the same conclusions. \n\nIt strangely happened, that the same charge was incurred by John \ntowards the end of his life with greater appearances of reason. In \nsome public discourses, delivered during the year 1331 and 1333, he \nhad declared his opinion that the souls of the faithful, in their interme- \ndiate state, were permitted to behold Christ as a man ; but that the \nface of God, or Divine Nature, was veiled from their sight until their \nre-union with the body at the last day. The puTDlication of this doe- \ntrine produced a deep sensation throughout Christendom. The im-i \nmediate admission to the beatific vision, a popular tenet, had been \nopenly impugned by the highest spiritual authority, and it became ne- \ncessary to resign the tenet or to condemn the pope. Robert, king of \nSicily, warmly exhorted John to retract the offensive declaration. \nPhilip of France united in the same solicitation. The most learned \nDominicans, together with all the doctors and divines of Paris, humbly \nargued the same entreaty. \n\nThe pope was so far moved by these entreaties, that he assembled \nhis cardinals in public consistory and protested that he had not de- \nsigned to publish a decesion contrary to the scripture of the orthodox \nfaith ; and that if he had so erred, he expressly revoked his error. \nThis explanation may have been considered somewhat equivocal, at \nleast it had not the effect of allaying the irritation which prevailed, and \na second consistory was appointed for the same purpose in December \nfollowing. But on the evening preceding its assembly, John was sei- \nzed by a mortal malady. Notwithstanding, he summoned his cardi- \nnals around him, and one of the last acts of his long life, was to read \nin their presence a bull containing the following declaration : * We con- \nfess and believe, that souls purified and separated from their bodies, \nare assembled in the kingdom of heaven in paradise, and behold Qo^ \n\n\n\n140 THE HISTORY OF \n\nand the Divine Essence, face to face clearly, as far as is consistent \ntvith the condition of a separated soul. Any thing which we have \npreached said or written contrary to this opinion, we recal and cancel/ \nStill even the expiring confession of the Pontiff was not considered \nsufficiently explicit, and John XXII. after having ruled the church \nmore than eighteen years, which he mostly passed in amassing treas- \nures, in fermenting warlike tumults, and in chastising heretics, died \nhimself under the general imputation of heresy. But the error of the \npontifical delinquent was discreetly veiled by the church ; and when \nBenedict XII. his successor in the following year hastened to restore \nthe unanmity of the faithful respecting the Beatific Vision, he describ- \ned it as a question which John was preparing to decide, when he was \nprevented by death. \n\nBenedict XI L was born at Saverdun, in the county of Foix, and \nwas the son of a baker. He possessed considerable theological learn- \ning, but such little talent for the management of an intrieguing court, \nthat he suspected and declared his inability for the pontifical office. \nBut it proved otherwise ; for he brought to that office, a mind sensible \nof the corruption which surrounded him, and of the abuses which dis- \nfigured his church, and he employed his administration in endeavoring \nto remedy such of them as were v>^ithin his reach. He dismissed to \ntheir benefices, a vast nuiiiber of courtly ecclesiastics who preferred \nthe splendor and perhaps the vices of Avignon to the discharge of their \npastoral duties. A large body of cavaliers had been maintained by \nthe pomp of his predecessors, with whose services Benedict soon dis- \npensed. He was sparing in the promotion of his own relatives, lest the \nking should make them means of exerting influence over himself. \n\nHe undertook the serious reform of the monastic orders ; not con-- \nfining his views to the less powerfal commnnities, but purifying with \nundiscriminating severity, the poor and the opulent ; the Mendicants \nBenedictines, and Augustinians, and the order of Citeaus, to which he \nhad himself belonged, was the first object of his correction. He estab- \nlished numerous schools within the monasteries, and also compelled the \nyoung ecclesiastics to frequent the universities of Paris, Oxford, Tou- \nlouse, and Montpelier. In the education of the clergy he saw the on- \nly reasonable assurance for the stability of the church. Lastly, he \neven displayed a willingness to restore the papal residence to Italy, if \nit should appear that his Italian subjects were desirous of his presence; \nbut the imperialites were at that moment so powerful, and party spirit so \nhighly inflamed, that he received little encouragement in that design. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 141 \n\nClement VI, who succeeded Benedict, in the year 1343, did not im- \nitate his virtues ; but while in his public deportment, he more nearly \nfollowed the footsteps of John XXII. he appears to have outstripped. \nthat pontitt in the licence of his private Hfe. He was scarcely install- \nin his dignity, when he was addressed by a deputation from the Ro- \nman people. It consisted of eighteen members, one of vvhom was Pe- \ntrarch ; and it was charged with three petitions. The first was, that \nClement would accept, personally and for his life only, the offices of \nsenator and captain, together with the municipal charges ; the second, \nthat he would return to the possession of his proper and peculiar see ; \nthe third, that he would anticipate the Secular Jubilee ordained by \nBoniface Vlli, and appoint its celebration in the fiftieth year. \n\nThe Pope accepted the proffered dignities, but without prejudice to \nthe rights of the see; to the second he returned a friendly, though de- \ncided refusal ; but to the third, which only tended to swell the profitable \nabuses of religion, he accorded v/ithout hesitation. The following is \nthe substance of the bull which he issued in 1343, for this purpose ; \n\'That the love of God has acquired for us an infinite treasure of mer- \nits, to which those of the Virgin and all the saints are joined ; that he \nhas left the dispensation of that treasure to St. Peter and his success- \nors ; and consequently, that pope Boniface VIII. had rightfully ordain- \ned, that all those who in 1300, and every following centurial year, \nshould worship for a specified number of days in the churches of St. \nPeter and St. Paul at Rome, should obtain full indulgence for all their \nsins. But we have considered that in the Mosaic law which Christ \ncame spiritually to accomplish, the fiftieth was the jubilee and remis- \nsion of debts ; and having also regard to the short duration of humati \nlife, we accord the same iudulgenceto all henceforward who shall visit \nthe said churches, and that of St. John Lateran, on the fiftieth year.. \nIf Romans, they must attend at least thirty following days; if foreign- \ners, at least fifteen.\' \n\nThis proclamation was published in every part of Christendom, and \nexcited an incredible ardor for the pilgrimage. During a winter of un- \nusual severity, the roads were thronged with devout travellers, many \nof whom passed the night without shelter or nourishment, in the fear \nof robbery and the certainty of extortion. The streets of Rome for \nsome months presented the spectacle of a vast moving multitude. The \nthree churches were thronged with successive crowds, eager to throw \noff the burden of their sins, and also prepared to deposit some pious of- \nfering at every visit. \n\n\n\n142 T H E H I S T R Y O F \n\nFrom Christmas to Easter, not fewer tlian a million or twelve hun- \ndred thousand strangers were added to the population of the city of \nRome; for as many as returned home after the completion of the pre- \nscribed ceremonies, were replaced by fresh bands of fcredulous sin- \nners, and those again by others. Every house was converted into an \ninn; and the object of every Roman was to extort the utmost profiil \nfrom the occasion, and neither shame nor fear restrained the eagerness of \ntheir avarice. \n\nClement renewed with Louis of Bavaria those vexatious disputes \nwhich had been begun by John XXII. and conducted with so httle ad- \nvantage to either party. Neither had the present difficulty any lasting \nresult, and was terminated by the death of Louis. Clement made an \nimportant acquisition to the patrimony of the apostle, by the purchase \nof the city Avignon. The jurisdiction over that territory belonged to \nthe queen of Naples, and for 80,000 golden florins, she consented in a \nmoment of poverty, to part with the valuable possession. A splendid \npalace, which Benedict XII. had begun, was now completed by Cle- \nment, aud thus the prospect of the pope\'s restoration to his legitimate \nresidence, was removed and thus heightened the alarm, which some \nwere beginning to entertain for the stability of the papal power. \n\nClement VI. died five years after in 1352, celebrated for the splen- \ndour of his establishment, for the sumptuousness of his table, and for \nhis magnificent display of horses, squires and pages ; for the scanda- \nlous abuse of his patronage, and for the most unrestrained profligacy. \n\nDuring the vacancy of the see, the cardinals while in conclave, pass- \ned a resolutionfor the limitation of the pontifical power and the exten- \nsion of their own wealth and privileges, and the whole body bound \nthemselves by oath to observe them. One of their number was then \nelected, Etienne Aubert, bishop of Ostia, who took the name of In- \nnocent VI. and almost his earliest act was to annul, as pope, what he \nhad subscribed as cardinal. This conduct of the pope which we must \ndetest, is remarkable as having furnished an example to several of his \nsuccessors, who violated similar engagements in aftertimes, with the \nsame perfidy. \n\nYet Innocent VI. was a man of simple manners, and unblemished \nmoral reputation ; and having found the church nearly in the same con- \ndition in which John XXII. bequeathed it to Benedict, he imitated the \nlatter in his judicious attempts to reform it. But though he he]d the \nsee nine years, it seems doubtful whether his mild and feebly executed \nrneasures were effectual in removing any important abuses. In the \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 143 \n\nyear 1358, we find him engaged in a dispute with his German clergy, \nin which he demanded a tenth of all ecclesiastical revenues for the use \nof the apostolical chamber. The clergy of Treves, Mayence, and \nCologne boldly refused payment, and soon all orders of ecclesiastics \nthroughout the empire united to resist the demand. The pope yield- \ned without struggle or remonstrance ; but songht his consolation in \nthe exercise of one of the grossed usurpations of the holy see. He \n\xe2\x80\xa2sent his messengers into every part of Germany, with orders to col- \nlect half the revenues of all vacant benefices, and to reserve them for \nthe use of the see. The emperor Charles IV. approved the resistance \nof the bishops, but at the same time he denounced their pride, their \navarice and luxurious indulgence, and demanded of the nuncio from \nAvignon why the pontiff was so fond of taxing the property of the \nclergy and so remiss in the restoration of their discipline ] Innocent \ndid not disregard that appeal, but endeavoured to restrain the vices of \nthe German prelates, while the emperor exerted his authority to pro- \ntect them from the spoliations, to which they were perpetually liable \nfrom powerful laymen. \n\nHe was succeeded in 1362 by Urban V. whose reign was distin- \nguished by the first serious attempt to restore the pontifical court to \n\xe2\x96\xa0Rome. On the solicitation of his Italian subjects, urged by the elo- \n^juence of Petrarch, and an understanding of perfect friendship and \nmutual co-operation with the emperor, he abandoned the splendid se- \ncurity of Avignon, and departed with his reluctant court to Rome, \nand in October 1397, the pope once more occupied the half disman- \ntled palace of his predecessors. He divided a peaceful residence of \nthree years between Rome and Montefiascone, where he passed the. \nsummer months ; and his alliance with Charles IV. of Germany guar- \n;anteed him against any political outrage. In 1370 he returned to \nAvignon, where he died immediately afterwards. \n\nAgain was a Frenchman, Gregory XI. elected to the chair, who pro^ \nfessed his inclination to repeat the experiment which had been made \nby his predecessor; but his resolution was weakened and retarded by \nthe intrigues ef his countrymen. He listened with attention to the \nprayer of a solemn deputation of the Roman people, in 1374, but \ntook no immediate steps to grant it. Two years afterwards he was \nstill at Avignon, when he was again importuned on the same subject by \na different instrument of solicitation. \n\nThere was one Catharine, the daughter of a citizen of Sienna, who \nhad embraced the monastic life, and acx^uired extraordinary reputation \n\n\n\n141 T 11 E H I S T R Y F \n\nfor sanctity. In the vigor of her fastings and watchings, in the du- \nties of seriousness and silence, in the fervency and continuance of her \nprayers, she far surpassed the merit of her holy sisters; and the auste- \nrities she practiced prepared people to believe the fables she related ; \nshe professed to derive her knowledge from no human instructer, from \nno humbler source than the personal communication of Christ himself \nOn one occasion, especially, she had been blessed by a vision, in v^^hich \nthe Saviour appeared toher, accompanied by the holy mother and a \nnumerous host of saints, and in their presence he solemnly espoused \nher, placing on her finger a golden ring, adorned with four pearls and \na diamond. After the vision had vanished the ring still remained, \nsensible and palpable to herself, bat invisible to every other eye. This \nwas not the onlyfavor she had received from the Lord Jesus ; she had \nreceived his heart in exchange for her own, she bore on her body the \nmarks of his wounds, though these too were imperceptible to any sight \nbut her ov/n. \n\nWe do not relate such disgusting impiety, either because it was un- \ncommon in those days, or because it was crowned by the approbation \nof the church ; for the wretched fanatic was canonized, and occupies \nno despicable place in the holy calendar; but it is a circumstance awa- \nkening a deeper astonishment, that Catharine was invited from her \ncell by the messengers of the Florentine people, and officially charged \nwith an important commission at the count of Rome; the office of \nmitigating the papal displeasure, and reconciling the church with the \nrepublic was confided to her enthusiasm. \n\nShe was admitted to an early audience. Her arguments, which she \ndelivered in Tuscan, were explained by the interpreter who attended \nher ; and in conclusion, the pope expressed his willingness to leave \nthe difference entirely to her decision. But the embassy of Catharine \nwas not confined to that object only ; she urged, at the same time the \nduties which the pontiff owed to his Italian subjects, to the tombs of \nthe apostles, to the chair of his mighty predecessors ; and her reasons \nare said to have convinced a mind already predisposed to listen to \nthem. The popes resolution however, still wavered, and was at length \ndecided by a second embassy from Rome which arrived about two \nmonths after the visit of St Catharine. The envoys expressly assured \nhim, that unless he returned to the see, the Romans would provide \nthemselves with a pope, who would reside among them, and it afterr- \nwards appeared that overtures had already been made to the abbot of \nMonte Cassino to that effect. This was no time for delay; Gregory \n\n\n\nft M A N CATHOLICISM. 145 \n\nimmediately departed for his capital, and whatever might have been \nhis intentions, from thence he was not destined to return. \n\nThe place of the death of the pope was at that time of more last- \ning importance to the church than his living residence, because the \nelection of a successor could not fail to be effected by the local cir- \ncumstances under which he m.ight be chosen. There could be no se- \ncurity for the continuance of the papal residence at Rome, until the \ncrown should be again placed upon the head of an Italian. At Avig- \nnon, the French Cardinals, who were numerous, v/ere certain to elect \na French pope ; but the accident which should oblige the conclave to \nassemble in an Italian city, might lead to the choice of aii Italian. \n\nThe number of cardinals at the death of Gregory XI. was twentj^ \nthree, of whom six were absent at Avignon, and one was legate in \nTuscany. The remaining sixteen, after celebrating the funeral cere- \nmonies of the deceased, and appointing officers to secure their delib- \nerations from violence, prepaied to enter into conclave. But the rites \nof sepulture were scarcely peiformed, when the leading magistrates of \nRome presented to them a remonstrance, setting forth the disastrous \nconsequences resulting from the election of a foreign Pope and de- \nmanding^ the election of a Roman, or at least an Italian, and conclud- \ning with the declaration that if disappointed in their expectations they \nwould have recourse to compulsion. The cardinals replied^ that as \nsoon as they should be in conclave they would give to those subjects \ntheir solemn deliberation, and direct their choice according to the in- \nspiration of the Holy spirit. They repelled the notion that they could \nbe influenced by any popular menace ; and pronounced an express \nwarning, that if they should be compelled to elect under such circum- \nstances, the elected v/ould not be a pope but an intruder. They then \nentered into conclave. . \n\nThe populace, who had already exliibited proofs of impatience, and \nwhom the answer of the cardinals was not well calculated to satisfy\', \nassembled in great crowds about the place of assembly. It may be \ntrue that the civil magistrates had previously possessed themselves of the \nkeys of the gates, which were usually confided to ecclesiastical offi- \ncers, in order to preclude the escape of the cardinals to a more secure \nplace of deliberation ; that in the room of the ordinary police they \nintroduced a number of Montanarii, the wild and lawless inhabitants \nof the adjacent mountains, who paraded the streets in arms by day \nand by night ; that a quantity of dry reeds and other combustibles were \nheaped to2:ether under the windows of the conclave, with threats of \n19 \n\n\n\n146 THEHISTOEYOF \n\nconflagration ; that, at the moment when the college was proceeding \nto election, the bells of the Capital and St. Peter\'s were sounded to \narms : these and other circumstances of restraint and intimidation, \nare asserted by some writers, and have, undoubtedly, some founda- \ntion in truth. It is not disputed that a vast crowd of people continued \nin tumultuous assemblage during the whole deliberation of the con- \nclave, and that the debates of the sacred college were incessantly in- \nterrupted by one loud and unanimous shout, * We will have a Ro- \nman for a pope \xe2\x80\x94 a Roman, or at the very least an Italian !\' \n\nThe internal disputes of the college were speedily silenced by the \ntempest from without. Even after the sacred body had been shut up \nin deliberation, the heads of the twelve legions of the cit}^, forced \nthemselves and their disorderly followers, in contempt of custom and \ndecency, into the recesses of the conclave. Here they repeated their \ndemands with redoubled insolence, and direct menaces. The cardi- \nnals made their former reply, with the additional declaration, that in \ncase any violence were used, he, whom they should so elect, and whom \nthe people would take for a real pope, would in fact, be no pope at \nall. The people received this answer wiih indiii^naion, the disorder \nround the chapel augmented, the most frightful threats were uttered in \ncase of hesitation or disobedience ; and the same shout continued to \npenetrate the conclave, A Roman for our pope I a Roman \xe2\x80\x94 or at \nthe very least an Italian !\' \n\nThese were not circumstances for delay or deliberation. If any \ninclination towards the choice of an Italian had previously existed in \nthe college, it was now confirmed into necessity ; and on the day \nfollowing their retirement the cardinals were agreed in their election. \nThey, however, passed over the four Italian members of their own \nbody, and casting their eyes beyond the conclave, selected a Neapoli- \ntan named Bartolemeo Prignano, the Archbishop of Bari. The an- \nnQuncement was not immediately published, probably through the fear \nof popular dissatisfaction, because a Roman had not been chosen ; but \nsoon after, the bishop of Marseilles went to the window, and said to \nthe people, \' Go to St. Peter\'s and you shall learn the decision. Some \nwho heard him, understanding that the cardinal of St. Peter\'s, a Rod- \nman, had been elected, rushed to the palace of that cardinal and \nplundered it \xe2\x80\x94 for such was the custom invariably observed on the \nelection of a pope. Others thronged in great multitudes to offer him \ntheir salutations ; and then they bore him away to Peter\'s and placed \n|)im according to ancient usage, upon the altar. It was in vain that the \n\n\n\nlaOMAN CATHOLICISM. i4T \n\ngOod cardinal, enfeebled b}^ age and disease, disclaimed the title and \ntrembled at thy honors that were forced on him. \'lam not pope,\' \nsaiJ h,", *diid i will njt be anti-popt?. The archbishop cf Bari, who \n13 rcjal\'y chosen, is worthier than 1.\' They ascribed his resistance to \nmo.lesty or decent disiirriUlation, and continued through the whole day \nto overvvhjhn him with tiie most painlul proofs of their joy. In the \nmean time the other cardinals escaped from the cor.clavein great dis- \norder and trepidation, without digi.iiy or attendants, or even their or \ndiiiary habdimentsof otlice, and sought safety, sonie in their respect- \nive palace.?, o:hers in the; castle of St. Angelo, or even beyond the \nwalls of the city. On the fjilowing day the people were undeceived \nand as they showed little disinclination for the master who had really \nbeen chosen, the archbishop of Bari, who had assumed the title of Ur- \nban VI. was solemnly enthroned, and the scattered cardinals re-appear- \ned, and rallied round him with confidence and security. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER X f . \n\nRigid policy of Urban.\xe2\x80\x94 Disaffection of the Cardinals. \xe2\x80\x94 Grand Schism \nin the Church. \xe2\x80\x94 Opposition elect Clement VIL \xe2\x80\x94 Protracted struggle \njor ascendancy between Urban and Clement. \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Urban. \xe2\x80\x94 Ital- \nian faction elect Boniface IX. \xe2\x80\x94 Another Jubilee. \xe2\x80\x94 Sale of Indulgen- \nces. \xe2\x80\x94 Attempts to restore Union. \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Clement. \xe2\x80\x94 Succeeded by \nBenedict XIII. \xe2\x80\x94 The French rcnoun\'^e the jurisdiction of both com- \npetitors. \xe2\x80\x94 Reverses, and final triumph of Benedict,.\xe2\x80\x94 Election of An- \ngelo Corrario, who assumes the title of Gregory XII. \n\nThe ceremony of coronation was duly performed, and several bish- \nops were assembled on the following day, at vespers, in the pontifical \nchapel, when the pope unexpectedly addressed them in the bitterest \nlanguage of reprobation. He accused them of having deserted and \nbetrayed the flocks which God had confided to them, in order to revel \nin luxury at the court of Rome , and he applied to their offence the \nharsh reproach of perjury. The bishop of Pampeluna repelled the \ncharge, as far as himself was concerned, by reference to the duties \nwhich he performed at Rome, the others suppressed in silence their \nanger and confusion. Soon after at a public consistory. Urban re- \npeated his complaints and denunciations and urged them still more \ngenerally in the presence of the whole court. In a long and intempe- \nrate harangue, he arraigned the various vices of the prelates \xe2\x80\x94 their \nsimony, their injustice, their exactions, their scandalous luxury, with \na number of other offences, in unmeasured and uncompromising ex- \npressions ; and while he spared no menace to give weight to his cen- \nsure, he directed the sharpest of his shafts against the cardinals them- \nselves \xe2\x80\x94 beyond doubt, his violence proceeded from an honest zeal for \nthe reformation of the church ; but the end was marred by the pas- \nsionate indiscretion with which he pursued it. The consistory broke \nup, and the members carried away with them no sense of the iniqui- \nties imputed, no disposition to correct their habits or their principles ; \nbut only indignation, mixed with some degree of fear, against a se- \nvere and discourteous censor. \n\nNotwithstanding, the cardinals continued their attendance at the \nVatican a week longer, and then, as usual, on the approach of the \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L 1 C 1 S M . 149 \n\nsummer heats, with the pope\'s permission, they withdrew from the city \nand retired to Anagni. The four Italians only, remained at Rome. \nThe others were no sooner removed from the immediate inspection of \nUrban, than they commenced, or more boldly pursued their measures \nto overthrow him. On the one hand, they opened a direct corres- \npondence with the court of France, and university of Paris ; on the \nother they took into their service a body of mercenaries, commanded \nby Bernard de la Sale, a Gascon ; and then they no longer hesitated, \nto treat the election of Urban as null, through the violence which had \nattended it. \n\nTo give consequence to this decision, they assembled with great so- \nlemnity in the principal church, and promulgated on the ninth of Au- \ngust, a public declaration, in the presence of many prelates and other \necclesiastics, by which the archbishop of Bari, was denounced an in- \ntruder into the pontificate, and his election formally cancelled. They \nthen retired for their greater security, to Fondi, in the kingdom of Na- \nples, Still they did not venture to proceed to a new election in the \nabsence, audit might be against the consent of their Italian brethren. \nA negociation was accordingly opened ; and these last immediately fell \ninto the snare, which treachery had prepared for ambition. To each \nof them, separately, a secret promise was made in writing, by the \nwhole of their colleagues that himself should be the object of their \nchoice. Each of them believed what he wished ; and concealing from \neach other their private expectations, they pressed to Fondi, with joy \nand confidence. The college immediately, entered into conclave ; and \nas the French had, in the mean tim.e, reconciled their provincial jeal- \nousies, Robert, the cardinal of Geneva, was chosen by their unani- \nmous vote. This event took place in September 1378 ; the new pop* \nassumed the name of Clement Vll. and was installed with the custa \nmary ceremonies. \n\nRobert of Geneva, was of noble birth, and even allied to several oi \nthe sovereigns of Europe. He possessed talents and eloquence, a \ncourage which was never daunted, and a resolution which was never \ndiverted or wearied. Little scrupulous as to means, in his habits \nsumptuous and prodigal, he seemed the man most likely to establish \nhis claim to a disputed crown, and to unite the courts of Christendom \nin his favor. His age, which was thirty six, gave promise of a vigor- \nous and decisive policy. \n\nNevertheless, his first endeavors met with little success. It was \n\n\n\n150 T H E H I S T O R Y O F \n\nin vain that the sacred college sent forth its addresses to princes an(f \nthsir subjects, detailing all that had occurred at Rome, Anagni and \nFondi, and protesting against the violence which occasioned the ille- \ngal election of Uj-ban. It was argued on the oiher hand, that the car- \ndinals had assisted at iha subsequent ceremonies of enihronement and \ncoronation ; that they had announced their choice in ihe usual lan- \nguage to all the c:)urts of Europe ; that they had continued their per- \nsonal atteu-lance on the pope f)rsonie weeks afierwaids, and had al- \nlowed fjui- mon hs to elapse, before they wi hdrew their obediei:ce. \n\nThe reasons which were advanced with such ardour and obstinacy \non both sides, were not perfectly conclusive for either; and though it \nis certain the election was conducted under some degree of intimida- \ntion, the subsequent acquiescence of the cardinals makes it probably, \nthat the legitimacy of Urban would never have been questioned, had \nhe followed the usual course of pontifical mis-government, or publish- \ned his schemes of reformation wiih less earnestness or more discretion. \nThe severity of hiy rebukes rankled in the consciences of those \nwho deserved them ; and his menaces persuaded the court, that, to \npreserve its beloved impurities, it must depose the master who arraign- \ned them. A pope so dangerous to the vices of a powerful clergy, \ncould not hope to maintain, without dispute, ambiguous right. \n\nSuch was the origin of the scliism which divided the Roman church \nfor about forty years, and hastened the decline cf papal authority. \nBoth Urban and Clement had a plausible ph\'a for their respective obe- \ndience, though the true policy and interest cf the church, clearly lec- \nommended undivided adherence to the cause cf Uiban. \n\nThe hopes of Clement were fixed on the court of France ; he \nknew that prejudices in his favor naturally exis\'ed in that kingdom, \nand he knew, too, that the first steps towards his general acknowledge- \nment, must be taken there. Charles V. affecting great impartiality, \n,and admitting the deliberation due to so grave a question, convoked, \nat Vincennes a grand assem.bly of clergy and nobles, in council. This \naugust body, after individually abjuring the influence of all personal \nconsiderations, expressed a unanimous conviction of the legitimacy of \nClement. The king was guided by their choice, and soon declared \nin his favor. The Queen of Naples, the city of Avignon, and the six \ncardinals who resided there, had already come to the same determina- \ntion. In the mean time a passionate warfare of bulls and anathemas \nhad commenced on both sides ; but the thunders on this occasion were \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H L I C I S M 161 \n\nliarfnless, even in the judgment of a modern catholic, since it were im- \npossible to decide which were the genuine bolts, both being in the situ- \nation of anti-popes, rather than popes. \n\nThey were not contented with these innocent conflicts ; the rights \nwhich were ineffectiiallv asserted by ecclesiastical censures, appealed \nfor protection to the sword; a succession of combats desolated the \nsouth part of Italy, and ended in the disconifeiture of Clement. His \nfirst refuge was Naples, but at length, finding it impossible to maintain \nhimself in Italy, against an Italian rival, he retired to the residence \nmost suited to his fortunes and his prospects, Avignon. From a city \nwhich already consecrated by the tombs of so many popes, supported \nby the court, and nourished by the clergy of France, he bade defi- \nance to his transalpine adversaries ; and since he could not command, \nhe was contented to divide spiritual obedience of Europe. \n\nNotwithstandinu" an intemperate ambition, and some acts of singu- \nlar imprudence, Ui-ban continued to retain the greater part of his ad- \nherents. The kings of Scotland and C\\p]us, ihe counts of Savoy \nand Geneva, the duke of Austria, and some other German princes, \nand even the kings of Casn\'e, and Arragon, were finally united \\vith. \nFrance in alledance to Clement ; but the other states of Europe re- \nmained faithful to the vows which they had earliest taken, and it was \nno unreasonable reply to the anti-pope, Robert of Avignon, that he \nshould be the last to reject that pontiff, whom Robert, the cardinal of \nGeneva, had officially recommended to universal obedience. The \ndoctors and learned men, were similarly divided, and their division \nproduced the most voluminous controversies. And lastly, many pious \nand gifted persons who are now numbered among the saints of the \nchurch, were to be found in either obedience; which sufficiently prov- \ned that the salvation of the faithful, was not, in this case, endangered \nby their error. \n\nIn this holy society, Catharine of Sienna, was again conspicuous, \nas the advocate and adviser of the Roman pope. She declared her \nself, loudly, for Urban, and employed whatever talents, and eloquence \nand force she possessed, in writing and exhorting all the world to ac- \nknowledge him. At the same time, in six epistles which she address- \ned to himself, she discreetly recommended him to relax somewhat, \nfrom that extreme austerity, which had made him so many enemies. \nTo what extent Urban profited by that counsel, we cannot ascertain, \nthough some assert that he held his monitress in much veneration. \nBut we are informed, that his predecessor, who had certainly been in- \n\n\n\n162 T H E H i S T R Y F \n\nfluenced by her persuasions, when on his death bed, his stronger rea- \nson prevailed, called around him his friends and assistants, and solemn- \nly cautioned them against all pretenders of either sex, who should pro- \npound their private revelations as rules of conduct or policy. \' Since \nI \' says he, \' having been seduced by such as these, and having rejec- \nted the rational counsel of my friends, have dragged myself and the \nchurch into the perils of a schism, which is now near at hand, unless \nJesus, her spouse, shall interpose in his mercy to avert it. \n\nCertainly the character of Urban was not permanently softened by \nthe admonitions of his inspired instructress ; and to many acts of \nharshness and vigor, he added one of positive barbarity. A plot for \nhis deposition had been set on foot, originating with the king of Naples; \nand a paper, which had been circulated with that object, was placed \nin the hands of some of his cardinals, for Urban had supplied the de- \nfection of his original court, by a large and respectable creation. How \nfar they countenanced the proposition contained in it does not appear; \nbut as by one of those the provisional government of the church was \nvested in the hand of the sacred college, probably some may have as- \nsented to them. Urban discovered the conspiracy ; he immediately \nseized six, the most suspected of the body, and after subjecting them to \nthe utmost severity of torture, cast them into a narrow and noisome \ndungeon. \n\nThis affair took place at Nocera, in the kingdom of Naples ; but \nsome reverses, soon obliged the pope to take refuge in Genoa. He \ncarried his prisoners along with him in chains, and afflicted them with \nhardships ; and during a year of sojourn in that civilized city, he could \nnot be moved by the counsels of his friends, or the prayers of the re- \npublic which protected him, to release his captives. At length, when \non the point of departure, as he feared the inconvenience or the scan- \ndal of dragging them through a second journey, and as he could not \n^exalt his resolution to the performance of an act of clemency, if not of \njustice ; he consigned five of them to sudden and secret execution. \nThe other, an Englishman, named Adam Eston, bishop of London, \nowed his preservation to the frequent and pressing remonstrance of \nthe English ting. This affair took place in December 1386. \n\nIn October 1389, Urban died at Rome ; and as soon as the glad in- \ntelligence reached Avignon, and Paris, great wishes were expressed \nand some hopes entertained, in both places, that the schism would \nthus terminate ; and that the Roman cardinals would volunta- \nrily unite themselves with the college of Avignon, and acknowl- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 159 \n\nfcdge Clement for pope, on the condition of his residence at Rome. \nIn the university, especially, the public lectures were suspended, and \nno subject was discussed, except the probable determination of the Ro- \nman cardinals. That body, on whose resolution at that moment go \nmuch depended, appear not to have hesitated as to the course before \nthem. The members immediately assembled, fourteen in number ; \nthey entered into conclave, and ele.eted within a fortnight from Ur- \nban\'s decease, another Neapolitan for his successor. Perrino or Pie- \ntro Tomacelli, cardinal of Naples, assumed the title of Boniface IX. \nand was pl^iced on the throne, for which his ignorance was sujB&cjent \nto disqualify him. On the year following his accession, a Jubilee was \nheld at Rome, and the devout were exhorted to present themselves \nfrom every quarter. Unmoved by distance or expense, and even by \nthe personal dangers which awaited them from the partizans of Clem- \nent, or the neutral banditti of the mountains, great multitudes under- \ntook, and many accomplished the pilgrimage. The altars of the Ro- \nman churches were again enriched by the contributions of superstir \ntion ; and if some of ths offerings were expended in the repair of the \nsacred edifices, by far the greater portion flowed directly into the cof- \nfers of the pope. But Boniface was not contented with that partial \nstream, which had found its way to his capital ; and being desirous, \nno doubt, that even those of his children, who had not listened to his \ncall, should still participate in the spiritual consolation, he sent his em? \nissaries among all the nations by whom he was acknowledged, with \ncommissions to sell the plenary i ndulgence to all indiscriminately, for \nthe same sum which the journey to Rome would have cost them. \nThis absolution extended to every sort of offence, and appears not to \nhave been preceded even by the ordinary formalities of confession or \npenance ; it was purely and undisguisedly venal. The necessary con- \nsequences of this measure were sufficiently demoralizing; but \nthe evil was multiplied by the impostures of certain mendicants and \nothers, who traversed the country with forged indulgences, which \nthey bartered for their private profit. \n\nStill dissatisfied and determined to carry this lucrative mummery of \nthe jubilee to its utmost depth, and, as it were to fathom the supersti- \ntion of his age, Boniface communicated the privileges of the holy city \nto two towns in Germany, Cologne and Madgebourg ; and permitted \nthem also to hold their year of Jubilee after the fashion and example \nof^Rome. By this rash act he disparaged the super-eminent sanctity \nof the see of St. Peter, of the tombs of the apostles, and the relics o^ \nSO \n\n\n\n154 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nso many martyrs ! He called in question the exclusiveness of that \nglory, which was thought to encircle the throne of the Vicars of Christ! \nHe sacrificed, that which he least intended to sacrifice, even the tem- \nporal interests, even the pecuniary profits, which were ever closely \nconnected with the peculiar holiness of the apostolical city. But his \nimmediate greediness was gratified ; his collectors were present in both \nplaces to share the offerings of the faithful ; and when he perceived \nthat their fatuity was not exhausted, he extended the license still far- \nther, and accorded it to several insignificant places. At length the \npope became so prodigal of his indulgences, that he refused them to \nno one, provided he was paid for them , the effect of which was that \nthey grew into contempt.* \n\nThe university of Paris, exerted its influence for the re-union of the \nchurch, and an adjustment of existing difficulties. In a sermon de^ \nlivered before that body, it was declared that there were three meth- \nods, either of which would result in healing the schism \xe2\x80\x94 the method of \nsession \xe2\x80\x94 the method of compromise \xe2\x80\x94 and the method of a general \ncouncil. By the first the voluntary resignation of both competitors \nwas recommended in the presence of both colleges; these were then \nto proceed in conjunction to another election. By the second, the \nopposite claims might be referred to certain arbitrators appointed by \nboth parties, with the power of final decision. As to the third it was \nsuggested in case of its adoption, that the assembly should no longer \nconsist of prelates only, many of whom were ignorant and passionate^ \nly partial, but also several doctors in theology and law, members of the \nmost celebrated universities. The church, it was declared, was fal- \nlen into servitude, poverty and contempt. \n\nUnworthy and corrupt men, without the sense of justice or hones^ \nty, the servants of their intemperate passions, were comonly exalted \nto the prelacy; these plundered indifferently churches and monaste- \nries, whatever was profane or whatever was sacred ; and pressed the \ninferior ministers of religion with intolerable exactions. The domin- \nion of simony was universal ; benefices and cures were only confer- \n\n\n\n*The indulgence-mungers of Boniface IX. when they arrived in giriy city, saspended \nat their windows a flafj, with the arms of the pope and the keys of the church. Then \nthey prepared tables in the cathedral cliurch, by the side of the altar, covered with rich \ncloths, like bankers to receive the purchase money. They then informed the people of \nthe absolute power, with which the pope had invested them, to deliver souls from purga- \ntory, and give complete remission to all who bought thdir wares. If the G^^ioian clergy, \nexclaimed against this base traffic of .spiritual fayor\xc2\xabj they were excommunicated. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM.^ 165 \n\ned on those who had means to buy them ; while the poor and learned \n<?.andidate was hated the more for that very learnin,^, which made him \ndangerous to corruption. Not only were the dignities of the church \npublicly bartered ; not only were relics and crosses and the sacred \nvessels commonly exposed to sale ; but the very sacraments them- \nselves, those especially of ordination and penance, had their price in \ngold. \n\nA political circumstance occurred at this tim.e, which was favorable \nto the hopes of a union. A truce for four years was signed be- \ntween the kings of England and France, who were the most zealous \nsupporters of the opposite parties. At the same time the university of \nCologne, though it acknowled Boniface, and had probably profited by \nhis patronage, entered into a correspondence with that of Paris for \nthe extinction of the schism; and lastly, as if to place the result with- \nin the immediate reach of the pacificators, Clement VII. was so vio- \nlently affected by the proceedings at Paris, that he was struck with \napoplexy and died. \n\nAs soon as this intelligence reached Paris, the deputation from the \nuniversity petitioned the king, that he would cause the cardinals to \nsuspend the election, until some general measures should be taken to \ninsure the union; also that he would assemble his prelates and nobles \nand order processions and public prayers to the same end, through his \nkingdom. Accordingly a royal messenger was despatched toAvignon, \nto prevent the meeting of the college, and prepare it for a special em- \nbassy ; and on the success of this mission hung the hopes of Christen- \ndom. The envoy arrived at Avignon only ten days after the decease \nof Clement, but he found the cardinals already in conclave ; still as \nthe election was not yet made, he transmitted to them the letter of \nthe king; but the college, suspecting its contents, and determined at \nany risk to have a pope of their own creation, deferred the opening of \nthe letter, till their actual business should be accomplished. They \nthen hastened to a decision ; and Peter of Luna, cardinal of Arragon, \nwas raised by their unanimous voice to the divided throne. \n\nThey however, previously took a precaution, which was Kecessary \nfor their own credit, though there were few who expected any real \nadvantage from it. Before the election they drew up an act, by which \nthey solemnly engaged to labour for the extinction of the schism, and \nto give every aid to the future pope for that purpose. It was moreo- \nver specified, that if any one among themselves should be raised to \nthe pontificate, this act should be equally binding^ on him ; and that he \n\n\n\nU6 THEHiSTORYOF \n\nshould be prepared to cede his dignity, if his cardinals should judge it \nexpedient, for the concord of the church. They then took oaths on \nthe altar to observe this eng-agement. \n\nPeter of Luna, who assumed the name of Benedict XIII. had long \nbeen distinguished for ability and address ; he had discharged with \nvigor the offices entrusted to him ; but there was also an opinion res- \npecting him, which seems more than any other to have procured his \nelevation, and at first, to have reconciled all parties to it, which was \nthat he ardently desired the union of the church. Whik cardinal, he \nhad proclaimed this zeal on all occasions, even so far as to censure \nClement for the want of it ; and it was hoped it would burn with equal \nfervor under the pontifical robes. The university addressed to him \ncongratulations which were seemingly sincere, and Benedict XIII. re- \npaid them with the strongest protestations of good intentions. \n\nA grand council was then held at Paris, in which the method of \ncession again received the approbation of the great majority ; and it \nwas agreed that an embassy should be sent to Avignon, to treat with \nthe pope. The king added his authority, to give weight to this meas- \nure ; and the more certainly to secure its success, he sent his brother \nand both his uncles, the dukes of Burgundy, and Berri, to conduct the \nnegociation. Benedict received them with respect ; but when ihey \nopened the subject of their mission, and pressed the necessity of the \ncession, as the only road to concord, he found many reasons to urge \nagainst that particular method, as indeed against the oiher two, uhich \nhad occurred to the university. In the place of them he proposed a \nconference with his rival, at which he aflfected to believe that matters \nmight be accommodated. The embassadors persevered in their pro- \nposal ; and even the cardinals, on their strong solicitation, declared \nwith one exception, for the method of cession. Nevertheless Bene- \ndict, during several weeks of repeated conferences and debates, in- \nflexibly persisted in his recusal. At length, the illustrious mission re- \nturned to Paris, without any other result, than the discovery of Bene- \ndict\'s incincerity. \n\nAfter this failure, the king addressed himself very warmly to unite \nthe different courts and learned bodies of Europe in favor of the meth- \nod, which still seemed to promise the greatest hopes. Messengers \ntraversed the country in all directions, and every state and city in Eu- \nrope was agitated by the same momentous question. The specula- \ntions of the learned, and the projects of the powerful, were equally en- \ngroised by it ; and it seemed as if the fate of all governments, and the \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I I S M . i^ \n\nWelfare of all subjects depended on its solution. The university of \nParis, which took the foremost part in these discussions, and possess- \ned more influence than any^other learned body, openly expressed their \ndissatisfaction with Benedict, and threw out some menaces of a genera \nal council, in case of his farther contumacy. \n\nBenedict watched these proceedings with anxiety ; but the variety \nand discordance of the materials, which it was necessary to combine \nfor his destruction, gave him the confidence to persist ; upon which the \ndoctors of Paris advanced one degree towards more efficient meas- \nures; As Luna had unreservedly sworn to adopt the method of ces- \nsion, in case his cardinals should recommend it, and as he had unequiv- \nocally rejected it, little sympathy could be expected from any quarter \nwith a prelate, whose selfish opposition to the interests of religion, was \nmade more detestable, by an act of deliberate perjur3% The measure \nwas to draw up a strong exposition of Benedict\'s general delinquency, \nand of the particular grievancos of the complainants, and to appeal \nfrom his censures, whether past or future, to the future pope ; a step \nwhich opened the path for more vigorous proceedings. \n\nThe courts which acknowledged ths rival pope, made great exer- \ntions to bring him to the arrangement ; which to them seemed so rea- \nsonable, and to him so unreasonable. From Sicily to the extremities \nof Germany, assemblies were held and resolutions adopted ; and the \nvows and talents and energies of all meu were directed to the same \nobject ; consequently deputations and embassies were sent to Rome \nfrom all quarters. Boniface, at first, was contented to reply that he \nwas the true and only pope, and that universal obedience was due to \nhim ; but in the year 1398 when the emperor interfered more directly, \nand pressed the method of cession, he found it inexpedient to dissem- \nble ; and by the advice of his cardinals, he promised submission, pro- \nvided that the anti-pope of Avignon should also resign his claims. \nYet, even so guarded a concession alarmed the citizens of Rome ; they \ntrenibled lest their bishop and his prodigal court, and the train of his \ndependants, and expectants and sycophantSj shoud again be reduced \nto some foreign residence. That event at that moment would have \nbeen peculiarly affecting, since in two years, 1400, the second grand \nand general jubilee was to take place ; and the inhabitants had alrea- \ndy begun to make preparation * for the season of spoilation. Accord- \ningly, a body of the notables of the city waited on the pope, and pro- \nfessed towards him the most sincere and unprecedented affection; \nthey declared they would never desert him, but sustain with tliejr liv\xc2\xab* \n\n\n\n15y T li E H I S T R Y F \n\nand property, his holy cause. *My children,\' replied Boniface, *take \ncourage ! rest assured that I will continue to be pope ; and whatever \nI may say, or however I may play off the king of Fiance^ and the \nemperor against each other, I will never submit to their will.\' \n\nWhile such was the disposition of the Roman competitor, the court \nand university of Paris perceiving that a mere contest of acts and de- \nclarations would never w^eary the Pontiff of Avignon, proceeded to a \nmeasure of greater efficiency \xe2\x80\x94 one which no catholic nation had hith- \nerto dared to adopt against any pope. *By the aid and advice of the \nprinces and other nobles, and of the church of our kingdom, as well \nclergy as people, we entirely withdraw our obedience from pope Ben- \nedict XIII. as well as from his adversary, whom indeed we have nev- \ner acknowledged. And we ordain, that no one henceforward make \nany payment to pope Benedict, his collectors, or agents, from the ec- \nclesiastical revenues. We also prohibit our subjects from offering to \nhim any manner of obedience.\' Such v/as the substance of the royal \nproclamatiom ; and arrangements were at the same time made to de- \nprive the pope of the presentation to all benefices. This edict was re- \nceived with such general respect and submission, that (he domestics \nand chaplains of Benedict retired from their offices ; and even the car- \ndinals themselves, withdrew in a body from his court. But he noth- \ning moved, by that unanimity, was the moie foru^ard to assei-t, that he \nwas the true and genuine pope ; and that he would remain so, in des- \npite of king, duke or count ; and that he was prepared to renounce \nhis life rather than his dignity. \n\nRecourse was then had to the only method which gave any hope of \nsuccess. A military force was sent against Avignon ; and as the in- \nhabitants of the city declared their adherance to the king and the car- \ndinals, nothing remained in opposition to the royal will and the force \nof the nation, except the pontifical palace. But Benedict had secur- \ned some faithful mercenaries for his defence ; and an effectual block- \nade was thought sufficient for the objects of his enemies. Thus he \ncontinued a prisoner four years in his own residence, without any \nstrength to resist the means employed against him, or any disposition \nto yield to them. At length, the vigour of that powerful confedera- \ncy was dissipated by the persevering intrigues of one feeble individu- \nal, and the variety of interests and principles in the mass opposed to \nBenedict, led by slow degrees to disunion, which preserved him. \n\nThe first who betrayed his party was a Norman officer, Robinet de \nBraquem^nt, who throujfh the confidence reposed in him, and his con- \n\n) \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM , 159 \n\nstant access to the palace, found easy means of liberating the pope. \nIt was in March 1403, that the successor of St. Peter concealed his \napostolical sanctity underneath the disguise of a menial ; and, having \nthus eluded the penetration of his guards, took refuge in a small town \nnear Avin\'^non. As a pope was never wont to travel, unless preceded \nby the holy sacrament, Benedict carried out v/ith him a little box con- \ntaining the consecrated element ; and for the observance of that cus^ \ntorn he placed the box on his breast. \n\nAs soon as he found himself in safety, he caused his beard, which \nhe had nourished during his captivity, to be shaven ofi ; and recover- \ning with his freedom the consciousness of his dignity, he resumed the \nhabits and authority of a pope. No sooner was the circumstance of \nhis liberation made known, than several noble individuals rendered \nhim the accustomed homage. Immediately the college of cardinals \npassed over to him and sought reconciliation. The citizens of Aving- \nson eagerly tendered their offers of service. Benedict forgave their \ntruancy, and accepted the repentance of all. At the same time the \nparty in France, which for some time had been opposed to the sub- \ntraction of obedience, (to use the v/ords of ecclesiastical writers) and \nwhich had lately gained strength, now boldly declared its adhesion. \nThe king was privately induced to join it ; and notwithstanding the \nresistance of the more consistent supporters\'of ecclesiastical concord, \nit prevailed. By an edict of May 30, an entire and unequivocal restOr- \nration of obedience was enjoined ; thus after a partial interruption of \nabout five years, the tide of papacy resumed for a season, its accus- \nJtomed course. \n\nThe reason which was advanced by the king, to justify so complete \na change in his policy was, that the example of France had not been, \nfollowed by other nations ; and that while the pontifit\' of Avignon was \nconfined to his palace walls, the intruder at Rome was acquiring fresh \nstrength and confidence. \n\nWe shall now, briefly recur to the system of government which \nBoniface had adopted. It appears to have been directed by one prin^ \nciple only \xe2\x80\x94 to extract the largest sums possible, from the supersti^ \ntions of the people and the ambition of the clergy, and the folly and \ncredulity of both. During the first seven years of his pontificate, his \nproceedings were veiled by some show of decency, though a reluctant \nrespect which he paid to the virtues of some of the ancient cardinals. \nBut as these successively died, and were replaced by others of his own \ncreation and character, he broke out in the undisguised practice of si- \n\n\n\n160 THEHISTORYOF \n\nmony. This was the most copious and constant source of his gains ; \nbut when the simple sale of benefices proved insufficient for his demands \nhe had recourse to direct acts of fraud and robbery. In the distribu-? \ntion of graces and expectatives, the poorest candidates were invariably \nplaced at the bottom of the list ; but this was not sufficient, even the \npromises that had been made them, were frequently cancelled in fa- \nyor of some more wealthy competitor, to whose more recent patent \nan earlier day was affixed, with a clause of preference. The fluctu- \nating health and approaching decease of an opulent incumbent were \nwatched with impatient anxiety, and appointed couriers hastened to \nRome with the welcome intelligence. \n\nImmediately the benefice was in the market ; and it not uncom-^ \nmonly happened, that the same was sold as vacant, to several rivals, \neven under the same date. The ravages of a frightful pestilence con- \ntributed to fill the pontifical coffers ; and a benefice was sometimes \n\xc2\xabold in the course of a few weeks, to several successive candidates, of \nwhom more survived to take possession. At length, in the year 1401, \nthe pontiff proceeded so far, as to cancel, by a single act, nearly all \nthe graces, dispensations and expectatives which he had previously \ngranted, and to declare them wholly void \xe2\x80\x94 that he might enter afresh \nand without any restraint upon the task, which seemed almost to be \nterminated, and reap from the same exhausted soil a second crop of \nshame and iniquity. By such methods Boniface enriched himself, \nand impoverished the clergy ; and however we may abominate his ra- \npacity, we have little cause for sympathy with the sufferers ; many of \nwhom were influenced by the same passion, and were involved in the \n^ame simonical scandal with himself. \n\nFour years afterwards Boniface died,and his cardinals immediately en? \ntered into conclave, and elected a successor, nearly under the same \nconditions which had been accepted and violated by Benedict. He \nassumed the name of Innocent VII. but the two years of his imbecile \ngovernment produced no other changes than the secession of Genoa and \nPisa to the obedience of his rival. Both parties expressed equal de- \nsire for the extinction of schism ; both were equally insincere ; and \nthe attention of the courts of Christendom and the feelings of the pi- \nous friends of the church, were insulted by the recriminations of two \ngged hypocrites. Innocent died in 1406, and the Roman cardinals \nthen seriously deliberated on the expediency of deferring the new elec- \ntion, until some measures could be taken in concert with the college \n.at Avignon \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 161 \n\nfeut the fears of an interested populace contended with their wisdom \n\nand virtue ; they likewise dreaded the risks, which the temporal sov- \nereignity of the see must incur during the interregnam\xe2\x80\x94 their indecis- \nion terminated in a half-m_easure. They bound themselves by oath, \nthat whichsoever of them should be chosen, should hold himself in rea- \ndiness to resign, in case the concord of the church and the union of the \ntwo colleges should require it ; and that he should make public that \nthat was the condition of his election. This act having been assent- \ned to, with great solemnity, they cast their eyes upon a prelate, whose \nadvanced age, whose holy reputation, whose habitual integrity, whose \nardent love of the cliurch and regard for its best interests, placed him \nbeyond all suspicion of perjury. Angelo Corrario, a Venitian, the tit- \nular patriarch of Constantinople, Was the character which they sought. \nSeventy years of immaculate piety, by which he was endeared to the \nv/hole church, were a pledge for the extinction of any selfish passions, \nwhich at any time might have lurked in his bosom ; and the austerity \nof ?his devotion, which emulated the holiness of the ancient pontiffs, \nguaranteed the strict observance of his engagements. Accordingly, \non the instant of his election he eagerly ratified his covenant, and pro \nclaimed his intention to restore union to the church by any risk or sac- \nrifice. Should it be necessary to perform the journey on foot with his \nstaff in his hand, or to encounter the sea in the most wretched bark, \nhe vowed that he would still present himself at the place of confer- \nence. His declarations were received with joy and confidence, and it \nwas thought that the flock of Christ had at length obtained a faithful \nshepherd. \n\n31 \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. \n\nConference proposed beticeen the rival Pontiffs. \xe2\x80\x94 Defection of Gregory. \xe2\x80\x94 \nCouncil of Pisa. \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict and Gregory summoned to attend. \xe2\x80\x94 Holy \nsee declared vacant. \xe2\x80\x94 Election of Alexander V. \xe2\x80\x94 Fortunes of the An- \nti-Popes. \xe2\x80\x94 Balt\'azzar Cossa \xe2\x80\x94 succeeds Alexander as John XXIIL \xe2\x80\x94 - \nCouncil of Constance \xe2\x80\x94 Abdication of John \xe2\x80\x94 is arrested and imprison- \ned. \xe2\x80\x94 Gregory resigns. \xe2\x80\x94 Obstinacy of Benedict \xe2\x80\x94 is deserted and \nagain deposed. \xe2\x80\x94 Schism terminated by the election of J\\fartin V.-\xe2\x80\x94 \nDeath of Gregory and Alexander.\xe2\x80\x94 Liberation of John. \n\nAfter his restoration to liberty, the policy of Benedict had entirely \nchanged, all his original desire for the extinction of the schism appeared \nto be revived ; and he made overtures to that effect feoth to Boniface \nand Innocent, and when the new pope, who had assumed the name of \nGregory XII. addressed him on the subject, he renewed his usual \nprotestations. But they were no longer able to deceive either the court \nor the doctors of Paris: it was found, that however profuse in general \nprofessions, he invariably evaded the cession, whenever it was strong- \nly recommended to him ; and he was not the better loved for the fre- \nquent exaction of tenths and annates, to which his necessities even \nmore than his avarice obliged him. \n\nAt length, it was arranged, at a meeting of deputies of both parties, \nthat the long promised conference should be brought about ; and the \nplace selected for it was Savona. Some hopes were entertained from \nthis project, and it was pressed with earnestness both at Rome and \nAvignon. The time fixed was Michaelmas in the year 1407, and \nwhen it arrived, Benedict was found at the appointed city, full of his \ncustomary protestations. But where was Angelo Corrario, alias \nGregory XII. the sworn advocate of concord, the model of ancient \nhohnessl Every solicitation, to observe the direct obligation of his \noath had been urged upon him in vain. To the most operpowering \narguments he opposed the most contemptible pretexts. He was se- \ncretly determined to evade the conference ; and he did finally absent \nhimself. Then followed another interchange of accusations and pro- \ntestations, which had no other effect than to persuade men, that an un- \nderstanding secretly existed between the two pretenders, and that \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 163 \n\nthey had consph\'ed to cajole the world and retain their offices by their \ncommon perjury. \n\nWe shall not pursue the details of their elaborate duplicity. It is \nenough to mention leading facts. In the first place, in contempt of \none important clause of the oath taken in conclave, Gregory created \nfour new cardinals ; on which the others deserted his court and reti- \nred to Pisa, where they fixed their residence. In 1408, the king of \nFrance took measures to seize the person of Benedict; but that ac- \ncomplished politician, having retained a small fleet in his service on \nthe plea of personal security, set sail on the rumor of this danger, and \naiter a short cruise on the coast of Italy, found a safer refuge at Perpig- \nnan in Spain, for the Spaniards continued to adhere to their country- \nman in all his vicisitudes, and all his perfidy. At Perplgnan he assem- \nbled his bishops and held his councils, and awaited the termination of \nthe tempest. \n\nBut his cardinals remained in France; and perceiving that they \nwere abandoned, by their master they turned their attention to the \nextinction of the schism. To that end they negociated in perfect sin- \ncerity with the rival college at Pisa ; and the consequence was an im- \nmediate coalition, By this event the first substantial ground towards \nclosing the schism was gained. It was now ascertained, that the vol- \nuntary cession of either of the pretenders, under any conceivable cir- \ncumstances, was hopeless. The latest proof of that truth was the \nstrong^est ; since Angelo di Corrario, the most unblemished of man- \nkind, had chosen to stain his gray hairs with deliberate perjury, rather \nthan resign the possession \xe2\x80\x94 the short possession of a disturbed and \ndisputed dignity. No resource henceforward remained, except com- \npulsion; and the union of the colleges afforded the only prospect of \nthat result. Some difficulties v/ere still to be overcome, but the con- \nvocation of a general council promised to remove them. Accordingly, \nthe council was summoned to assemble at Pisa in March 1409. \n\nThe council of Pisa met under circumstances wholly different from \nany other similar assembly and proceeded to fulfil its object. The \nfirst step was to summon the pretenders to appear in person or by dep- \nuty, and on their non-appearance, to pronounce them contumacious. \nThe next, to trace the proofs of their insincerity and collusion, and to \nexpose their perjury. The next, to command the christian world to \nto withdraw its obedience from the one and the other. Then follow- \ned the sentence of condemnation ; and here we may pause to remark \nthat the prelate, who pronounced it, was the titular patriarch of Alex- \n\n\n\n164 THE HISTORY OF \n\nandria, supported on either hand by those of Antioch and Jerusalem. \nThe two schismatics, after a long enumeration of their crimes, were \ncut off from the church, and the holy see was declared vacant. Then \nthe cardinals after binding themselves by oath to continue the council \nafter the election, for the general purposes of church reform, entered \ninto conclave. They remained six days in deliberation ; and their \nchoice fell upon the cardinal of Milan, Peter of Candia, who took the \nname of Alexander V. \n\nPeter, native of Candia, a Yenitian subject, had risen from so low \nan origin, that he professed to retain no recollection of his parentage ; \ncircumstances which give him great advantage over his predecessors, \nsince it exempted him from nepotism.. One day as he was begging \nalms, while yet extremely young, an Italian monk took compassion \non him, and introduced him into his convent. From Candia, as he \ngave great promise of intellectual attainment, he w:as carried into Ita- \nly ; and thence for the gradual completion of his studies, to the uni- \nversities, first of Oxford and afterwards of Paris. There he acquired \ngreat theological reputation, and retained along with it a mild, liberal \nand convivial disposition. He was advanced in age when raised ta \nthe pontificate. \n\nAfter a few more sessions, in which a commission was appointed \nfor the correction of ecclesiastical abuses, the council was adjourned \nfor an interval of three years, until 1412. The authority of the coun- \ncil of Pisa was acknowledged by all the rational churches of Europe, \nexcepting Arragon, Castille, Bavaria, and Scotland; and Rome itself, \nby placing Alexander in the fist of its genuine bishops, offered it \nthe same acknowledgment. Its proceedings were conducted without \nany reproach of irregularity or dissension, and it dispersed under the \nauspices of a legitiniate pope. \n\nInstead of submitting to the decission of this council, the rival anti- \npopes clung to the fragments of their fortunes with the same attach- \nment, which had bound them to prosperity ; and the more generally it \nwas admitted that both were in fact pretenders, the more violently each \nproclaimed himself to be the genuine pope. Benedict could still boast \nof the obedience of Spain ; but this was a narrow field to content the \nambition of the successor of the Gregories and the Innocents. But \nthe reverses of his rival were even more remarkable. He escaped \ncaptivity by traversing the ambush of his eneniies in the disguise of a \nmerchant, while his chamberlain, who resembled him in person, and \nhad assumed his robes, was taken in his place, and subjected to some \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 165 \n\nBeverity of treatment. Having in such disguise escaped to two gal- \nlies that awaited him, and conveyed him to Gaieta, he then reclaimed \nhis dignity, and imitated with his scanty train of courtiers, the pomp of \nthe imperial city. He was protected by Ladislaus ; neither Germa- \nny nor Hungary had yet nominally withdrawn their obedience. But \nhe was poor, arxd as he had no patronage, he had no resources ; and \nhis few followers continued to adhere to him through fear of the king \nof Naples, rather than from any attachment either to his person or hia \ncause. \n\nAlexander V. the feebleness of whose character made him liable to \nthe influence of any more vigorous spirit, fell almost entirely under the \nguidance of a Neapohtan, named Baltazar Cossa, legate at Bologna, \nThis extraordinary person by birth a nobleman, by habit and inclina- \ntion a soldier, by profession a churchman, and in rank a cardinal, was \none of the boldest champions of the council of Pisa. When it appear- \ned that the possession of Rome could only be recovered from La- \ndislaus, by m.ilitary measures, Baltazar undertook to conduct an \nexpedition for mat purpose. The Roman people acknowledg- \ned the authority of Alexander, and sent to him a deputation \nwith the keys of the city. The pope was then at Bologna. He re- \nceived the envoys with magnificence ; expressed his pleasure at their \nemancipation from the seductions of Angelo Corrariof; and in respect \nto the desire which they testified, to have their pope among them, and \nto receive the jubilee, he appointed the year 1413 for that solemnity. \nThis circumstance is worthy of attention, as it shows how unblushing-t \nly the Romans at that time avowed the real motive of their attachment \nto the vicar of Christ ; and how basely a pope, who could not plea4 \neither poverty or weakness, pandered to their cupidity. But Alexan- \nder V. was not destined to witness the execution of his decree, nor \neven to receive the venal applauses of his people. He died at Bolog-< \nna the year after his election, and the cardinals, after a short delibera- \ntion appointed Baltazar Cossa in his place. \n\nThe world was surprised at this election ; for though he possessed \ngood natural talants, and a rapid decision in matters of business and \nother temporal concerns, Baltazar was of a violent temiper, and rcr \nmarkable for the licentiousness of his morals ; his demeanor and man- \nners corresponded with his reputation ; and the military air which \nso little became the habit of the cardinal, seemed wholly to disqualify \nhim for the the chair of St. Peter. On the other hand, his fearless \n\n\n\n166 THEHISTORYOF \n\ncharacter gave promise of that vigor, which vi^as now required for the \nrestoration of the church, and it was hoped, that if he did not awake \nto the spiritual duties of his station, he would at least, consent to ob- \nserve its decencies. \n\nJohn XXIIL the title assumed by Baltazar, did not at first deceive \neither of those expectations ; his manners were softened on his eleva- \ntion, and his morals ostensibly amended ; and he framed his political \narrangements so well, that the king of Naples declared in his favor. \nThen Gregory, for the second time an exile, embarked his person and \nhis suite in two trading vessels, and sought almost the only spot in \nEurope, which continued to obey him. Charles Malatesta, opened to \nhim the gates of Rimini ; and there, with the three cardinals who still \nfollowed him, he had space to deplore the weakness, through which \nhe had exchanged a holy reputation and dignified independence, for \nbanishment, insecurity and infamy. \n\nThe death of the emperor at this time opened an occasion to the \npope to recommend Sigismund as successor ; and as Sigismund was \nactually chosen, a friendly intercourse was immediately established \nbetween the two parties. The still disturbed condition of the church, \nand the abuses which universally prevailed, demanded their cordial \nco-operation ; and in this at least, they agreed that a general council \nwas the only remaining remedy, and that no time should be lost in \nconvoking it. On the dissolution of that of Pisa, it was arrranged \nthat another should be called after three years. Accordingly John \nhad summoned the prelates to Rome at the appointed time ; but so \nfew presented themselves, that it was not judged expedient to proceed \nio any important enactments. \n\nThe place which was now selected for a more efficient meeting, \nwas the city of Constance in Switzerland. Much depended on that \nselection. Much depended on the local influence which might be ex- \nercised, and which would ajfifect the deliberations of that body. Con- \nstance was under the direct control of Sigismund ; and the pope fore- \nsaw some of the consequences of that arrangement, and consented to \nit with extreme reluctance. He felt a much stronger inclination to \nniarch in arms for the recovery of his capital, which the death of Lad- \nislaus had again opened to him, than to condnct the peaceful procession \nof his cardinals toward the appointed city. Nevertheless his outward \nconduct betrayed no disposition to recede, whatever might have been \nhis private wishes or secret intriegues; and having fixed the first of \n\n\n\nHOMAN CATHOLICISM* 167 \n\nNovember 1414, for the opening of the council; he was present for \nthe performance of his duties on that day. \n\nAs the council lasted nearly four years, the number of its members \nand their attendants must have greatly fluctuated ; but if it be true, \nthat at certain times not less than thirty thousand horses were main- \ntained for its use, we may conceive the splendor as well as magnitude \nof the assemblage. It was divided into four sections, following the \ngrand national divisions of Europe; and all the members were arran- \nged under the banners of Italy, of France, of Germany or of England. \nMost of the leading ecclesiastics of Europe were present ; but the \ngreater portion of eminent laymen v/ho thronged to Constance, dis- \ntinguished that council more than any other circumstance, from all \nthat preceded it. Its professed objects were the extinction of the. \nschism and the reformation of the church. \n\nThe politics of Europe were at that time so fluctuating and faith- \nless, that the slightest circumstance of national interest, or of personal \ncaprice or jealousy, might at any moment, have transferred the obedi- \nence of a kingdom, or restored to Gregory or Benedict the adhesion \nof a powerful party ; so that there seemed no possible security for the \nconcord of the church, until the two schismatics should be deprived \nof the faintest shadow of authority. Hence it was that all parties \nwere anxious to attend to this subject, and to complete the work \nwhich had been so far advanced at Pisa. \n\nBut here at the very outset, a difficulty arose of the most essential \nimportance, as to the manner of attaining that end. The present as- \nsembly approached that subject, under dissimilar circumstances froni \nthose which guided the former. At Pisa, the impossibility of deciding \nbetween the two claimants having been admitted, neither of them was; \nrecognised by the\'council. The fathers, indeed, were personally divided \nin their obedience ; but as a single legislative body they acknowledg- \ned neither Luna nor Angelo Corrario. Thus their course was obvi- \nous ; to declare the see vacant, and then to proceed to a canonical \nelection. But the council of Constance being held in continuation of \nthat of Pisa, being bound by its decisions and resting on its validity, \nadmitted of necessity the rights of John XXIII. and whatsoever course \nits deliberations might take, it had to deal with a pope of undisputed \nlegitimacy. For though some feeble murmurs would be raised at Ri- \nmini, and Perhignan, Constance was not the place for them to find \nan echo. \n\nUnder these circumstances the council met, and soon afterwards \n\n\n\n168 T H E H I S T O R \xc2\xa5 F \n\nJohn caused his own preposition to be laid before it. It was simply \nthis \xe2\x80\x94 that the fathers should, first of all things, confirm all the acts of \nthe council of Pisa ; that they should next deliberate on the best means \nof carrying them into effect; and lastly enter upon their labors for \nthe reformation of the church. In this paper the pope merely called \non the fathers to declare, publicly, what they never for a moment dis^ \nputed; the legality of that council, from which he derived his authority; \nand if that declaration were once made, he felt assured, that there \ncould be no other method of proceeding, against two denounced anti- \npopes, than by arming the real pope with additional authority to crush \nthem. It was very naturul that John should take this view of the sub- \nject ; indeed, as far as the strict justice of the question is concerned, \nit was the correct view ; and assuredly the difference between a pope \nand a schismatic was sufficiently broad, to be made ground for decided \naction vv^ith an assembly of Roman Catholic ecclesiastics. \n\nNevertheless, there were many, and some of the most celebrated of \nthe doctors of the age were among them, who considered the subject \nin a widely different light. These maintained, that as the council of \nConstance was a continuation of that of Pisa, it was steadily bound to \npursue the same object, that this object had been the extinction of \nthe schism, and that it was so still ; and that a solemn obligation rest^ \ned on all the prelates present, even on the pope himself, to adopt \nwhatever means should appear most efficacious for that purpose. It \nwas obvious that the method of cession would be brought forward as \nthe only healing measure ; and that the true pope would be called up- \non for the same humiliation, and prebably subjected to the same com^ \npulsion, with the two anathematised pretenders. \n\nDuring these deliberations there were some who judged from the \ncustomary tenacity of other Popes, that still further measures might \nafterwards be called for. In that apprehension, a long list of personal \ncharges against John XXIII. some of which involved the most abomi- \nnable offences, was handed about among the fathers ; and a copy \ncame under the inspection of the pope himself. John then saw the \nreal nature of the tempest that was hanging over him, and determin- \ned to avert it by a timely submission. He expressed that intention, \namidst the acclamations of the whole assembly ; and after some unim- \nportant dispute respecting the formula of cession, he publicly pro- \nnounced his solemn and voluntary abdication. \n\nThe cession of John was conditional on that of the anti-popes ; \nand as no difficulties were any longer offered by Gregory, the accom= \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 169" \n\nplishment of the union, rested wholly with Peter of Luna. To this \nend a conference was proposed at Nice, betweeen Sigismund and the \nKing of Arragon ; and as Benedict was to be one of the parties, John \nalso claimed his right to be president on the occasion. This demand \nexcited some suspicions of his sincerity ; and these were confirmed \nby a proposal, which he soon afterwards made, to transfer the Coun- \ncil from Constance to Nice. It was difficult, after the instances of \npontifical duplicity which had disgraced the last forty years, to put \ntrust in the honesty of any pope ; and the character of John was not \nsuch as to demand any peculiar confidence. Consequently, the coun- \ncil required of him a formal deed or procuration of cession ; and he, \nwithout hesitation, refused it. Guards were then placed about the \ngates of the city; but on the urgent remonstrance of the pope, remov- \ned. Whether he had previously meditated an escape from the power \nof the council, as soon as it proved too great for him, or whether he \nwas driven to that resolution by the distrust and harshness with which \nhe was treated ; it is certain that on the morning of March 21st, the \nemperor and the fathers learned with dismay and astonishment, that \nthe pope was no longer at Constance. He had left the city in the \nnight in a military disguise ; and had descended the Rhine as far as \nSchafFhausen, a city of his protector, Frederic. \n\nThe consternaiion of the council was somewhat abated, by a com- \nmunication received from John on the following day, in ^vhich he re- \nnewed his assurances of sincerity, and justified his retreat from Con- \nstance by the argument, that his personal security was necessary to \ngive obligation to the promise of cession ; and in consequence he was \njoined by several cardinals and other prelates. But the great majori- \nty remained behind, in close co-operation with the emperor, and both \nthey and he engaged in the most rigorous measures. On the one hand \nSigismund put in motion the temporal forces of the assem.bly, and di- \nrected a powerful army against the states of Frederic, and on the \nother, the fathers of the council and the doctors of Paris, with Gerson \nat their head, advanced in mighty spiritual array against the pontifical \ndeserter, and while the imperial soldiers apptoached the walls of \n. Schaff hausen, the bulwarks of popery were assaulted from the pulpits \nof Constance. \n\nThe momentous question was now publicly argued, whether a coun- \ncil general of the church, did not possess an authority superior to the \npope. The rights of the council were advocated by the eloquence of \nGerson, and asserted by the general consent of the fathers of Con- \n22 \n\n\n\n170 THEHISTORYOF \n\nstance. The opposite opinion v/as maintained by the seceders of \nSchafFhausen ; these even ventured to assert that the council itself vv^as \nvirtually dissolved by the absence of the pope. A decidedbreach now \ntook place between the two parties ; but after some vain replications \nand negociations, it became perfectly clear on which side the real \nstrength lay. The court of SchafFhausen daily diminished, and the \ncouncil proceeded by vigorous acts to give efficacy to the principles of \nits own superiority. Nevertheless the pope would not acknowledge \nhis defeat, but rather determined to risk the experiment by another \nflight ; intending to throw himself on the protection of the duke of \nBurgundy, and establish his residence at Avignon. He halted at \nBrisac, and a deputation from the council found him there ; he fixed \nthe following morning to give them audience, but on the following \nmorning John XXIII. was no longer found at Brisac. During the \nprogress of the negociations that followed, the duke of Austria pre- \nvailed on the pdpe to take refuge at Fribourg, under his own sacred \nprotection \xe2\x80\x94 for the duke, being severely pressed in his conflict with \nthe emperor, and foreseeing his entire discomfeiture, was desirous to \npossess the means of reconciliation. Having succeeded in this desire \nhe hastened to violate his vows, and to sacrifice his virtue and reputa- \ntion, by surrendering the person of his guest. And thus the unfortu- \nnate pope, who, disorderly and licentious as he was, failed not to be \nan object of great compassion, through the treachery practiced against \nhim by his protector, was betrayed, and found himself a prisoner in \nthe castle of Fribouv, the very place where he had thought to find an \nasylum. \n\nThe council then turned to the affair of his deposition observing in \nthis matter the same forms which had been followed at Pisa, in the \nprocess against Gregory and Benedict. The list of accusations pre- \nsented against John XXIII, consisted of fifty articles ; but the whole \nweight of his offences might be composed under five or six heads. He \nwas charged with all the various modifications of simony ; with squan- \ndering and alienating the property of the church ; and of oppressing \nthe people by unjust acts and exhorbitant imposts. His escape from \nConstance, and his subsequent endeavours to elude the demands of \nthe council, were urged against him with the greater minuteness, as \nthey were the most recent, and the least pardonable of his offences. \n\nIt was asserted that as pope, he had disregarded the divine offices, \nneglected to repeat his breviary, and rarely assisted at the celebration \nof mass ; and that when he did so, he recited the service rapidly \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 171 \n\nand carelessly, like a sportsman or a soldier. It was added, that the had \nwholly disregarded the fasts and abstinences of the church. As to the \nscandals of his private life, they were traced from his childhood to his \nflight from Constance. In his earliest youth, the intemperance of his \ndisposition betrayed itself; his most innocent years were charged with \nfalsehood, impudence, disobedience to his parents, and a tendency to \nevery vice. His progress in life was a progress in iniquity. Murder \nby violence and poison, and the most abominable impurities were im- \nputed to him as unquestioned and notorious. \n\nWhen the paper, which had received the approbation of the coun- \ncil, and which contained many of these charges, was presented to the \npope for his inspection and refutation, he calmly replied, with the most \nsubmissive respect for the council, that he had little curiosity to read \neither the charges or the depositions ; but that of this the fathers \nmight rest assured, that he should receive their decision, whatever it \nmight be with perfect deference ; and that his best defence was in their \njustice. This was politic, for from the moment in which the council \ndetermined upon the method of cession, John clearly perceived that \nthe pontificate had passed from his hands. For a time, indeed, he ho- \nped, through the support of the dukes of Austria and Burgundy, to \nretain a partial obedience and wear a divided mitre ; but no sooner \ndid he become the prisoner of the council, than that hope abandoned \nhim ; and his only remaining object was to secure in a private station, \nhis personal freedom and security. He accordingly addressed a re- \nspectful and even pathetic letter to Sigismund, in which he reminded \nhim oi services formerly conferred, and supplicated in return his friend- \nship, or at least his clemency. This appeal was written in a tone of \ndeep humiliation, and with an affectation of attachment, which could \nhardly be sincere. But neither emperor nor council was softened by \nthis display of obsequiousness. At a full session held on the 29th of \nMay, John XXHI. was solemnly deposed from the pontificate. By \nthe same sentence he was condemned to imprisonment during the \npleasure of the council, which reserved to itself the power of impos- \ning such o;her penalties as should, in due season, be declared. \n\nThis sentence was communicated to John in his confinement at his \nCell ; he perused it without any emotion, and requested a short inter* \nval of solitude. After two hours he ordered the deputies again into \nhis presence ; then after reading all the articles in succession, with a \nfirm voice and unruffled manner, he declared to them that there was \nno particular, which did not receive his complete approbation ; and \n\n\n\n172 TH E H IS T RY F \n\nthat so far as in him lay, he cordially confirmed and ratified the sen- \ntence. To this assurance he added a voluntary vow, that he would \nnever at any time protest against that sentence, nor make any attempt \nto recover the pontificate \xe2\x80\x94 that on the contrary, he renounced purely \nand simply, and from the bottom of his heart, any right which he ever \nhad, or might still have, to that dignity ; that in proof of this, he had \nalready removed from his chamber the pontifical cross, and would \nthrow off the pontifical garments as wilhngly, as if he had others to put \non in their place ; that he wished with all his soul that he had never \nbeen pope at all, since he had not enjoyed one single happy day since \nhis exaltation ; and so far was he from wishing to be restored to the \npontificate that should his re-election be desired, he would never consent \nto it. He then threw himself, with his former humility on the mercy \nof the emperor and council \xe2\x80\x94 not, however, without reminding them, \nthat he possessed legitimate means of defence, of which he had not \nyet availed himself, but to which he should certainly appeal, should \nthey drive him by more rigorous measures, to further extremities. \n\nThis conduct which was not only politic, but generous, succeeded \nnot in obtaining for him any mitigation of his sentence. He was led \naway in close confinement, first to Heidelburg, and afterwards to \nManheim, where he was imprisoned for three years. \n\nIn the mean time, the council advanced onwards m the course which \nit had chosen. It had now assumed the despotic control of the church \nand in its first exercise of that power it published a declaration that the \ncardinals could not proceed to a new election without its consent. By \nhis next decision, the formalities attending the cession of Gregory were \nfully completed, and the old man was permitted to resign, what no one \nacknowledged him to possess. The attention of the council and the \nwhole catholic world was then turned towards the determination of \nPeter of Luna. His determination was simply this; to cling to the \nruins of his fortunes ; to clasp the name and shadow of the pontifi- \ncate ; to persevere in his pretensions and his perjury to the end of his \nlife. Nevertheless, it was necessary to treat him with temper, and de- \nference, as long as he was supported by a single prince. \n\nWhether it was in the conscientious belief that he was the true pope \nhe considered it a refigious or ecclesiastical duty, to preserve his of- \nfice to the end of his life ; or whether the love of power grew with \nthe progress of nis years, and the decay of his vigiour, so as finally to \nclose his heart against any representations of reason or decency\xe2\x80\x94 he \nmaintained his constant resolution inflexibly. As he had always been \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 173 \n\nthe legitimate, so was he now the only pontiff; the deposition of both \nadversaries confirmed him, without competition, in the possession of \nthe see. And, he continued, if the schism were still permitted to sub- \nsist, the scandal must rest with the council of Constance, not with \nhim. For his part, he was determined never to abandon the bark of \nSt. Peter, of which the helm had been confided to him, by God ; and \nthe older he became, and the nearer he approached to death and judg- \nment, the stronger was his obligation to resist the tempest, and avert \nthe anger of Heaven by persevering in the course assigned him. In \nconclusion, he enforced the necessity of at once uniting ail the faithful, \nin obedience to himself Benedict was now in his seventy eighth year; \nnevertheless, he argued his own cause before a public assembly for se- \nven hours, with such courage, fervor, and impetuosity, as to leave it \nuncertain whether his extraordinary energy was derived from ambition \nor fanaticism, or from a strange combination of both. \n\nBenedict perceiving the firmness of his adversaries, and fearing their \nultimate design, withdrew from Perpignan. He retired to a place \ncalled Paniscola, a fortress situated near Tortosa and the mouth of the \nEbro, an ancient possession of the house of Luna. Four cardinals, \nand a small body of soldiers followed him. \n\nAny hopes which he may have derived from this proceeding, beyond \nthat of personal security, were disappointed. The assembly at Per- \npignan, being now relived from the constraint which his presence \noccasioned to those who still acknowledged him, immediately, by \na formal act renounced its obedience. Soon after, Scotland, which \nhad taken no part in these measures, but continued to adhere to its \nfirst decision, being persuaded that Benedict was the only remaining \nobstacle to the general concord, followed the example of the confer- \nence. And then, the council of Constance felt itself empowered to \ninflict the final blow. The sentence of deposition was pronounced \nagainst Peter of Luna, according to the prescribed forms ; and the \nbolt, which had fallen almost harmless from the assembly of Pisa, de- \nscended on this occasion with greater efficacy, because its object \nwas already virtually deposed, through the secession of his royal ad- \nherents. \n\nIn the mean tim ), the aged ecclesiastic, against whom the storm be \nhad raised, was injustice directed, was not moved to any act of con- \ncession, or any show of humiliation. Twice deposed by two general \ncouncils \xe2\x80\x94 twice anathematised by the almost unanimous consent of \nthe church \xe2\x80\x94 deserted by the secular powers, who had so long^ counte- \n\n\n\n174 THE HISTORY OF \n\nnanced his perfidy and protected hi^ adversity, abandoned by the most \nvenerable of his spiritual followers and conlined to a narrow and soli- \ntary residence, the pope of Paniscola still preserved the mockery of a \ncourt, and presided in his empty council-hall From thence, in the \nmagnanmity of disappointment and despair, he launched his daily an- \nathema against Ferdinand of Arragon, and retorted the excommu- \nnication of the Christian world. \n\nThe council of Constance, having thus removed the three competi- \ntors, whose disputes had rent the church, proceeded to provide for its \nfuture integrity ; and, that no pretext might possibly be left for subse- \nquent dissensions it was determined, for this occasion only, to make \nan addition to the election assembly. The college of the cardinals \nconsisted of thirty members ; and to this body a second, consisting of \nsix ecclesiastics from each of the five nations, was associated. It was \nregulated that the consent of two thirds both of the sacred college and \nof the deputies of each nation should be required for the validity of the \nelection ; so many were the interests which it was necessary to re- \nconcile, so severe were the precautions required, to secure for the fu- \nture pontiff the undivided obedience of Europe. Accordingly, on the \n8th of November 1417, the electors entered into conclave, and after a \ndel)beration of three days, they agreed in the choice of Otho Colonna, \na noble and virtuous Roman, who assumed the name of Martin V. \nThe character of Martin pointed him out as the man destined to repair \nthe ruins of the church- The announcement was received with en- \nthusiastic expressions of delight ; the emperor was the first to pros- \ntrate himseli" at the holy prehites feet, in a transport of rapture, which \nwas shared or affected by the vast assembly present. \n\nThe council continued its sessions for a few months after the elec- \ntion of Martin, and was then dismissed, or rather adjourned five years. \nPavia was the place appointed for its next meeting ; and the Pope \nproceeded towards Rome, to occupy and refit his shattered vessel. \nWith whatever security he may have approached his see, he must, \nsometimes have reflected, that there still lived three men, who had en- \njoyed the dignity which he now held, and who had clung to it with \nextreme pertinacity. It was fair to presume that their ambition \nwould not depart from them, but with life ; and that any casual cir- \ncumstance, which might offer to any one of thom the means of recov- \nering any portion of his power, would find him eager to embrace it. \nSo long as they lived, the concord of the church could hardly be \ndeemed secure ; let us then follow their history to its termination. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM 176 \n\nGregory did not long survive the act of his cession; he lived long \nenough to emerge from the condition of dishonor and guilt, into which \nhis weakness had throv/n him. \n\nPeter of Luna continued for about six years to proclaim his legiti- \nmacy, and exult in his martyrdom. Every day the walls of Paniscola \nechoed the repetition of his anathemas, but the bolts did not, in any \ndegree, disturb the repose of Christendom. He died suddenly, in the \nyear 1424, in extreme old age; but his vigor, v/hich was still fresh \nand unabated gave some suspicion of poison as the cause of his death. \nWhen he perceived his final hour approaching, he commanded the at- \ntention of his two cardinals, the faithful remnant of his court, and at \nthis last crisis, when ambition and interest could not sway him longer, \nhe asserted with his parting breath, that he was the true and only pope, \nand that it was essential for the purity of the church to continue the \nsuccession. He enjoined his two hearers, on pain of his pontifical \nmalediction, to elect a successor and after having secured their obedi- \nence he died. It is related that six years after, when his body was re- \nmoved to Inglura, a town of Arragon, the property ol his famnly, it \nwas found entire and without any symptom of decay, and that it long \ncontinued, and perhaps may still continue to resist the visitation of \ncorruption. \n\nThe two cardinals obeyed, the parting injunction of their master,. \nand chose for his successor, one Gilles Mugnos, who called himself \nClement VIII. Not long afterwards, Alphonso finally withdrew his \nprotection from his creature , Mugnos retired, without a struggle \nto his former obscurity; and the succession of pretenders which had \nbeen imposed on the church by the conclave at Anagni, was at an end,. \n\nOne other object of our curiosity still remains, Baltazar Cossa, the \npresident, the adversary, and the victim of the council of Constance. \nSoon after the dissolution of that assembly, the republic of Florence \nwhich had been unceasingly attached to the cause, or to the person \nand sufferings of the captive, earnestly solicited his liberation from \nMartin V. and soon afterwards through the policy or generosity of \nthe pope, Baltazar was restored to liberty. \n\nHe returned to Italy, and presented himself as a simple ecclesiastic \namong his former associates and dependants. His popular qualities \nhad secured him many adherents, and their affection was not shaken \nby adversity. In some places he was welcomed with cordial saluta- \ntions, but Parma was the principal scene of his triumph and tempta- \ntion; for there he found a powerful party prepared to receive his abar- \n\n\n\n176 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nogated claims to the chair. They pressed him to resume his dignity \nand their solicitations were seconded by several individuals who had \ntasted his former bounty, or had hopes from his future gratitude ; all \njoined in protesting against the violence which he suffered at Con- \nstance, and conjured him once more to array himself in the pontifical \nvestments, which were rightfully his own. Baltazar patiently listened \nto the council and seductions of his friends; and without returning \nany answer he suddenly took his resolution. He departed from the \ncity hastily, and without any attendants ; and proceeded to Florence* \nwhere the pope then resided, in the garb of a fugitive and a suppliant. \nWithout requiring any formal security for his person, he immediately \nsought for Martin, and in the presence of a full assembly cast himself \nhumbly at his feet; and while he recognised him with due reverence \nas the legitimate Vicar of Christ, he repeated his solemn ratification of \nthe acts of the council, and of his own deposition. \n\nThose who v/itnessed this spectacle, were affected to tears ; for \nthey beheld the man, in whose presence all had once been prostrate, \nnow voluntarily humbling himself before the throne which he had so \nlately occupied, and before an individual who had honored him for \nnearly five years as lord and pontiff. Martin V. shared the general \nemotion, and the reciprocal conduct of these prelates furnished an in- \nstance of magnanimous genercshy, v/hich too larely illustrates the an- \nnals of the church. The pope resolved to exalt his predecessor, as \nnear to his former dignity, as was consistent with his own supremacy. \nBaltazar Cossa was appointed cardinal and dean of the sacred col- \nlegs ; in all public ceremonies Baltazar was placed by the side of the \npontiff, on a loftier seat than any other ecclesiastic, he was honored by \nthe confidence of his master, and he repaid it with undeviating fidel- \nity. \n\nThat fidelity may have cost him no struggle ; and if we believe his \nformer declaration, that from the moment of his devotion to the \nchair he had never enjoyed one day of happiness, the most enviable \nportion of his life may have been that, in which he was followed by \ngeneral commiseration. But whether he passed his remaining days \nin successful conflict with a povverful passion, or whether he surveyed \nwith phlosophical disdain the dignhy of which he had felt the cares, \nand had not valued the vanities ; in either case he exhibited a vigor \nand expanse of mind, which is rarely found in man. The usual por- \ntraits of John XXIII. would not prepare us to expect such virtue in \nhim. But that Pope has been too harshly treated by historians. His \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 177 \n\nenemies have, in all ages, been the powerful party ; and the monstrous \nimputations which originated at Constance, have been too eagerly re- \npeated by most writers. Baltazar Cossa was a mere soldier ; deeply \nstained, no doubt, with the loose immorality which then commonly \nwas attached to that profession, but not destitute of candid and manly \nresolution, nor of those worldly principles, which make men honora- \nble. It is unquestionable, that he was never actuated, even in appear- \nance, by any sense of religion ; that he was wholly disqualified even \nfor the lowest ministry in the church; but he lived in an age, when \nthe ecclesiastical and military character were deemed consistent, and \nin a church, which had long permitted the most dissolute demeanor to \nits directors. \n\n23 \n\n\n\nC H A P T E R X I 1 1 . \n\nReforms proposed by the council of Constan\'ce. \xe2\x80\x94 Heresy of Wickliff. \xe2\x80\x94 \nSketch of his life and opinions. \xe2\x80\x94 Anathematised by the Pope. \xe2\x80\x94 Bo- \nhemia infected. \xe2\x80\x94 John Huss \xe2\x80\x94 suAmnoned to attend the council \xe2\x80\x94 is tri- \ned and executed for heresy. \xe2\x80\x94 Jerome of Prague \xe2\x80\x94 arrested and burn- \ned for the same offence.\xe2\x80\x94 Revolt of the Bohemians. \xe2\x80\x94 Exploits and \ndeath of Zisca. \xe2\x80\x94 Divisions and reduction of the Bohemians. \xe2\x80\x94 Bo- \nhemian Brothers. \n\nHowever much we may applaud the projects of reform which origi- \nnated with the councils of Constance and Basle it is certain that the \ngeneral principles by which those bodies were guided, were in no res- \npect, more tolerant and enlarged, than those which characterised the \nVatican. The council of Constance, after investing itself with all the \nspiritual attributes, and authority of the church, immediately put forth \nits claims to new powers, and drew like the popes whom it superse- \nded, the temporal sword. The Holy Fathers, it will be recollected, had \nmet for the ostensible object of reforming the church. Reform, was \nthe watchword perpetually on their lips, and some of the acknowledg- \ned corruptions of their own system v,^ere denounced with unsparing \nvehemence. In the midst of them were two men of learning, genius \nand piety, who had entrusted their personal safety with the council, \xe2\x80\x94 \nJohn Huss and Jerome of Prague; and these two were reformers. But \nit happened that they had taken a different view of the condition and ex- \nigencies of the church from their boisterous but inactive cotemporaries; \nand while the boldest projects of the wisest among the orthodox re- \nformers, were confined to matters of patronage, discipline, and cere- \nmony, the Bohemians contemplated a deeper and more radical reform \nand disputed, if not the doctrinal purity, at least the spiritual omnipo- \ntence of the church of Rome. Those daringlnnovators had crossed \nthe line which separated reformation from heresy, and as will be seen \nin the sequel, received the recompense which in that age of religious \ndarkness. Papal intolerance, meted out, to every independent lover \nof christian purity and simplicity. Before entering upon the tragical \nhistory of these illustrious reformers, it will not be improper to turn \nback to the origin of the heresies imputed to them. \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 179 \n\nAmong the number of these who lifted up their voices most success- \niully against the impurities, and false pretensions of the Roman \nchurch, anterior to the reformation commenced by Lather, the name \nof Wickliff stands preeminently conspicuous. This individual, was \nborn in Yorkshire, about the year 1324. He received his education \nat Oxford, and the great proficiency which he made in the learning of \nthe schools, did not prevent him from acquiring and deserving the \ntitle of evangelical or gospel Doctor. In early life his zeal and inde- \npendence of character were exhibited by a bold attack on the corrup- \ntions of the clergy, and in a contest with the mendicants which in \n1360, disturbed the university and the church. He attained the theo- \nlogical chair in 1372^ and had previously defended the cause of the \ncrown against the Pope, respecting the payment of the tribute imposed \nby Innocent ill. and was known to harbor many anti-papal opinions; \nbut he was not com.mitted in direct opposition to the court of \nRome. Soon afterwards he was a member of an embassy to Avig- \nnon, instructed to represent and remove the grievances of the English \nchurch. It was not until his return from that mission when his mind \nhad become heated with indignation, at the near spectacle of pontifi- \ncal impurity, and the universal corruption of the clergy, and monas- \ntic orders, that the reformer first incurred the displeasure of the An- \nglican hierarchy. He was cited before a convocation held at St. \nPaul\'s in 1377, and it seems probable that his protection was owing \nentirely to the friendship of the Duke of Lancaster. Threats of ven- \ngeance were immediately thundered forth from the Vatican, and the \nheresy of Wickliff was compared to that of Marsilias of Padua, and \nothers, who had been sheltered from papal tyranny by imperial patron- \nage. This bull, however, was so little regarded at Oxford, that it was \neven made a question whether it should not be ignominiously rejected; \nand when the offender was subsequently summoned to Lambeth, he \nwas dismissed with the simple injunction to abstain from diffusing his \nopinions. Still the pope and his minions continued eager and con- \nstant in the pursuit, and there are m^any who believe that it was the \ntimely circumstance of the schism only, which defrauded persecution \nof its intended victim. It was the misfortune of Wickliff, as it was \nhis greatest glory, that he anticipated, by almost two centuries, the \nprinciples of a more enlightened generation, and scattered his holy les- \nsons on a soil not yet prepared to give them perfect life and maturity. \nWhilst Wickliff confined his attacks to the delinquencies of the \nclergy, or the anti-christian spirit of Rome, so long he obtained and \ncontinued to retain many disciples, on whose fidelity and attachment \n\n\n\n180 THEHISTORYOF \n\nthe utmost reliance could be placed. But no sooner had he risen \nfrom that intelligible ground of dissent, and advanced into the region \nof doctrinal disputation, than the enthusiasm and number of his follow- \ners declined : and even John of Lancaster, his most powerful friend \nand protector, strongly enjoined him to forbear. Being subsequently \nbanished from Oxford, on account of the heritical doctrines, with the \ndissemination of which he was charged, he retired to his rectory at \nLutterworth, and after two years of diligent em.ployment in the offi- \nces of piety, he died in peaceful and honorable security\xe2\x80\x94 security which \nwas alike honorable to his own character, the firmness of his illustrious \nprotectors, and the moderation of the English prelacy. His opinions \nwere never extinguished, and his name continued so formidable to the \nchampions of the church that after an interval of thirty years, \xe2\x80\x94 after \nall personal malice and jealousy h^d passed away, the council of re- \nformers at Constance published that memorable edict by which the \nbody and bones of WicklifT, were to be taken from the ground and \nthrown far away from the burial of any church ! This decree met \nwith a tardy obedience ; and after the space of thirteen years, his re- \nmains were disinterred and burnt and the ashes cast mto a neighbor- \ning brook. \n\nThe doctrines of Wickliff were founded on the Scriptuires. For \n* the scripture alone\' said he \'is truth.\' Various innovations on the \nChurch of Rome, were opposed by him with different degrees of con- \nfidence. He rejected auricular confession, he held pardons and in- \ndulgences to be nothing but a * subtle merchandize of anti-Christian \nclerks whereby they magnified their own fictitious power, and instead \nof causing men to dread sin, encouraged them to wallow therein like \nhogs.\' Excommunications and interdicts were repudiated with like \ndisdain. Whilst he acknowledged that the pope was the highest spir- \nitual authority in the church he denied his ghostly infallibility and se- \ncular supremacy. He reprobated the compulsory celibacy of the cler- \ngy, the imposition of Monastic vows, and declaimed with vehemence \nagainst the vain and fantastic ceremonies of the church. Respecting \nimages and the invocation of the saints, he wrote at no great length, \nbut with extreme cautiousness and moderation. He rejected the doc- \ntrine of transubstantiation as defined by the church, but seems to \nhave admitted a kind of re\xc2\xabZ presence, without attempting to determine \nthe manner. Such were the opinions which Wickliff promulgated \nfrom the theological chair in the fourteenth century. His reputation \nand dignity raised him far above contempt, though at the same time \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. ISl \n\nthey contributed to embitter the malignity of his enemies. Absurd \nand impious as many of his tenets must have appeared in that age of \ndarkness, his enemies had recourse to the usual expedient of charging \nhim with absurd inferences and false notions wholly at variance with \nany which he professed. It is not strange that the dissemination of his \nactual doctrines was followed by tumults and disorders. The first \nstruggles of reason against proscription and prejudice \xe2\x80\x94 its first appeals \nto the sense and virtue of mankind against particular interests and es- \ntablished absurdities, are seldom unattended by popular heats and com- \nmotions, and the wonder in this case rather is, that the prematurity of \nthe reformation did not occasion the martyrdom of the reformer. Ma- \nny of WicklifF\'s opinions were too advanced and ripe for the bleak \nseason in which he lived. They were calculated, indeed, for the con- \nsideration of all virtuous and disinterested men ; and they were sure \nto create in succeeding generations, a disposition towards better princi. \npies of belief and practice ; but they could look for no general recep- \ntion among those to whom they were first addressed. Therefore it \nwas wisely determined by that admirable Christian, when he sent them \nforth into a prejudiced and ignorant world, to promulgate along with \nthem the sacred volume on which they professed to stand. His trans- \nlation and circulation of the Bible was that among his labours which \nsecured the efficacy, as it was the crown of all the others. \n\nThe queen of Richard II. was a Bohemian princess : and on the \ndeath of her husband, she returned, with a train of attendants, to her \nnative land. It is commonly believed, that these persons introduced \na precious, but dearly preserved possession among their countrymen\xe2\x80\x94 r \nthe works of WicklifF. Others suppose this present to have been \nmade by an Englishman who had travelled to Prague; others by a Boi \nhemian who had studied at Oxford. All may possibly have contrlbu:-" \nted ; but in respect to the more important fact, there seems to be no \ndispute, that the writings of Wickliff kindled the first sparks of the \nBohemian heresies. During the latter days of that venerable teacher, \na youth was growing up in an obscure village of Bohemia, who was \ndestined to bear. In his turn, the torch of truth, and to transmit it, with \na martyr\'s hand to a long succession of disciples \xe2\x80\x94 and he was worthy \nof the heavenly office. John Huss, or a Hussinets, was very early \ndistinguished by the force and acutenessof his understanding, the modes- \nty and gravity of his demeanor, and the rude and irreproachable auster- \nity of his life. A thoughtful and attenuated countenance, a tall some- \nwhat emaciated form, an uncommon mildness and affability of manner \n\n\n\nJ82 THEHISTORYOF \n\nadded to the authority of his virtues and the persuasiveness of his el- \noquence. The University of Prague at that time extremely flourish- \ning, presented a field for the expansionof his great quahties, in the year \n1401, he was appointed president, or dean, of the philosophical faculty \nand was elevated eight years afterwards, to the rectorship of the Uni- \nversity. \n\nThe existence and circumstances of the great schism, and the ob- \nvious evils produced by it, had long been a popular theme of censure \nfor the Bohemian reformer. After its extinction, John XXIII. furnish- \ned him in 141 1, with fresh matter for reprehension. That pontiff sent \nforth his emissaries to preach a crusade against Ladislaus,king of Na- \nples, and to accord the usual indulgences. The minds of many had \nbeen previously inflamed against this mockery of the cross of Christ, \nby the preaching of Huss ; and it proved, that on three several occa- \nsions, the pontifical missionaries were interrupted by violent exclama- \ntions in the midst of their harangues. Three offenders were accor- \ndingly seized by the order of the senate, and privately executed ; but \nthe blood which flowed from the prison into the street betrayed their \nfate. The people rose, and having gained possession of their bodies \ncarried them in procession to the various churches, chanting holy an- \nthems. They then buried them in the chapel of Bethlehem, with the \naromatic offerings usually deposited on the tom.bs of martyrs. Other \ncommotions followed ; the clergy of Bohemia conspired very gener- \nally against the principles of the reformer: and John XXIII. cited \nhim, but without effect, before the tribunal of the Vatican. So great \nwas the agitation which these disputes had now excited, that when the \nCouncil of Constance assembled soon afterwards, it issued an imme- \ndiate summons for the appearance of Huss. With whatsoever disre" \ngard that ecclesiastic may have treated the mandate of the Pope, he \nproved without hesitation, his allegiance to the council. He knew the \nhostility and the faithlessness of the court of Rome, but in the august \nrepresentation of the church, in the full congregation of holy prelates \nassembled for the reformation of abuses, and the redressing of wrongs \nhe might find some foundation for confidence, and some hope of jus- \ntice. \n\nIt is now proper to examine the nature of those spiritual offences \nwhich excited so much attention throughout Christendom, and such \nterror among the directors of the Church. In the first place, the Bo- \nhemian innovator was accused of disseminating the mortal venom which \nhe had imbibed from England. His devotion to the faith and memo- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 183 \n\nry of WicklifF, though for some years concealed, became too deep \nand ardent for dissimulation ; and it is even related, that in his dis- \ncourse from the pulpit of Bethlehem, he was wont to address his ear- \nnest vow to Heaven, that whenever he should be removed from this \nlife, he might be admitted to the same regions where the soul of Wick- \nlifF resided ; since he doubted not that he was a good and holy man, \nand worthy of a habitation in Heaven. It is certain, that on the first \nmovement against Huss, the archbishop collected all the books of \nWicklifF, to the number of two hundred volumes, embossed and de- \ncorated with precious ornaments, and caused them to be publicly burnt. \nThe same Clement, which consumed the writings of WicklifF, was \ndestined to prey upon the body of his disciple ; and it came like a sig- \nnal, that his vow had been registered above, and that his master awai- \nted his coming at the gates of Paradise. \n\nIt was another general charge against Huss, that he was \' infected \nwith the leprosy\' of the Vaudois, and that it may be seen how many \ngross offences were thought to be contained in this single accusation, \nwe shall here follow the enumeration of ^neas Sylvius ; only premi- \nsing that many opinions are there ascribed to Huss, which, in his ex- \namination before the council, he expressly disavowed. The most im- \nportant among them were these \xe2\x80\x94 that the pope is on a level with oth- \ner bishops ; that all priests are equal except in regard to personal mer- \nit ; that souls, on quitting their bodies, are immediately condemned to \neternal punishment, or exalted to everlasting happiness ; that the fire \nof purgatory has no existence ; that prayers for the dead are a vain \ndevice, the invention of sacerdotal avarice ; that the images of God \nand the saints should be destroyed ; that the orders of the mendicants \nwere invented by evil spirits ; that the clergy ought to be poor, subsis- \nting on eleemosynary contributions : that it is free to all men to preach \nthe word of God ; that any one guilty of mortal sin is thereby dis- \nqualified for any dignity, secular or ecclesiastical ; that conformation \nand extreme unction are not among the holy rites of the church ; that \nauricular confession is unprofixtable, since confession to God is suflfi- \ncient for pardon ; that the use of cemeteries is without reasonable \nfoundation, and inculcated for the sake of profit ; that the world itself \nis the temple of the omnipotent God ; and that those only derogate \nfrom his Majesty, who build churches, monasteries or oratories ; that \nthe sacerdotal vestments, the ornaments of the altars, the cups and oth- \ner sacred utensils, are of no more than vulgar estimation ; that the \nsuffrages of the saints who reign v/ith Christ in Heaven are unprofita \n\n\n\n184 THEHISTORYOF \n\nble and vainly invoked ; that there is no holiday excepting Sunday ; \nthat the festivals of the saints should by no means be observed ; and \nthat the fasts established by the church are equally destitute of divine \nauthority. \n\nHaving taken the pVecautiori to obtain an act of safe conduct from \nthe emperor, which was understood to be a pledge for his personal \nsafety during the whole period of his absence from Bohemia, he de- \nparted for Constance in obedience to the summons which he had re- \nceived from the council, fully conscious of the imminent peril which \nawaited his attendance. But that admirable Christian was, doubtless, \nimpelled by motives too deep for the calculation of ordinary minds. \nHe felt an intense conviction of the truth of his doctrines, and he was \nreserved, if necessary, to lay down his life for them. That conviction, \nattended by that resolution, gave a confidence to his character, which \nwhile it left him without fear, might at the same time animate him with \nthe highest hopes. He was filled with that deliberate enthusiasm \nwhich sometime raises the soul of man above that which we call wis- \ndom; and which, while it provokes the sneer of ordinary men, has \nproduced those noble actions and deeds of self devotion, which exalt \nthe character of human nature. \n\nHe was attended by some Bohemian noblemen, and he received the \nstrongest assurances of protection from John XXHl. Though John \nHuss (said that pope) should murder my own brother, I would use \nthe whole of my power to preserve him from every injury, during all \nthe time of his residence at Constance. Nevertheless, within a month \nfrom his arrival, after having professed before a meeting of the coun- \ncil his readiness to repel every charge, he was placed under a surveil- \nlance which was immediately changed to strict confinement. It should \nnot be forgotten, that this first violation of the safe conduct was pecu- \nliarly the act of the council. Sigismund, who was not present, strong- \nly remonstrated against it ; and the pope disclaimed all share of the \nproceedings. \n\nThis advantage was instantly pursued by his enemies, of whom the \nmost ardent were found among his countrymen ; and accordingly \neight articles of accusation were prepared, and presented to John \nXXni. The next step in the process against him, was the condem- \nnation of the doctrines and memory of Wickliff. It was in the 8th \nsession held on the 4th of May, 1415, that a list of forty-five articles \nwas drawn up, which embodied all the errors of that reformer ; that \nit received the solemn censure of the fathers ; and that the vengeance \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 185 \n\nof that orthodox body pursued the spiritual offender even beyond the \ngrave. \n\nIt was an object of great importance with the council, bent, as it \ncertainly was, on the destruction of Huss, and conscious, as it proba- \nbly was, of the weakness of its own cause, to avoid the scandal of a \npublic disputation. Accordingly, Huss v/as continually persecuted \nby private interrogations, frequently accompanied by intimidation and \ninsult ; and depositions against his orthodoxy were collected against \nhim with the greatest dihgence and facility ; since every kind of infor- \nmation was received against a suspected heretic. On the other hand \nhe remonstrated against this inquisitorial secrecy, and demanded for \nhis defence, an audience of the whole council. His Bohemian \nfriends pressed the same point with equal earnestness. But in vain \nwould they have solicited from that body this most obvious act of jus- \ntice if the emperor had not been impressed with its propriety, and insis- \nted with great firmness, that the trial should be public. \n\nConsequently the fathers assembled very early in June for that pur- \npose. The first charge was read. The defendant was called upon \nfor his reply. But when he appealed in his justification to the au- \nthority of the scriptures, and the venerable testimony of the fathers, \nhis voice was drowned in a tumult of contempt and derision. He was \nsilent; and it was interpreted as guilt. Again he spoke; again he was \nanswered by disdainful jests and insults ; and the assembly at length \nseparated without any serious determination. The second audience \nwas fixed for the 7th of June; and that greater decency might be pre- \nserved, the emperor was requested to be present on that occasion. \nIt is carefully recorded by historians, and not perhaps without some \nsense of superstitious awe, that the day on which the fate of Huss \nwas decided, was signalised by a total eclipse of the sun \xe2\x80\x94 total, as was \nobserved at Prague, though not quite so at Constance. But the \nfathers were not moved by that phenomenon to any principle of jus- \ntice, or any feeling of mercy. The various charges, already prepar- \ned, were pressed upon the culprit, less clamorously, but not less ea- \ngerly than before. His accusers were numerous and voluble, and \narmed with the most minute subtleties of the schools. Many among \nthem were English; and these urged their arguments as warmly, as \nif they had thought to redeem the land of Wickliif by the prosecution \nof Huss, and to wash away the stains which one heretic had cast up- \non them, in the blood of another. Numerous depositions were likewise \nproduced and read, alleging errors, which he had advanced in his wri \n24 \n\n\n\n186 THEHISTORYOF \n\ntings or in his sermons, or even in his private conversations. Alone \nand unsupported, save by two or three faithful Bohemians, and worn \nand enfeebled by confinement and disease, he presented a spirit which \ndid not bend beneath this oppression. \n\nOn the following day Huss was admitted to the mockery of anoth- \ner and final audience ; and on this occasion he was chiefly pressed on \ntwenty six articles, derived from his \' Book of the church.\' A scene \nsimilar to the preceding was terminated on the part of the judges, by \nurgent solicitations to the accused, to retract his errors. This act of \nsubmission was advised by several of the fathers ; it was strongly re- \ncommended by the emperor; but Huss was unmoved. \'As to the \nopinions imputed to me, which I have never held, those I cannot re- \ntract ; as to those which I do indeed profess, I am ready to retract \nthem when I shall be better instructed by the council.\' The province \nof the\'^council was not to instruct, but to decide \xe2\x80\x94 to command obedi- \nence to its decisions, or to enforce the penalty. \n\nIf Huss had hitherto nourished any reasonable hope of safety, it \nwas placed in the moderation of the emperor ; but at this conjuncture, \neven that prospect was removed ; for towards the conclusion of the \nsession, Sigismund delivered his unqualified opinion, \'that among the \nerrors of Huss, which had been in part proved, and in part confessed, \nthere was not one that did not deserve the penal flames ; \' to which \nwas added, \' that the temporal sword ought instantly to be drawn for \nthe chastisement of his principles, to the end that the branches of the \ntree might perish together with its root.\' Huss was again conducted \nto his prison, and thither was still pursued by fresh solicitations on his \nconstancy; and that which had stood firm before public menace and \ninsult, might have yielded to private importunity, to bodily infirmity, \nto friendship, to solitude. \n\nThere was a long interval between his imprisonment and his audi- \nence, and again a tedious month intervened between his audience and \nhis execution. This period was passed in preparation to meet his fate, \nnot in struggles to avoid it. \'God, in his wisdom, has reason for thus \nprolonging my life. He wishes to give me time to weep for my sins, \nand to console myself in this protracted trial by the hope of their re- \nmission. He has granted me this interval, that through meditaion \non the sufferings of Jesus Christ, I may become better qualified to \nsupport my own.\' The time of those sufferings at length arrived. \nOn the morning of July 6th, 1415, he was conducted before the coun- \ncil then holding its fifteenth session ; and after various articles of ac- \n\n\n\nKO MAN CATHOLICISM. .187 \n\ncusation had been read, a sentence was passed to the following effect : \n* That for several years John Huss has seduced and scandalised the \npeople by the dissemination of many doctrines manifestly heretical, \nand condemned by the church, especially those of John Wickliff. \nThat he has obstinately trampled upon the keyes of the church, and \nthe ecclesiastical censures. That he has appealed to Jesus Christ as \nsovereign judge, to the contempt of the ordinary judges of the church; \nand that such an appeal was injurious, scandalous and made in deris- \nion of ecclesiastical authority. That he has persisted to the last in \nhis error, and even maintained them in full council. It is therefore \nordained that he be publicly deposed and degraded from holy orders, \nas an obstinate and incorrigible heretic\' The prelates appointed then \nproceeded to the office of degradation. He was stripped, one by one \nof his his sacerdotal vestments ; the holy cup which had been purpose- \nly placed in his hands, was taken from him ; his hair was cut in such \na manner as to loose every mark of the priestly character ; and a \ncrown of paper was placed upon his head, marked with hideous fig- \nures of demons, and that still more frightful superscription, Heresiarch. \nThe prelates then piously devoted his soul to the infernal devils ; he \nwas pronounced to be cut off from the ecclesiastical body, and being \nreleased from the grasp of the chuuch, he was consigned as a layman, \nto the vengeance of the secular arm. It was in the character of \'ad- \nvocate and defender of the church,\' that the emperor took charge of \nthe culprit, and commanded his immediate execution. \n\nThe last, which was perhaps not the bitterest of his sufferings, was \nendured with equal constancy, and in the same blessed spirit. On \nhis way to the stake, he repeated pious prayers and penitential psalms; \nand when the order was given to kindle the flames, he only uttered \nthese words \xe2\x80\x94 \'Lord Jesus, I endure this cruel death for thy sake ; \nand I pray thee to pardon all my enemies.\' The ministers executed \ntheir office ; and it was not long before a rising volume of fire and \nsmoke extinguished at once his voice and life. His ashes were care- \nfully collected and cast into the lake. But the miserable precaution \nwas without effect, since his disciples tore up the earth from the spot \nof his martyrdom, and adored it with the same reverence and moist- \nened it with the same tears, which would otherwise have sanctified his \nsepulchre. \n\nIn less than a year from the execution of Huss, the same scene of \ninjustice and barbarity was acted a second time, though with some \nvariety of circumstances, in the same polluted theatre. Jerome, mas- \n\n\n\n188^ THEHISTORYOF \n\nter in theology in the university of Prague, and a layman, was the \ndisciple of John Huss. Huss was superior in age and authority ; \nbut Jerome was more excellent in learning and eloquence. While \nthe former presided in the chair, the latter delivered his lectures in \nthe schools ; and the same opinions were taught with equal zeal and \neffect by the one and the other. In the troubles which had been ex- \ncited through these opinions, Jerome had perhaps the greater share ; \nthere was at least no favorable feature to distinguish his offence from \nthat of his master. Accordingly he was summoned to Constance \nsoon after the meeting of the council ; and he appeared there on the \n4th of April, 1415 not unprepared for the treatment which awaited \ned him. It should be observed that he also obtained a safe con- \nduct from the emperor ; but that in his case the conditional clause, \nsalva semper justitia, was inserted ; whereas that of Huss contained no \nsuch provision. \n\nOn the occasion of a public audience which had been granted him, \nhe recalled with sorrow and shame a public retraction which he had \npreviously made, and openly attributed the unworthy act to its real \nand only motive \xe2\x80\x94 the fear of a painful death. His bitterest foes de- \nsired no further proof against him ; and only seven days were allow- \ned to elapse before he was condemned, and executed on the same \nspot which had been hallowed by the sufferings of his master. The \ncourage, which had abandoned him, in the anticipation of the flames, \nreturned with redoubled force as he approached them. The execu- \ntioner would have kindled the faggots behind his back ; \'place the fire \nbefore me,\' he exclaimed, \' if I had dreaded it, I might have escaped \nit.\' \'Such (says Poggio) was the end of a man incredibly excellent. \nI know not whether it v/as obstinacy or incredulity which mo\\ ed him; \nbut his death was like that of some one of the philosophers of antiqui- \nty. Muteus Scaevola placed his hand in the flame, and Socrates drank \nthe poison with less firmness and spontaneousness, than Jerome pre- \nsented his body to the fire.\' \n\nWhatsoever may have been the respective excellence, in the life \nor in the martyrdom of those two venerable heralds of the reformation, \nthe conduct of the council was not more iniquitous in respect to its \nsecond, than its first victim. If in the one instance, the violation of \nthe safe conduct displayed unblushing perfidy, the contempt of the re- \ntraction was at least as shameless, in the other. The first crime^was \nfollowed by no remorse ; it seems rather to have led to the more calm \nand deliberate perpetration of the second. The treachery and cruel- \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 1S9 \n\nty exercised by the council of Constance, towards Hubs and Jerome, \nexcited the indignation of their countrymen, by whom they were held \nin the highest esteem, and among whom their followers had already be- \ncome numerous. The first effects of their resentment were directed \nagainst the monks and the clergy. These were plundered and even \nmassacred without pity and without remorse. The sacred buildings \nwere overthrown, the sanctuaries profaned, the altars stained with \nb]ood ; and all those abominations were unsparingly committed, \nwhich commonly attend a premature resistance to inveterate oppres- \nsion. \n\nSigismund conducted the armies of the church ; Zisca led the reb- \nels against them ; and the name of Zisca is signalized by several tri- \numphs over the imperial crusaders, which evinced not only his great \nmilitary genius, and resolution, but the deep religious enthusiasm and \ndevotion of his followers. Atrocities were perpetrated by both parties \nas if in emulation of each other, and of heroes\' of former holy wars ; \nand so keen was the thirst for blood, that the Hussites indulged it in \nthe massacre of a sect of brother heretics. A number of unfortunate \nenthusiasts, usually designated Adamites, were collected in an insular \nspot, inthe neighborhood of Zisca\'s encampment.! They are accused \nby various writers of the habit of nudity, and of many scandalous \ncrimes, and in this matter it is probable that they have been much ca- \nlumniated. Zisca surrounded and destroyed them without any dis- \ncrimination or mercy ; but lest we should on this account consider \nhim as having, surpassed the wickedness of his Catholic adversaries, \nwe may remark, that by this very act he incurred the deliberate praise \nof their historians, and redeemed in their eyes, some portion of the \nguilt of his apostacy. Zisca died in 1424, and divisions immediately \nensued among his followers. \n\nA civil war was again kindled throughout the country, and the par- \nty of the council was directed with ability by a distinguished Bohemi- \nan named Maynard; his schemes were at first advanced by dissen- \nsions which raged between the Thaborites and the Orphans: and he \nafterwards conducted affairs with so much address, that he engaged \nthem when united and overthrew them. On this occasion it so hap- \npened that the most hardened and desperate among the insurgents fell \nahve into the power of the conquerors; and as they were numerous, \nand objects, even in their captivity, of fearful apprehension, Maynard \nresolved to use stratagem for their destruction. Among the prisoners \nthere were also several, who were innocent of any previous campaign \n\n\n\n190 THE HISTORY OF \n\nagainst the church, and who v/ere neither hateful as rebels nor dan- \ngerous as soldiers. These it was the design of the Catholics to spare \nand the better to disting-uish them from the veterans of Zisca, they \ncaused it to be proclaimed that the government intended to confer \nhonors and pensions on the more experienced warriors, the heroes of \nso many fields. These were accordingly invited to separate themselves \nfrom their less deserving companions, and to withdraw to some adja- \ncent buildings, where more abundant entertainment and a worthier res- \nidence was prepared for them. They beheved these promises ; and \nthen, (says ^neas Sylvius,) many thousands of the Thaborites and \nOrphans entered the barns assigned to them; they were men blacken- \ned and inured against sun and v/ind ; hideous and horrible of aspect \nwho had lived in the smoke of camps, v/ith eagle eyes, locks uncom- \nbed, long beards, lofty statures, shaggy hmbs, and skin so hardened \nand callous as to seem proof, like mail, against hostile weapons. \nThe gates were immediately closed upon them, fire v/as applied to the \nbuildings; and by their combustion, that ignominious band, the dregs \nand chaff of the human race, at length made atonement in the flames \nfor the crimes which it bad perpetrated, to the religion which it had in- \nsulted.\' \n\nBut the adversaries of Rome were not thus wholly extirpated : un- \nder the spiritual direction of Rokysan, they were still so considerable \nthat Sigismund did not disdain to negociate with them. The result \nwas, that a compact was concluded at Iglauinthe year 1436, by which \nthe Bohemians conceded almost all their claims ; but in return the use \nof the cup was conceded to them, not as an essential practice, but \nonly through the indulgence of the church. \n\nIn September 1446, Sigismund made his entry into Prague, amid \ncongratulations almost universal ; and the calamities which had deso- \nlated the country for twenty two years, appeared to be at an end. But \nthe pope refused his consent to the compact ; he refused to comfirm \nthe appointment of Rokysan to the See of Prague, though the empe- \nror had promised it ; and though all the factions of the people v/ere \nunited in desiring it. Wherever the guilt of the previous dissensions \nmay have rested, henceforward we need not hesitate to impute it whol- \nly to the Vatican. Legates and mendicant emissaries continued to \nvisit the country, and contend with the divines, and tamper with the \npeople, Even Pius II. whose personal intercourse with the secta- \nrians had not softened his ecclesiastical indignation at their disobedi- \nence, exhibited in his negociations with Pogebrac, the king, an intol- \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C i S M . 191 \n\nerant and resentful spirit. And at length Paul II. his successor, once \nmore found means to light up a long and deadly war in the infected \ncountry. It was considered, no doubt, as a stigma upon the churchy \nwhich all occasions and instrumiCnts were proper to efface, that a sin- \ngle sect should any where exist, which dared to differ in faith or prac- \ntice from the Romish church on a single article, and which maintain- \ned its difference with impunity. \n\nIt was in 1446, that Paul II. excommunicated and deposed Poge- \nbrac, and transferred the kingdom to the son of Huniades. In that \nobject he was not successful, but during the discords of almost thirty \nyears which followed, the offensive names of Thaborite, Orphan, and \neven Hussite gradually disappeared, and open resistance to Catholic \npredominance became fainter and fainter. But the principles were so \nfar from having expired in this conflict, that they came forth from it \nin greater purity, and with a show of vi2:or and consistency, which did \nnot at first distinguish them. Early in the ensuing century, about the \nyear 1504, a body of sectarians, under the name of the \'united Bre- \nthren of Bohemia,\' begins to attract the historian\'s notice. Beausobre \naffirms, that this association was originally formic d in the year 1467, \nthat it separated itself at that time from the Catholics and Calixtines, \nand instituted a new ministry ; that it made application to the Vaudois \nin order to receive through them, the true apostolical ordination ; and \nthat Stephen, a bishop of that persuasion, did actually ordain Mat- \nthew, the first bishop of the \' United Brethren.\' It is unquestionable \nthat those among the Thaborites, and the other more determined dis- \nsenters, who had escaped the perils of so many disasters, continued \nwith uncompromising constancy to feel and mature the tenets for \nwhich they had suffered: and that many of the leading articles of the \nReformation were anticipated and preserved by the * Bohemian Bre- \nthren.\' It is also true, that the evangelical principles of their faith \nwere not unmixed with some erroneous notions; but it is no less cer- \ntain that when Luther was engaged in the accomplishment of his mis- \nsion, he was welcomed by a numerous body of hereditary reformers, \nwho rejected, and whose ancestors had rejected, the sacrifice of the \nmass, purgatory, transubstantiation, prayers for the dead, the adoration \nof images; and who completed their spiritual emancipation by re- \nnouncing the authority of the pope. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. \n\nReform demanded, \xe2\x80\x94 Apostolic Chamber. \xe2\x80\x94 Council of Basle. \xe2\x80\x94 Death \nof Martin. \xe2\x80\x94 Eugenius IV. \xe2\x80\x94 Altercation with the Council. \xe2\x80\x94 Julian \nCcesarini. \xe2\x80\x94 Attempts for a reconciliation with the Greek Church. \xe2\x80\x94 \nCouncil transferred to Ferrara by Eugenius, who is deposed by the \nCouncil. \xe2\x80\x94 Election of Felix V. \xe2\x80\x94 Another Schism. \xe2\x80\x94 Eugenius succeed- \ned by J^icholas V. \xe2\x80\x94 Resignation of Felix and termination of the \nSchism. \xe2\x80\x94 JSTepotism. \xe2\x80\x94 Infamous character of Alexander VI. \n\nThe first occasion when the advocates of reform can be said to have \nappeared as a party in the church, was the first assembly for the ex- \ntinction of the schism. Among the fathers of Pisa a strong spirit of \nindependence prevailed, and the events of the preceding century had \ngiven it a tone and an object. There are, indeed many earlier in- \nstances of the boldness of ecclesiastics in individually denouncing the \nimperfections of the church, and in synodically legislating for their re- \nmoval, but it was not till the secession to Avignon had lowered the \nmajesty of Rome, and impaired the resources of her pontiffs; it was \nnot till the division which followed had filled the world with proofs \nof their weakness and baseness, of their necessities, vices and extor- \ntions, that a principle hostile to papal despotism established itself, not \nonly among princes and enlightened laymen, but even among the pre- \nlates of the Catholic church. When we observe the language in \nwhich certain ecclesiastical writers, during the conclusion of the 14th \nand the beginning of the following century, have exposed and stigma- \ntised ecclesiastical disorders, our wonder will rather be, that the sys- \ntem, which they so boldly denounced, did not sink beneath the bur- \nden of its own sinfulness, than that persons, who were interested in \nits preservation should have combined to amend and restore it. Men \nof the noblest character and most extended acquirements were among \ntheie; at the same time, they were persons attached to popery, and \npatronised by popes. Nicholas of Clemangis, a native of Champagne \nwho had been secretary to Benedict XIII. in an address to the Coun- \ncil of Constance, ascribed the schism and the desolations of the church \nto the ungodliness of the pastors. * The earliest Christians were pi- \nous, humble, patient and devout, despising the good things of this \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 193 \n\nworld. But as riches increased piety diminished; luxury, ambition \nand insolence took the place of religion, humility and charity. Pov- \nerty became a disgrace, and economy a vice; avarice came to the aid \nand support of ambition; and the property of ecclesiastics being no \nlonger sufficient for their desires, it grew into practise to seize that of \nothers, to pillage, assault and oppress the inferiors, and to plunder \nunder every pretext."\' Such being the subject of his general censures, \nhe did not hesitate to ascribe the highest rank in vice to the pope. \n* When they saw that the revenues of Rome and the patrimony of St \nPeter were inadequate to their designs of aggrandizement, it became \nnecessary to discover new resources for the support of that project of \nuniversal monarchy. And nothing could be conceived more lucra- \ntive, than to deprive metropolitans, bishops, and other ordinaries, of the \nright of election to benefices, and to reserve the nomination and co]la_ \nlion to themselves; and these they never conferred, except for large \nsums of money which they often obtained in advance by granting ex- \npectative graces to all individuals indiscriminately, or at least without \nregard to capacity or morals.\' Such was in truth, the origin of the \nApostolic Chamber, and the mysteries of that fiscal inquisition had been \nintimately revealed to the secretary of Benedict XIII. The last whom \nwe shall mention, and the greatest among the Reformers of France \nwas the Chancellor of the University of Paris, John Gerson. In a \nsermon delivered before the Council of Rheims, in 1308, that elo- \nquent man exposed the vices of the clergy with the same freedom \nwhich he afterwards employed at Constance in defining the leo-itimate \nlimits of papal authority. From the exposure of the evil he proceed- \ned to investigate its origin; and as the general degeneracy of every \nrank in the priesthood was commonly traced by the writers of that ao-e \nto the hcentiousness of the Roman Court, so any effort to purify the \ndescending stream, was very reasonably directed towards its supposed \nsource. \n\nIf the most distinguished among the reforming party were natives \nof France, the Germans engaged in greater numbers, and greater \nconsistency, in the same project. They appear, to have been the ear= \nliest in the field, for we observe that Henry de Langenstein, of Hesse \na German, published in 1381, a treatise on the \'Union and Reforma- \ntion of the church.\' The last part of this work was employed in de- \npicting the universal profligacy of the clergy. After denouncing the \nsimonies and other iniquities of the popes, the cardinals and prelates, \nhe descended to expose the concubinages of the priests, and the de- \n25 \n\n\n\n194 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nbaucheries of the monks ; he represented the cathedrals as no better \nthan dens of robbers, and the monasteries as taverns and brothels. \nFrom England the voice of remonstrance proceeded with no lessen* \nergy. " The golden mirror of the Pope, his court, the Prelates, and \nthe rest of the clergy" was composed during the pontificate of Boni- \nface IX. the most triumphant era of schism and simony ; and the trea- \nty of Richard Ullerston, an Oxford doctor, is said to have guided the \nideas of the bishop of Salisbury, who effectually served the cause by \nhis personal zeal, both at Pisa and Constance. The Italians, as they \nwere the only people who profited by pontifical corruption, so were \nthey commonly found to defend it. But even among them were a \nfew splendid exceptions that acknowledged and deplored the general \nunworthiness of the order to which they belonged. Lastly even the \nSpaniards themselves, the perverse adherents of Benedict XIII. vent- \ned at Constance, in some satirical compositions, the indignation, which \nit was not yet politic to express openly. \n\nThe demoralization of the inferior clergy was undoubtedly occa- \nsioned, in a very great measure, by the non residence, the avarice, \nand the venality of their more elevated brethren, and these views were \ncommunicated almost necessarily, by the contagion of the church of \nRome. It was the practice of that court to attract all ecclesiastics \nby the undisguised sale of the most honorable dignities, and its malignant \ninfluence spread like pestilence through the church. Those, there- \nfore who maintained that no reform could have any effect,unless it com- \nmenced at the head, and whose first epdeavors were turned to extir- \npate the scandals of the Vatican, pursued their own views with bold- \nness and sagacity, and aimed well to uproot the evil which they saw ; \nonly, their views were to narrow, and the evil lay deeper than they \nwere able to discover, or than they dared to avow. \n\nIn the thirty-ninth session of that council, held on the 9th of Oc- \ntober,\' 1 41 7, it was enacted, as a perpetual law of the church that general \ncouncils should be held every tenth year, from the termination of the \npreceding, in such places as the pope with the consent of the council \nsitting, should appoint. As the exigences of the church did not seem to \nallow that short interval, another council was to be assembled in five \nyears after the dissolution of that of Constance, and a third in seven \nyears after the second. In obedience to this constitution, Martin V. \ntwice attempted to collect an obsequious assembly, in Italy ; but his \nsummons v\\^ere disregarded by the foreign prelates, to whom neither \nPavia nor Sienna offered any prospect of independence. The scanty \n\n\n\ni^fa \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 195 \n\nsynods were hastily dissolved, and the only act which is recorded of \nthe latter was to grant a simple indulgence to those, who should con- \ntribute gold for the extinction of the Bohemian heretics, and to those \nwho should serve the crusade in person. Basle was, at length, appoint- \ned for the meeting of the real representatives of the church, and they \ncrowded thither in great multitudes during the spring and summer ot \n\n1431. \n\nOn the 9th of the preceding February Martin died. His long pon- \ntificate had been principally devoted to two objects, the recovery of \nthe states of the church and the amassing of wealth, and he had suc- \nceeded in both. He had restored the interest of the see to nearly the \nsame condition it was in before the schism. As to the latter, he des- \ntined the treasures, which he collected, rather for the aggrandizement \nof his own family, than for the benefit of the catholic church, or even \nof the pontifical government. It is admitted that he possessed con- \nsiderable talents, and a vigorous and consistent character, and he has \nescaped the imputation of any great vice, excepting avarice. At this \ncrisis, the character of the successor to the chair was of incalculable \nconsequence to the church. The council of Basle was irrevocably \nsummoned ; and its principles its policy, and its power could easily be \nforeseen from the experience of Constance. What policy was the \nnew pope to pursue? Was he openly to oppose, to ratify, to elude, or \ngenerously to co-operate, in the work of reformation ? The durabil- \nity of the Roman catholic church depended on the answer. \n\nThe cardinals were not, indeed, disturbed by such distant consid- \nerations ; and the views with which most of them entered the conclave \nextended not beyond their private intrigues or immediate interests. \nBeing unable, at once to agree, they proceeded to the scrutiny ; and \ntheir secret arrangements being not yet satisfactorily concluded, they \ncontinued to throw away their votes upon the names which held the \nlowest consideration, and were the last in the chance of success. At \nthe conclusion of one of these scrutinies, to the astonishment and dis- \nmay of the whole college, one Gabriel Condolmieri, the least and most \ninsignificant member of the sacred body, was found in possession of \ntwo thirds of the suffrages. There was no space to retract or repent; \nthe election was already valid, and the bark of St. Peter was consign- \ned, in the most anxious moment of its destiny, to the hand of Euge^ \nnius IV. \n\nHad that pontiff been as deeply impressed with his own capacity as \nwas the rest of the Christian world, he might occasionally have foj- \n\n\n\n196 THE HISTORY OF \n\nlowed the council of wiser men, but on the contrary he was the most \npresumptuous, as he was the most ignorant of mankind. The rigor- \nous habits of a monastic life had equally contracted his principles and \nblinded his judgement ; so that he mistook precipitation for decision, \nand thought to redeem his rashness by his obstinacy. Without talent* \nor any steady policy, through the very restlessness of his character^ \nhe exercised an influence which was every where felt, and every where \nfelt for evil. If it were just to select from the long list of pontifical \ndelinquents one name, to which the downfall of the church should \nmore particularly be ascribed, we should not greatly err in attaehing \nthat stigma to Eugenius. \n\nThe unexpected accident of his elevation, inflated still further au \ninconstant mind. Some success which he gained in a struggle with the \nColonna for the treasures of his predecessors, filled him with unboun- \nded confidence ; and it was in such a mood that he plunged into hos- \ntility with the council of Basle. His first eadeavors were directed to \ncrush it, ere it came into operation or even existence but finding that \nhopeless, and convinced that an assembly so solemnly convoked, and \nso earnestly desired, must meet, or seem to meet, he determined to \nneutralize its character by changing its place. Accordingly he notifi- \ned the president, towards the end of the year, that \'by his own fulj \npower,\' he had transferred it to Bologna, in Italy. The president wag \nthe cardinal Julian Ccesarini, a man whose eminent talents qualified \nhim for that office, in which he was placed by Martin, and confirmed \nby Eugenius, and who may have deserved the reputation he received \nfrom Bossuet, of being \' the greatest character of his age.\' On this \noccasion, he was more mindful of his duties to the church, than of big. \nobligations to his master, and respectfully refused obedience to the: \npontifical mandate. \n\nThree purposes were specified for which the council of Basle wag- \nconvoked. First. The re-union of the Latin and Greek churches. \nSecond. The reform of the church in its head and members. Third". \nThe reconciliation of the Hussites. The first public session was held \nDecember 14th, 1431, and from that time forward for two years, the \nenergies and patience of the fathers were wearied, and their passions \nexcited, and their attention wholly diverted from the great object of \ntheir meeting, by uninterrupted contentions with Eugenius. They \nhad come together from all parts of Europe, and their numbers were \nswelled by the addition of many of the inferior clergy; they arrived, \ndeploring the debasement, and ea^er for the regeneration of their \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM 197 \n\nchurch ; they were confident, too, in their power, and it was to this \npower, that they chiefly trusted to repress the excesses of popery ; \nyet, when they would have advanced with ardor to realize these popes, \nthey found themselves engaged in a tedious and irritating contest for \ntheir own independence. \n\nDuring this controversy. Cardinal Julian holdly maintained the \nprinciples of the council and the cause of the church. His mind \nwas naturally capacious ; deep and assiduous study, which sometimes \ncontracts a feeble understanding, had enlarged and enlightened his ; \nand a mission which he had personally undertaken for the conciliation \nof the Bohemians, had brought before his eyes the causes, the obsti- \nnacy and contagiousness of spiritual rebellion. He was one of the \nfew Italians, who had penetrated the truth, so long manifest to the \nnorthern prelates, that a thorough reformation in discipline, was ne- \ncessary for the preservation of the church. \n\nThe eloquent expressions of reason and truth were wasted upon \nthe sordid soul of Eugenius. He persisted in measures of opposition; \nthey were met by a process of citation on the part of the council; and \nthis was retorted by a bull of dissolution ; both were equally ineffec- \ntual. In July 1433, the fathers suspended the pontiff from his digni- \nty, and prohibited all christians from paying him obedience. Euge- \nnius, in the plentitude of his own power annulled their own decree ; \nand this altercation might have continued for some time longer without \nany advantage or honor to either party, had not some accidental cir- \ncumstances interrupted it. \n\nThe political enterprises of the pope had not been more happily \nconducted, than his ecclesiastical measures. During the winter of \n1433, he was threatened with a compHcation of disasters. The Col- \nonna attacked him at home, the duke of Milan assailed him from abroad; \nhis subjects were universally discontented, and their menaces resoun- \nded in the capital ; while Sigismund had declared in favor of the coun- \ncil and had even countenanced it by his presence. Under these cir- \ncumstances, Eugenius suddenly lowered his pretensions and withdrew \nhis opposition. The offensive bulls were revoked ; and under the \nplea of co-operating with the council but with the design of embarrass- \ning it, he sent two legates to Basle to represent his authority. \n\nThe two legates to whom the pontifical interests had been entrusted, \nfollowed with zeal and capacity their private instructions. No device \nwhich seemed calculated to thwart the progTess of reform, had been \n\n\n\n198 THE HISTORY OF \n\nneglected by them. Every objection had been magnified into a diffi- \nculty and every difficulty swelled into an insurmountable impediment. \nThe meanest sophistry had been confronted by the boldest reason ; \nartifice, fraud, and seduction had been ai rayed pgeiriStr.pright puipcses \nand generous principles ; delays had been created, falsehoods propa- \ngated, subterfuges invented, and all that machinery set in motion, \nwhich is always employed in the defence of corrupt systems, by those \nwho find their profit in the corruption. To the honor of the reformers \nof Basle be it recorded, that the intrigues which were continually in \noperation to divide or degrade them were insufficient; the firmness of \nthose respectable ecclesiastics, their intelligence and their honesty re- \nflected upon the church a gleam of glory in the moment of her dan- \nger and tribulations ; and their perseverence might still have wrought \nsome great advantage, had not a few circumstances arisen to foil it. \n\nThe conciliation of the Greek church was one of the avowed ob- \njects of the council ; and as deputies were expected from the east to \nconfer on that subject, their convenience and inclinations as to the \nplace of conference required some attention; and, it was said, both \nwould be best consulted by substituting for Basle some city in Italy. \nIt was in vain that the council then proposed Avignon or Savoy ; the \npope would Usten to no such compromise, but pressed the superior \nadvantages of an Itahan city. At the same time both parties had \nopened negotiations at Constantinople, and the contests which had \nbeen enacted at Basle, were repeated, with a different result, before \nthe patriarch and the emperor. In that refined court, the superior \ntactics of the papal party prevailed ; and in the intestine commotions \nof the hierarchy of the west, the oriental autocrat listened more par- \ntially to the monarch, than to the senate of the church. \n\nWhile his emissaries were thus advancing his views abroad, the \npope\'s domestic embarrassments had gradually diminished, and with \nthem his fears and his prudence. Thus elated, he determined again to \nengage with the council in open v/arfare. Accordingly, his legates \nassumed a higher tone of authority than formerly. On the other hand \nthe council breathed nothing but indignation and defiance ; and thus, \nafter a short and feverish suspension, the former quarrels were renewed, \nand not even the semblance of concord was ever afterwards restored. \nThe second contest began nearly where the first had ended. The pope \nmaneuvered to transfer the council to Italy. The council cited the \npope to Basle, to answer for his vexatious opposition to the reform of \n\n\n\n^ \xe2\x80\xa2* \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 199 \n\nthe church, and the pope in that plentitucle of power, to which he had \nnever formally abandoned his pretensions, declared the council trans- \nferred to Ferrara. \n\nIn the year 1438, Eugenius, in person opened the council, which \nhe had summoned to meet at Ferrara, and at the second session thun- \ndered out an excommunication against the fathers assembled at Basle. \nThe principal business that was now to be trasacted in the pontiff\'s \ncouncil, was the proposed reconciliation between the Greek and La- \ntin churches ; and in order to bring this important design to a happy \nissue, the emperor, John Palaeologus, the Grecian patriarch Josephus, \nwith the most eminent bishops and doctors among the Greeks, arriv- \ned in Italy, and appeared in person at Ferrara. What greatly anima- \nted the zeal of the Greeks in this negotiation, was the extremity to \nwhich they were reduced by the Turks, and the pleasing hope, that \ntheir reconciliation with the Roman pontiff would contribute to en- \ngage the Latins in their cause. Be that as it may, there was little \ndone at Ferrara, where matters v/ere carried on too slowly to afford \nany prospect of an end of their dissensions ; but the negotiations were \nmore successful at Florence, whither Eugenius removed the council \nabout the beginning of the year 1439, on account of the plague that \nbroke out at Ferrara. \n\nThe council of Basle, exasperated by the imperious proceedings of \nEugenrius, deposed him from the papacy on the 25th of June, 1439, \nwhich measure was approved of by the European kings and princes. \nIt may easily be conceived what an impression this ^step made upon \nthe affronted pontiff, he lost all patience ; and devoted for the second \ntime to hell and damnation the members of the council of Basle, by a \nsolemn and severe edict, in which also he declared all their acts null \nand their proceedings unlawful. This new peal of thunder was held \nin derision by the council of Basle, which, persisting in its purpose, \nelected another pontiff, Amadeus, duke of Savoy, who then lived in \nthe most profound solitude at a delicious retreat called Ripaille, upon \nthe borders of the Leman Lake, and who is known in the papal list by \nthe name of Felix V. \n\nThis election caused the revival of that schism which had formerly \nrent the church, and which had been terminated with so much diffi- \nculty at the council of Constonce. The new breach was more la- \nmentable than the former, as the flame was not only kindled between \nthe two rival pontiffs, but between the two contending councils Basle, \nand Florence. The greater part of the church submitted to the ju- \n\n\n\n200 THEHISTORYOF \n\nrisdiction and adopted the cause of Eugenius; while Felix was ac- \nknowledged as lawful pontiff by a great number of academies, and \namong others by the famous university of Paris, and in several king- \ndoms and provinces. The council of Basle continued its delibera- \ntions and went on enacting laws and publishing edicts, until the year \n1443, notwithstanding the efforts of Eugenius to put a stop to their \nproceedings. In that year the members of the council retired to their \nrespective places of abode, yet they declared publicly that the coun- \ncil was not dissolved but would resume its deliberations at Basle, Ly- \nons or Lausanne, as soon as a proper opportunity offered itself. \n\nIn the mean time, the council of Florence, with Eugenius at its \nhead, was chiefly employed in reconciling the differences between \nthe Greeks and the Latins ; which important business was committed \nto the prudence, zeal and piety of a select number of men on both \nsides. The most distinguished among those whom the Greeks chose \nfor this purpose, was the learned Bessarioii, who was afterwards rais- \ned to the dignity of Cardinal in the Roman church. This great man, \nengaged and seduced by the splendid presents and promises of the La- \ntin Pontiff, employed the whole extent of his authority, and the pow- \nder of his eloquence, and even had recourse to promises and threaten- \nings, to persuade the Gieeks to accept the conditions of peace that \n-were proposed by Eugenius. These conditions required their consent \nto the following points : \' That the Holy Spirit proceeded from the \nSon as well as from the Father ; that departed souls were purified in \nthe infernal regions, by a certain kind of fire, before their admission \nto the presence of the Deity, that unleavened bread might be used in \nthe administration of the Lord\'s Supper ;\' and what was the principal \ntthing insisted on by the Latins, \'That the Roman pontiff was the su- \npreme judge, the true head of the universal church.\' \n\nSuch were the terms of peace to which the Greeks submitted, ex- \ncept Mark of Ephesus, whom neither entreaties nor rewards could \nmove from his purpose or engage to submit, to a reconciliation found- \n-ed on such terms. This reconciliation which had been brought \nabout by various stratagems, was much more specious than solid, and \nTiad not stability sufficient to ensure its duration. The Grecian dep- \nuties were no sooner returned to Constantinople than they declared \nthat all things had been carried on at Florence by artifice and fraud, \nand renewed the schism which had been so imperfectly healed. The \ncouncil of Florence put an end to its deliberations on the 20th of \nApril 1 442, without having executed any of the designs that were pro- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM* 201 \n\nposed by it, in a satisfactory manner. Besides the affair of the Greeks^ \nthey proposed bringing the Arminians, Jacobites, and Abysinians in- \nto the bosom of the Roman church ; but this project was attended \nwith little success. \n\nEugenius IV. who had been the Occasion of the new schisto in the \nsee of Rome, died in February, 1447, and was succeeded by Thom- \nas de Sarnago, Bishop of Bologna, who filled the pontificate under the \ndenomination of Nicholas V. This eminent prelate had, in point of \nmerit, the best pretensions to the papal throne. He was distinguish- \nby his genius and erudition ; he was a zealous patron and protector of \nlearned men ; and what is still more laudable, he was remarkable for \nhis moderation, and the meek and pacific spirit that discovered itself \nin all his actions. Under this pontificate the European princes, and \nmore especially the King of France, exerted their warmest endeavors \nto restore tranquility in the church, and their efforts were crowned \nwith the desired success. In the year 1449, Felix V. resigned the \npapal chair, and returned to his hermitage at Ripaille, while the fath- \ners of the council of Basle, assembled at Lausanne, ratified his volun- \ntary abdication, and ordered the universal church to submit to the ju- \nrisdiction of Nicholas as their lawful pontiff. \n\nNicholas proclaimed this treaty of peace with great pomp on the \n18th of June of the same year, and set the seal of his approbation and \nauthority to the decrees of the council of Basle. This pontiff distin- \nguished him self in a very extraordinary manner, by his love of learning, \nand by his ardent zeal for the propagation of the liberal arts and sci- \nences, which he promoted in Italy with great success, by the encour- \nagement he granted to the learned Greeks, who came from Constan- \ntinople into that country. The principal occasion of his death was \nthe fatal revolution which threw the capital of the Grecian empire in- \nthe hands of the Turks; this melancholy event preyed upon his spirits \nand at length ended his days in 1455; \n\nHis successor, Alphonsus Borgia, who was a native of Spain, and \nis known in the papal lists by the name of Calixtus III. reigned only \nthree years, and died in August 1458, at a very advanced age. His \npontificate was signalised by no striking incident, nor were his acts re- \nmarkable, unless we should consider him as having introduced into \nthe government of the church the system of Nepotism. Although in- \nstances of that vice had been practised before, it was not until now \nit became the practice of the Vatican. Calixtus exhausted upon his \nworthless nephews the riches of the apostolical treasury, and limited \n26 \n\n\n\n202 THE HISTORY OF \n\nhis ambition to the aggrandisement of hL\'^ov/nfamil}^ It was fo thi^- \nthat the aspirations of pontifical presumption sank at last ! From that \nlofty spiritual arrogance, which in earlier ages has extorted from u^ \nsomething approaching to admiration, papacy first descended to \ngrasp after temporal power ; its great object being then to enlarge the \ndominion of the see \xe2\x80\x94 to secure the obedience of the city. Avarice \nattended; still its fruits were, for the m.ost part applied to ecclesiasti- \ncal objects, to maintain the interests of the Catholic church and \nextend the authority of the Vicar of Christ. Intrigues and wars \nflowed from the Vatican and deluged Europe with blood ; still they \nwere designed to extend the power, and to augment the dignity of \nRome. It was for the declining years of papacy, that the last and \nlowest degredation was reserved; it was not till the age of Calixtus IIL \nand Sextus IV. that the ambition of St.. Peter\'s successors degenera- \nted into a mere family passion and, and was confined to the narrowest \ncircle of selfishness. \n\nEneas Sylvius Piccolomini, who succeeded Calixtus under the title \nof Prus II. rendered his name much more illustrious, not only by his \nextensive genius, and the important transactions which were carried \non during his administration, but also by various and useful productions \nwith which he enriched the republic of letters. The lustre of his \nfame was indeed tarnished by a scandalous proof which he gave of his \nfickleness and inconstancy, or rather of his bad faith, for after having \nvigorously defended, against the pontiffs, the dignity and prerogatives \nof general councils, and maintained with peculiar boldness the cause \nof the council of Basle against Engenius IV. he renounced these \ngenerous principles upon^ his accession to the pontificate, and acted in \ndirect opposition to them during the whole course of bis administra- \ntration. Thus, in the year 1460, he denied publicly that the pope \nwas subordinate to the general council, and even prohibited all appeals \nto such a council under the severest penalties. The following year \nhe obtained from Lewis XI. king of France, the abrogation of the \npragm.atic sanction, v/hich favored, in a particular manner, the pre- \ntensions of the general councils, to supremacy in the church. But \nthe most egregious instance of impudence and perfidy that he exhib- \nited to the world, was in the year 1463, when he published a solemn \nretraction of all that he had written in favor of the council of Basle, \nand declared without shame or hesitation, that as Eneas Sylvius, he \nwas a damnable heretic, but as Pius II. he was an orthodox pontiff. \nThis indecent declaration was the last circumstance, worthy of notice \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 203 \n\nthat happened during his pontificate; he died soon after, in July \n1464. \n\nPaul II. a Venetian by birth, whose name v/as Peter Bard, was rais- \ned to the head of the church that same year, and died in 1471. His \nadministration was distinguished by some measures, which if we con- \nsider the genius of the times, Avere worthy of praise, though it must be \nconfessed that he did many things which v/ere inexcusable. He re- \nduced the jubilee circle to twenty five years, and thus accelerated the \nreturn of that most absurd and superstitious ceremony. So that his \nreputation became dubious in after times and is viev/ed in different \nlights by different persons. \n\nThe following pontiffs, Sextus IV. and Innocent VIII. whose names \nwere Francis Albescola and John Babtist Sibo, w^ere neither remar- \nkable for their virtues or their vices. The former departed this life \nin the year 1484, and the latter in 1492. Filled with apprehensions \nof the danger which threatened Europe in general and Italy in parti- \ncular, from the growing power of the Turks, they both attem.pted to \nput themselves in a posture of defence, and warmJy exhorted the Eu- \nropean princes to put a stop to the progress of that warlike people- \nBut many obstacles arose, which prevented the execution of this im- \nportant design, and rendered the exhortations of these zealous pontifi^s \nsyjithoiit jegect. The other undertakings that were projected or carried \non during their continuance at the head of the church, are not of im- \nportance sufficient to require particular notice. In the series of pon- \ntiffs who ruled the church during this century, the last in order of time \nwas Alexander VI., a Spaniard by birth, whose name v/as Roderic \nBorgia. The life and actions of this man shoiv that there was a Nero \namong the popes as well as among the emperors. The crimes that \nhistory has imputed to this papal Nero, prove him to have, not only \nbeen destitute of all religious and virtuous principles, but even regard- \nless of decency, and hardened against the feeling of shame. And \nthough it may be possible that the malignity of his enemies may have \nforged false accusations against him, and in some instances exaggera- \nted the real horror of his crimes ; yet there is upon record, an au- \nthentic list of undoubted facts, which, both by their number and their \natrocity are sufficient to render the name and memory of Alexander VI. \nodious and detestable in the esteem of such as have the smallest tincture \nof virtuous feelings. An inordinate affection for his children was the \nprinciple source from whence proceeded a great part of the crimes \'he \ncommitted. He had four sons of a concubine with whom he lived many \n\n\n\n204 T HE HIST O R Y OF \n\nyears, among whom was the infamous Caesar Borgia. A daughter, \nnamed Lucretia, was likewise among the fruits of this unlawful com- \nmerce. The tenderness of the pontiff for this spurious offspring was \nexcessive beyond all expression ; his only aim was to load them with \nriches and honors, and in the execution of this purpose, he trampled \nwith contempt upon every obstacle, which the demands of justice, the \ndictates of reason, and the remonstances of religion, laid in his way. \nThus he went on mhis profligate career until the year 1503, when the \npoison, which he and his son had mingled for others who stood in the \nway of their avarice and ambition, cut short, by a happy mistake, hi? \nown daySf \n\nAfter the funeral honors had been duly paid to the departed pon- \ntiff, thirty eight cardinals entered into conclave to choose a successor. \nThe unusual number of the electors may be one reason why the pre- \nsent election was not charged with simony ; but it presented a scene \nof treacherous intrigue, in which Julian della Rovera was the princi- \npal actor ; as no man was more daring in warfare, so was no one \nmore astute in duplicity, than he. By the success of his machinntions \na sick and feeble old man, the nephew of Pius II. was raised to the \npontificate, September 2%, 1503, and scarcely had he undergone the \nceremony of coronation, and assumed the name of Pius III. when he \ndied, twenty six days after his election. Great expectations were ex- \ncited by his reputed virtues and piety and his ardent desire for a ref- \normation in the church ; and it may be fortunate for his memory that \nthey were disappointed by his death, rather than some act of apoatacy \nby which he might have imitated some of his predecessors. \n\nJulian celebrated the mass at his obsequies ; and scarcely was that of- \nfice performed when he re-opened his former intrigues, in the design \nof procuring his own election. He gained the leading cardinals ; he \ngained the duke de Valentin ois, who directed the Spanish party in the \nconclave by rnagnificent promises, and the confidence that they would \nbe observed. On the first scrutiny, Julian della Rovera was unani- \nmously raised to the chair of Alexander VI. Before the election of \nPius III. the cardinals in conclave had bound the future pope to con- \nyoke \xc2\xa3^ general council for the reform of the church, within two years \nfrom the time of his election and to make the assembling of such \ncouncils, hereafter triennial. Julian, on his elevation, gave his assent \nto the same stipulations. \n\nDuring his pontificate, in which the military and sacerdotal charac- \nters were intlofiately blended, several disaffected cardinals convoked an- \n\n\n\nROMANCATHOLICISM 206 \n\nother council at Pisa, and Julius fearing the result of its deliberations, \nsaw no method of crushing it except the convocation of a rival coun- \ncil. He therefore issued a summons to the catholic hierarcy, to as- \nsemble at Rome, in April 151 2, for the celebration of the fifth Lateran \ncouncil , and on the third of May he opened it in person with extra- \nordinary solemnity and dignity. Fifteen cardinals and about eighty \narchbishops and bishops were present ; but almost all were Italians. \nDuring the nine following months, five sessions were held, in which \nno subject of ecclesiastical importance was proposed, except the prag- \nmatic sanction ; and this was treated in such a spirit of undisguised \nhostility to the French court and church, as to show clearly what \nwere the uses to which Julius intended to turn his council. But he \nwas interrupted by a fatal sickness. On the night of February 20, \n1513, he died, and it was the last recorded act of his life, to refuse \nthe cardinal\'s hat to an undeserving claimant. When the pope was \non the point of death, the boon was earnestly solicited by a very near \nrelative, a woman, for her own brother. Julius coldly replied, \'that \nthe person was unworthy,\' and then turned his head away and expired. \nHe was succeeded by Leo X. a name which belongs to the history of \nthe reformation, \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. \n\nReview of the History of the church. \xe2\x80\x94 Papal Vices.\xe2\x80\x94 General corrup- \ntion of the Clergy\xe2\x80\x94 r-Powers claimed by the Popes. \xe2\x80\x94 Their cupidity. \xe2\x80\x94 \nDispensation of Indulgences.\xe2\x80\x94 Spiritual despotism. \xe2\x80\x94 Temporal su^ \npremacy of the Pope. \xe2\x80\x94 Doctrines of the primitive church subverted. \xe2\x80\x94 \nInstitution of new rites and ordinances. \xe2\x80\x94 Purgatory. \xe2\x80\x94 Miracles. \xe2\x80\x94 \nDarkness of the sixteenth century. \xe2\x80\x94 Dawnings of Reformation. \xe2\x80\x94 Per^ \nsecution commenced. \n\nBefore proceeding with the administration of Leo X. it will be proper \nto turn aside for a moment, from the thread of history, to an examina- \ntion of the causes, which brought forward the reformation, and accel- \nerated its progress. Though it is not strictly true, that the history o^ \nthe popes, from Nicholas V. to Leo X. presents, so far as their person- \nal characters are concerned, a series of uniform degeneracy ; yet the \nprinciples of their government being bad, and not being corrected, be- \ncame necessarily worse. And thus, though the name of Julius IL \nfills us with much less abhorrence than that of Alexander VL the pol- \nicy of the apostolical see was never so directly opposed to every spir- \nitual object, as when guided by the former : ends purely temporal \nwere never pursued with such undisguised vehemence, or by means \nso sanguinary ; the keys of St. Peter, though not wholly cast away, \nwere never before so merely subsidiary io the sword of St. Paul ; in- \nsomuch that the hand of a retributive providence might almost seem \nto be traced in this circumstance \xe2\x80\x94 that the long succession of spiritu- \nal usurpers, who were chiefs of a religion of peace, and the professed \nvicegerents of the God of love, should terminate at length in a milita- \nry pontiff. The patience of angels and of men was exhausted by this \nlast mockery ; and the more daring the exploits of the soldier and the \nmore splendid the conquests of the prince, the more awful was the \nbolt, which was even then descending to rend his spiritual empire, \n\nWe should also observe respecting the popes described in the pre- \nceding chapter, that there was scarcely one whose government did \nnot deteriorate as it proceeded. Almost all began their reign with some \npromise of religious practice, or ecclesiastical reform, or broad Euro- \npean policy ; and some for the first year or two, observed such prom- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 207 \n\nises. But their reigns generally exceeded the usual duration af pon- \ntifical power, and they had space to imbibe the corruptions which sur- \nrounded them ; so that even those who carred with them into the Vat- \nican the ordinary principles of human conduct soon forgot them in \nthe society of debauched parasites, in the iniquities of a simonical court \nand in the administration of a system full of every impurity. Thus we \nare not surprised when we observe these sovereigns engrossed by the \ntemporal interests of their states, and engaged in securing their pow- \ner within the city, and extending their sway without it: this \nwas merely to govern like secular princes, and to pursue the policy \nwhich some of their greatest predecessors had bequeathed to them. \nBut the vice peculiarly characteristic of of this race, and that which \nreduced them below the level of the former pontiffs, was nepotism. It \nwas for this that the keys and the sword cooperated, that benefices \nwere publicly sold, and the pontificate almost publicly bought \xe2\x80\x94 that \nthe nephews and illegitimate children of profligate popes might be en- \nriched and aggrandized. Many fiefs of the church were alienated for \nthat purpose; and what was of worse consequence than this, the chief \nof the church thus acquired a new motive for its abuses, and repug- \nnance to any serious reformation. If Julius II. was less tainted with \nthis vice than those who immediately preceded him \xe2\x80\x94 for Julius min- \ngled some magnanimity v/ith his woildliness \xe2\x80\x94 it was soon restored to \nhonor by Leo X. and resumed its dominion over the councils of the \nVatican, \n\nIt is not necessary to retrace the process, by which the spiritual \nsupremacy of Rome, was engendered and nourished. We have ob- \nserved how equivocal and circumscribed it was in nature and dimen- \nsions, when it entered into ages of gloom and ignorance ; how it grew \nand dilated in its mysterious passage through them ; and how porten- \ntious in magnitude and majesty it emerged from the cloud. We have \nfollowed it through its meridian course of disastrous glory ; and we \nhave seen that in its decline, it did not suddenly lose either its fierce- \nness or its ascendency. It may seem strange, that an authority so \npredominant in its power, so universal and searching in its influence, \nso extravagant in its pretensions, should have been erected out of ma- \nterials apparently so incongruous ; it would have been more strange \nhad it been easily or hastily extinguished. An authority which claim- \ned the sanction of Heaven, and which stood on human impostures ; \nwhich pleaded the holiness of antiquity, and which innovated every \nhour ; which combined, in its composition^ learning with fanaticism, \n\n\n\n208 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nthe use of reason with its grossest abuse, extreme austerities with law- \nless licentiousness, much true piety with much vulgar and impious su- \nperstition, and which so applied those various qualities, as at length to \nacquire an influence in the policy of every court, in the institutions of \nevery governmentj in the morals of every people, in the habits of every \nfamily, in the bosom of almost every individual : an authority, so con- \nstructed, supported acknowledged, and felt, could not possibly fall in \npieces without a protracted struggle and a final convulsion. It was \nimpressed by the perseverance of fraud, upon credulous, abject igno- \nrance ; but so deeply impressed, that before it could be eftaced, the \nsubstance whereupon it was engraven must first change its nature ; \nso that ages of gradual improvement were required to repair the mis- \nchief, which ages had conspired to inflict. \n\nIf we examine the extent of this power, with respect to the objects \non which it was more immediately exerted, shall we find any depart- \nment, religious or moral, into which in its triumphant days it did not \npenetrate 1 The pope Avas the fountain of all ecclesiastical legislation. \nAll the canons and constitutions of the church were subject to him. \nHe could enact, suspend, abrogate, as might seem good to him, and \nnot only with the advice or consent of the consistory or merely in its \npresence, but in the plenitude of his power, and by his own spontane- \nous movement. At the same time, while he was supreme in his do- \nminion over the laws, he claimed an entire exemption from their con- \ntrol, and found a powerful party in the church to support his claim. \nHe was also, the source of all pastoral jurisdiction. The final deter- \nmination of every spiritual cause rested with him. He was the ob- \nject of appeal from all the episcopal courts ; and he delivered, con- \nfirmed, and reversed decisions, according to the arbitrary dictates of \nhis justice, or his interest. \n\nThe apostolical character of the ministry, perpetuated by the unin- \nterrupted communication of the Holy spirit, was held to centre in the \nsuccessor of St. Peter ; and thus not only did all sacredotal sanctity \nemanate from him, but all the officers and dignities of the church were \nvested in the see. No one of his pretensions cost him so much toil \nand trouble to substantiate as this. In his earliest attempts to usurp \nthe ecclesiastical patronage, he was contented to proceed by simple \nrecommendation ; and as he already had great power, his applications \nwere seldom despised. Hence arose the practice, and from the prac- \ntice the right. The prerogative of institution, of which he had grad- \nually despoiled the Metropolitans for the augmentation of his own dig- \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 209 \n\nttity, was serviceable as an instrument of further encroachment. \nThe fierce and protracted contest respecting investitures, between the \nsee and the empire, was inflamed by the same design in the former ; \nand when it terminated, the pope found himself in legal possession of \nthat power of occasional interference in the collation of benefices, \nwhich it needed no great address to improve and extend. Still, time \nand boldness were required to complete the usurpation ; and the mer- \nit of achieving that work is attributed to Innocent III. Soon after the \npragmatic sanction of St. Louis was leveled against it, and in later \nperiods it has been so commonly obtruded upon our attention, as al- \nmost to convert the records of Christ\'s church into a detail of disgus- \nting squabbles about its temporalities. A new vocabulary was intro- \nduced into the history of religion ; and as the magnificence of the \ncourt of Rome kept pace with the majesty of the monarch, and as its \navarice emulated his ambition, the field of reservatimi and jyrovision was \nenlarged with no limit, and the whole patronage of the universal church \nseemed to be absorbed by the cupidity of one man. \n\nThe same power which thus created cardinals and bishops and all \nother dignitaries, presumed by the same right, to confirm, censure, \nsuspend or depose them : so that the whole hierarchy of the west was \nplaced at its arbitrary disposal. And though this inordinate despotism \nwas continually resisted and restrained by the princes and parliaments \nof Europe, it had no effectual check within the church, nor was there \nany country in which it was not sometimes practically felt. It is more \ndifficult to determine, how far the pope was held at any particular pe- \nriod, to be personally absolute in matters of faith. No doubt, dispu- \nted points were perpetually referred to his decision, and the decision \nwas considered final. On the other hand, there have been popes at \nvarious times, who incurred the charge of heresy from very faithful \ncatholics. Now the very suspicion of error presumes the fallibility of \nthe person suspected, at least in the opinion of accusers ; and in the \nafiair of John XXII. and the process against Boniface VIII. we have \nbut observed that the friends of those popes denied their liability to \nerror. In somewhat later times, in the councils of Pisa, Constance \nand Basle, we find it a principle admitted by both parties, that a pope \nmight be deposed on conviction of heresy ; whence we may draw the \nsame inference respecting other periods of papal history. The claim \nof infallibility was not preferred in the deliberations at Florence, though \nconducted in the presence of the pope and his court, and entering ve- \nry deeply into the subject of papal authority ; nor was it advanced at \n27 \n\n\n\n210 T H E H I S T R Y O F \n\nany lateT* period in the same century. However clearly it might be \ndeduced from the general expressions of various bulls and constitu- \ntions, and even though it should have been asserted by some individu- \nals, and acknowledged and maintained by others, yet it would be too \nmuch to account it among the authorised pretensions of the holy see. \nHowever, the doctrines which proceeded from the chair were seldom \ndisputed, and the pontiff might forget the possibility of error in the re- \nverence which awaited and embraced his most questionable decisions. \n\nIn the regulation of the moral duties of the faithful ; the same \nsearching hand interposed with the same vigorous inquisition. A gen- \neral power of dissolving obligations was claimed by the successors of \nSt. Peter, and they applied it in various manners as suited their policy \nor their conscience ; sometimes in divorcing a king from his queen, \nsometimes in separating a nation from its monarch. The most sacred \noaths were annulled with the same ease, which dispensed with the \nslightest promise ; and as there were many who profited, or might \nhope to profit by that papal prerogative, and as it was made familiarby \nconstant exercise, so there were few who cared to question it, howev- \ner shameful the ends to which it was sometimes applied. \n\nIt is the doctrine of the Roman Catholic church, that besides the \neternal punishments denounced against sin, there are also temporal \npenalties attached to it, which are still due to the justice of God, even \nafter he may have remitted the former ; and that those penalties may \nconsist either of evil in this world, or of temporal sufferings in the next \nin an intermediate condition of purgatory. It is also an article of faith \nthat a satisfaction in their place has been instituted by Christ, as a part \nof the sacrament of penance, and that the jurisdiction of the church \nas exercised by the pope, extends to the remission of that satisfaction. \nThe act of remission is called an indulgence ; it is partial or complete, \nas the indulgence is for a stated time or plenary, and the conditions of \nrepentance and restitution are in strictness annexed to it. Through \nthis doctrine, the popes were invested with a vast control over the hu- \nman conscience, even in the moderate exercise of their power, because \nit was a power which overstepped the limits of the visible world. But \nwhen they proceeded to abuse it, and when through the progress of that \nabuse, people at length were taught to believe, that perfect absolution \nfrom all the penalties of sin could be procured from a human being; \nand procured too, not through fervent prayer and deep and earnest \ncontrition ; but by military service, by pilgrimages, or even by gold \xe2\x80\x94 it \nwas then that the evil was carried so far, as to leave the historian doubt- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 211 \n\nful, whether any thing be any where recorded more astonishing than \nthe wickedness of the clergy, except the credulity of the vulgar. \n\nWe recur more particularly to this scandal, for it was the immediate \ncause of the Reformation : but it is proper to remark, that in the gen- \neral picture which has been drawn of Rome\'s spiritual despotism and \npride, some features had already been effaced before the time of Lu- \nther. From the death of Boniface VIII. the colors had been gradu- \nally, though insensibly fading. The dependant popes of France sus- \ntained the character of Gregory VII. and Innocent IV. with feeble- \nness and degeneracy. The profligacy and rapacity of their court be- \ngan to dissolve the hereditary spell and withdrew the sacred veil \nwhich had, hitherto, concealed their real weakness. During the \nschism the rival anti-popes railed against each other, while they \ncovered themselves with crimes ; and the nations who were ap- \npealed to, as arbiters of the dispute, could not fail to detect the worth- \nlessness of both parties. In the councils which followed, some \nprinciples were advanced and established which though still too nar- \nrowly limited by inveterate prejudices, were subversive of the abso- \nlute monarchy of the pontifl*. When the councils were dissolved, and \nthe duty of convoking others successfully eluded by the popes, the \ncourt of Rome, liberated from that terror, once more plunged into de- \nbauchery, more shameless, yet more notorious, than the abomination of \nformer days ; and the various scandals of the tenth century were sur- \npassed by Innocent VIII. by Alexander, and Julius, iii an age of com. \nparative civilization. It is true, that in its pretensions the see had \nabated nothing of its ancient arrogance, and we have observed what \nawe it was sometimes capable of inspiring, even in its decay. But \nthe light had broken in ; the slow, yet irresistible hand of knowledge \nhad commenced its labors, and the basis of opinion, on which alone \nthe spiritual despotism rested, was already shaken and shattered. \n\nThe effect of successful usurpation is to aggravate ambition, and \nthe more disproportionate the success to all reasonable hope and cal- \nculation, the wilder are the schemes which take their rise from it. \nThe spiritual despotism of the pope transcends any exhibition, of hu- \nman power described in any history, until we approach the surpassing \nmagnitude of his temporal pretensions. The design of Gregory VII. \nwas the most daring imagination of human ambition. To establish \nthe chair of St. Peter as the source of all power, secular as well as \npastoral, civil as well as ecclesiastical ; to subject all kings and govern- \nments to the crosier of an unarmed, aged priest ; to regulate the po- \n\n\n\n212 THEHISTORYOF \n\nIjtics of the. world by the annual meeting of a senate of ecclesiastics, \nunder the eye of that autocrat ; to dispose of all countries and all \nthrones; to create monarchs and then to suspend or depose them ; to \nsport with all that is sublime and mighty in earthly things \xe2\x80\x94 such was a \nscheme beyond the boldest conception of secular pride ; and it was \nengendered, where alone it could have found any nourishment, in the \nbreast of a monk. \n\nThe temporal supremacy of the pope was not projected in the dark- \nest moment of superstition and barbarism ; it was promoted during a; \nperiod more enlightened than that in which it originated; it reached \nthe height of its triumph during the latter part of the thirteenth cen- \ntury, when Frederic II. had given an impulse to literature, when \nDante was earning immortality ; and, but for that French intrigue \nwhich transplanted papacy for a season into a foreign soil, it might \nhave advanced still farther; it would not, at least, have receded so \nsoon. Yet its fate must naturally have followed the dechne of the \nspiritual authority of the see, since it had absolutely no other founda- \ntion than that ; and as it was of late origin and more insulting to rea- \nson, its overthrow was more rapid and more complete. Yet its latest \npretensions were not unworthy of its former insolence ; and the pre- \nsumption with which it distributed, in the fifteenth century, kingdoms \nand oceans, and continents, is recollected with astonishment even by \nthe catholics themselves ; since they now, for the most part, admit that \nthat branch of fhe pontificial authority was an indefensible usurpation. \n\nNevertheless, it found m.uch support in the temporary interests of \nthe great ; it held forth a plausible pretence in the pacific objects \nwhich it professed, and it was really instrumental in conferring some \nbenefits on mankind. Probably there is no court in Europe in which \nthe papal right to dispose of thrones, has not at some time been recog- \nnized. It was never disputed by any prince who found his immediate \nprofit in its acknowledgment ; v/hen the crown was offered by the \npontificial hand, the validity of the donation was never questioned ; \nand thus did sovereigns sharpen for the chastisement of their rivals, \na weapon, which was so easily turned against themselves. \n\nIn the worst periods of feudal government, a mediatory influence \nover the various chiefs of the European republic, vested in the head \nof the universal religion, if exercised with moderation, with disinter- \nestedness, with discretion, according to the rules of evangelical char- \nity, might have conferred the most substantial blessings on society : \nand since the papal interference was sometimes so regulated, it had \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 213 \n\nnot been wholly destitute of advantage. Divisions have been healed, \nwars have been prevented, crimes have been punished, justice has \nbeen honored, tyranny has been checked, by the arbitrary decrees of \nthe Vatican, and the popes were, upon the whole, as wise and as virtu- \nous as the princes around them ; and when we consider the holy \nground on which their government professed to stand, it is shameful, \nthat they were not more so. But the good which they conferred was \nconfined to evil times, and even then it was alloyed with much mis- \nchief. The motives of their m.ediation were as comm^only found in \nanger or ambition, as in religion and philanthropy; and it may be \nquestioned whether the pohtical benefits which proceeded from it, \nsuch as the establishment of a liberal party in Ital}", and occasional \nrestraints on kingly despotism, were not rather the consequence than \nthe design of their pohcy. The means employed by their ambition \nwere sometimes lower than the ordinary level of political immorality. \nTo rouse subjects against their rulers is a detestable method of effect- \ning a beneficial purpose \xe2\x80\x94 jet nothing is more common and human: \nbut to arm children against the authority and lives of their parents, is a \npolicy suggested by the adversary of mankind. \n\nThe Roman Catholics assert with great truth, that their church has \npreserved through the most perilous times, the essential mysteries and \ntenets of the Christian faith. It is with reverence that we have re- \nceived them from her hands, and with gratitude that we acknowledge \nthe inestimable obhgation. Yet the most zealous Catholic must \nbe contented to share that praise with the schismatics of the east. The \nsame treasure has been guarded with the same fidelity by the church \nof Greece, and would thus have been equally perpetuated if the puri- \nty of the Roman creed had been corrupted by the barbarian conquests. \nBut while those rival churches may divide the merit of having trans- \nmitted the apostolical doctrines to the latest generations, thereis a dif- \nference in the manner of that tradition; the one has transmitted them \nsuch as she received them from the highest antiquity, not daring to \nviolate by any innovation, the integrity of the pristine faith ; the other \naugmented her confession by some articles which were left by the dis- \ncretion of early times to the hberty ofprivate judgment. To indicate \nth\xc2\xab sources whence many of these innovations proceeded, has been \nattempted; we shall now remark upon one or two others, which \nthough of distant origin also, did not acquire any very perceptible \nprevalence till a later age. - \n\nAc<?ording to the original system of penance, it was inculcated. \n\n\n\n214 T H E PI I S T O R Y O F \n\nthat transgressions could be expiated by prayer, fasting and alms ; \nthere was no period in the history of the church, in which pious works \nwere not held efficacious to redeem sin, and imposed for that purpose \neither directly, or by a partial substitution for bodily mortification. To \nthis circumstance many holy structures owed their origin ; many poor \nhouses and hospitals and these, works were considered satisfactory to \nGod. This system was gradually corrupted, and fell into great dis- \norder when Theodore of Tarsus, archbishop of Canterbury, publish- \ned about the year 68D, his celebrated Penitential. \n\nBy the instructions herein deUvered, the clergy were taught to dis- \ntinguish sins into various classes, and to judge them according to their \nnature, to the intention of the offender, and other circumstances. \nThe penitential likewise pointed out the penalties proper for every sort \nof offence ; prescribed the forms of consolation, exhortation, absolu- \ntion, and set forth the duties of the confessor. This new discipline, \nthough of Gi eek origin, was eagerly embraced in the Latin churches \nand it was immediately corrupted. The method of redemption by \npenance was soon reduced to a regular system ; in the place of so \nmany days of fasting, so much alms was to be given ; or so many \npsalms sung, or so many masses celebrated, by others, who were to be \nrewarded for the office, or so much money to be paid down. The \nnumber of the Penitentials was increased, and their character altered \naccording to the caprice of individual confessors : and in spite of some \nattempts to repress the abuse, pecuniary redemption became more and \nmore common, and shortly every sort of penance had its price fixed, \nin gold. \n\nThese, however, were only corruptions of the ancient penitential \nsystem : they did not effect its destruction ; but that result was after- \nwards brought about by the abuse of indulgences. An indulgence, \nas a mere relaxation of canonical penance, existed as early as the age \nof Cyprian ; and it was not till the Council of Clermont, that the dis- \ncharge of a single duty was substituted for all that was due, or might \nhereafter be due to the penal authority of the church. When people \nfound it so easy to release themselves at once from the ancient burden \nof redemption, they became clamorous to I\'eceive, what the pope, on \nsufficient consideration, was never reluctant to grant. It is true that \nthere lived from time to time many ecclesiastics, even in the worst age \nof the church, who exclaimed against the abuse of that papal prerog- \native : against the indiscriminate distribution and open venality of in- \ndulgences. None of them, however, argued on the false principle on \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 215 \n\nwhich they were founded ; this was not made a reason of their con- \ndemnation, that they disparaged the efficacy of grace, and perverted \nif they did not wholly overthrow, the doctrine of salvation through the \nmerits of Christ alone. \n\nThe existence and nature of an intermediate state naturally awa- \nkened the speculations of the early Christians; but the subjects were \nlong left open to the curiosity, the vanity, or the piety of contempla- \ntive individuals; these were not restrained by any ecclesiastical edicts, \nand impunity yet attended the profession of opposite doctrines. \nAmong the Greeks, the question was not afterwards pressed to any \npractical system or inference. A certain opinion was selected and \nsanctioned as that most probable, and was apparently inscribed among \nthe authorised tenets ; but it was at no time recommended to the pe- \nculiar reverence of the faithful, still less was it converted into an en- \ngine of ecclesiastical government. But during the iron ages of the \nRoman church, the same inexplicable question assumed a much more \ndefinite and durable shape. Differing from the Greeks, who consid- \nered the immediate abode of the departed to be one of obscurity and \ndiscomfort, the Latins boldly lighted the penal fires of purgatory, and \ngave a substance, a locality and an object to the timid and distrustful \nspeculations of the early Christians. \n\nIt is the modern doctrine of the Roman Catholic church that there is a \npurgatory, and that the souls imprisoned there are aided by the pray- \ners of the faithful, and the acceptable sacrifice of the altar. It is not \nso important to ascertain what has been, at various times, the outward \nprofession of the church, as to remark the consequences which have \npractically flowed from the dogma, and influenced the happiness and \nmorality of mankind. The history of the church is not a hfeless re- \ncord of its canons and confessions, but a display of their operation, \nwhether for good or for mischief, whether in their use or their abuse, \nupon the Christian community. The consequence, which followed \nfrom the establishment of a temporary place of punishment, or purifi- \ncation, for departed souls, was, that the successor of St. Peter assum- \ned, through the power of the keys, unlimited authority there. By \nindulgences, issued at the discretion of the pope, the sinner was re- \nleased from suff\'ering, and immediately passed into a state of grace. \nAs long as these indulgences were granted with discrimination and \nreserve, the ill effects, which they occasioned, do not often meet the \neyes of the historian. But as soon as they were turned into mere in- \nitruments of papal ambition, and as such were not only promiscuous- \n\n\n\n216 T H E H I S T K Y O F \n\n]y scattered over the world, but also extended in character to a plena- \nry remission, they became manifest means to poison the morality of \nthe faithful. \n\nFrom this time, their nature could scarcely be further corrupted^ \nfor the only proof which was now required of the sinner\'s spiritual \nmortification and amendment, was his willingness to perform a single \nact. But on the character of that act, that is, on the object of the \nindulgence, it still depended, whether the subversion of the principle\' \nof evangelical repentance was to be made subservient to the seeming \nadvantage of the world, or instrumental in aggravating its misery. \n\nThe object of the indulgence was changed repeatedly : yet never \nso changed, as to take the guise of philanthropy. First, it was the \nrecovery of the holy land and the extirpation of the infidel ; then from \nthe general foe of Christ it was turned against the spiritual ad- \nversaries of the Catholic Church ; from the spiritual adversaries \nries of the church it descended to the temporal enemies of the pope. \nIt next assumed a more innocent shape, and summoned obedient pil- \ngrims to enrich, on stated jubilees, the apostolical shrines of Rome. \nLastly, it degenerated into a mere vulgar, undisguised implement for \nsupplying the necessities of the pontifical treasury; and it was in this \nlast form that it at length aroused the scorn and indignation of Eu. \nrope, \n\nThe profane and even blasphemous expressions, by which the em- \nissaries of the Vatican recommended their treasures to popular cre- \ndulity, were tacitly permitted by the authorities of the church ; yet \nwe shall not detail them here, nor impute them to any others, than \nthe individuals who uttered them : they should repose in the same ob- \nlivion. But it is proper to transcribe a specimen of the indulgences\' \nwhich were publicly sold in the beginning of the sixteenth century, \nbecause they were the authorised productions of the church. The \nfollowing is the translation of that which was circulated by Tetzel : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'\'May our Lord Jesus Christ have mercy upon thee and absolve \nthee by the merits of his most holy passion. And I, by his authority, \nthat of his blessed apostles, Peter and Paul, and ofthe most Holy See, \ngranted and committed to me in these parts, do absolve thee first from \nall ecclesiastical censures, in whatever manner they may have been \nincurred, and then from all thy sins, trnnsgressions and excesses, \nhowever enormous they may be, even such as are reserved for the \ncognisance of the Apostolic See. And as far as the keys of the \nchurch extend, I remit to you all punishment which you deserve in- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 21T \n\npurgatory on their account; and I restore to you the Holy Sacra- \nments of the church, to the unity of the faithful, and to that inno- \ncence and purity which you possessed at baptism ; so that if you \nshould die now the gates of punishment shall be shut and the gates of \nthe paradise of delight opened. And if you shall not die at present, \nthis grace shall remain in full force when you are on the point of death. \nIn the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.\' \nThis indulgence, in spite of the ambiguity of one or two expressions, \nis nothing less than unconditional permission to sin for the rest of life ; \nand as such it was assuredly received by those classes of people for \nwhom it was chiefly intended, and whose morality is peculiarly confi- \nded to the superintendence of the clergy. And thus it was, that the \ndestiny of the church was accomplished. \n\nHowever easy the acquisition of pardon (for the moderate price \nof indulgences placed them within the reach of the lowest orders,) still \nmany neglected to profit by the facility, and were accordingly confin- \ned to the penal fire. Yet even thus, they were not removed beyond \nthe power and mercies of the church. It was inculcated that the \nprayers of the living wer\'e efficacious in the purification of those de- \nparted souls ; but that their release was most speedily secured by the \nsacrifice of the altar, and in consequence arose in early times, the \npractice of offering masses, both public and private, for that purpose; \nand as these too, had subsequently their price in gold, the piety of the \nsurvivors was taxed to redeem the transgressions of the dead ; so vari- \nous were the devices of the church, to render tributary the weakness- \nes, the virtues, and even the natural affection of the faithful. The \nsale of private masses was a fruitful source of revenue to the clergy, \nespecially to the monastic orders, and that likewise was one of the \nabuses just proscribed by the eloquence of Luther. \n\nThe impostures practiced, called miracles, which almost surpassed \nthe impiety of Pagans, and which were ascribed by Gerson to the \nfantastic somnolency of a benighted world, were continued with un- \nrestrained temerity, even to the days of Erasmus. The im.posturcs \nwere the same which had so long been employed to delude the people \nof Christ, \xe2\x80\x94 but the people were changed. A spirit of inquiry was \nspreading over the surface of Europe, and it was seen and Mi by all, \nexcept the monks and bigots, to whom alone it was dangerous. These \npersevered in the same blind path of habitual fraud and momentary \nprofit, which at length conducted them to the precipice, whither it \nbad always tended. \n\n28 \n\n\n\n218 THEHISTORYOF \n\nOther unscriptural practices, long inherent in the Romish system, \nnever had flourished with greater luxuriance than at the beginning of \nthe sixteenth century. The abuse of images had been carried at no \nperiod to a more unpardonable extent. The popular adoration of the \nsaints had never deviated farther from the professed moderation of \nthe church \xe2\x80\x94 relics had never been approached with a reverence more \nsuperstitious, or more directly encouraged by the priesthood. The \npomp and order of the ceremonies had been at no time more at vari- \nance with the character of a spiritual religion. Some of the festivals \nwhich were instituted or revived during the fifteenth century, seem de- \nsignedly established to turn away men\'s minds from the substance of \nChristianity, to vain formalities or wicked fables. It is proper to no- \ntice more particularly in what manner the highest ecclesiastical au- \nthorities were supplying the spiritual necessities of the faithful, at the \nmoment when the cry for reformation was resounding from one end \nof Europe to the other. \n\nThe first regulation for the exposition of the Holy Sacrament was \npublished in 1452, by the pope\'s legate in Germany, at a council held \nat Cologne ; and the expressions of the edict are entirely worthy of \nits object. If a comet appeared, or the country was ravaged by in- \nundation or pestilence, the reigning pope immediately proceeded to of- \nfer his indulgences to all who should celebrate the feast of the Holy \nSacrament, or of the Immaculate conception, to all who should thrice \nrepeat the Lord\'s prayer, or the angelic salutation About the end of \nthe year 1480, Sixtus IV. was invited to settle a dispute between the \ninhabitants of Perugia and Sienna, on a very remarkable subject. \nThe former were accused of having obtained fraudulent possession of \nthe nuptial ring of St. Catharine, the hereditary property of the latter. \nThe object was holy ; and its sanctity was enhanced by its various vir- \ntues, frequently experienced by the faithful, especially that of recon- \nciling conjugal differences. This quarrel w^as prolonged some time \nunder Sixtus and his successor. \n\nIn the * book of conformities,\' between the life of Jesus Christ and \nthat of St Francis, the fanatic is exalted to the level, if not above the \nlevel of the Saviour. To complete the resemblance, the former car- \nried about v\\rith him the marks of the five wounds of Christ, and the \nbelief in these stigmata was enjoined on all the faithful by Alexander* \nV. In the age following St. Francis, the same miraculous impressions \nwere claimed, on the same authority, by the female impostor of Sien- \npa, And when Catharine was at length canonized by Pius II. anof^ \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 219 \n\nfice was instituted in her honor, of which the hymns affirmed that she \nhad received the stigmata. This was offering an unpardonable indig- \nnity to the Franciscans ; for they were zealous of the glory of their \npatron, and asserted his exclusive pretension to that intimate sympa- \nthy with Christ. The Dominicans immediately arose in defence of \nSt Catharine. The office was, notwithstanding, denounced by Sixtus \niV. and that pope published an edict, prohibiting any one, under se- \nvere penalties, from representing the stigmata of St. Catharine in paint- \ning ; but he afterwards retracted his prohibition. These matters took \nplace about the year 1489 ; the same which gave birth to Martin Lu- \nther. \n\nAbout the year 1050, a daily office was instituted to the blessed Vir- \ngin, distinguished by seven canonical hours, in a form anciently used in \nhonor of divine majesty ; and in the course of the next hundred years \nthe reverence so paid, grew into worship. Among the attributes early \nascribed to her, was exemption of original sin ; but this opinion wag \nfor some time confined to the breasts of a few individuals \xe2\x80\x94 it had no \nplace in ecclesiastical ceremonies, or the arguments of the learned. \nAbout the year 1136, the canons of Lyons ventured to introduce it \ninto the offices of their church. St. Bernard opposed that innovation \nand attacked the indiscreet zeal of those ecclesiastics. In the follow- \ning age, the subject was found to open too large a field for controver- \nsy, to escape the polemical zeal of the scholastics ; it became on the \ncontrary their favorite field of disputation. And since the Domini- \ncans ranged themselves on one side and the Franciscans on the other, \nthe contest was heated and perpetuated by monastic jealousy. But it \nwas reserved for the council of Basle to establish the doctrine, and to \nexcommunicate all who should preach the contrary. A feast was \nthen instituted in honor of the Immaculate Conception, which receiv- \ned, in 1446, thp official confirmation of Sixtus IV. but the controver- \nsy was not composed, nor even the shadow of concord restored be- \ntween the two contending orders. \n\nWithout closely pursuing the inexhaustible subject of monastic dis- \nsensions, we may mention that a violent dispute arose in this age be- \ntween the canons regular, and the hermits of St. Augustine, respect- \ning the dress assumed by the original monks of that father. The \nclamor ascended to the apostolical chair, and commanded the atten- \ntion of Sixtus IV. He published a bull, in which he wisely enjoined \npeace to both parties ; wisely, but vainly \xe2\x80\x94 for the^controversy continu- \ned for some time longer to disturb the harmony of those holy brethren. \n\n\n\nt20 THE HISTORY OF \n\nA difference, respecting the kind of worship which is due to the \nblood of Christ, first arose at Barcelona, in 1350, between the Domin- \nicans and Franciscans. It was renewed at Brixen in 1463. James \na Marchia, a Franciscan, publicly maintained that the blood, which \nChrist shed on the cross, did not belong to the divine nature, and con- \nsequently wa^ not an object of worship. The Dominicans were roused \nto fury by an assertion so derogatory to the Redeemer ; and the preach- \ner was immediately before the inquisition. Pius II. made some inef- \nfectual attempts to suppress the controversy ; but finding his authori- \nty insufficient for that purpose, he at last submitted the question to a \ncommission of divines, but both parties were so highly inflamed, that \nthe doctors were unable to arrive at any decision. At length the pon- \ntiff published a reasonable decree, *that both opinions might be lawful- \nly maintained, until Christ\'s vicegerent should find leisure for examin- \ning the question,\' and so the matter rests at this moment. \n\nIn 1492, some laborers, repairing the foundations of the church \nof the Santa Croce, at Rome, discovered what was immediately pro- \nclaimed to be the original inscription on the cross of Chri?t. The be- \nlief was propagated, that it had been sent to Rome by St. Helena^ \nmother of Constantine ; and though there was no authority for this \ntradition, and though the pious catholics of Toulouse pretended to \nhave possessed the true inscription undisturbed for many ages, Al- \nexander VI. pronounced the authenticity of the Roman title, and re- \ncommended it by particular indulgences to the devotion of the faith- \nful. In the same year, an ambassador fiom Bajazet arrived, bearing \nas a present to the pope, the head of the true lance. All the clergy \nwent forth in procession to receive it, and the pontiff assisted in per- \nson at the miserable mummery. Raynaldus assures us that the \nsponge and the reed were presented on the same occasion; such were \nthe offerings with which the infidel insulted the superstition of Chris- \ntendom, and found his ready agent and most zealous accomplice in \nthe pope. \n\nWhile the spiritual guides of the faithful were thus degradingly em- \nployed ; while absurdity and im[)osture seemed triumphant in the \nchurch, and the monks and the clergy were lending their aid, in rival- \nry, to nourish them; a far different spirit was growing up among those \nwho had sought their instruction elsewhere. Many pious laymen had \nalready explored the forbidden treasures of scripture. Thoy abhorred \nthe vices of the ecclesiastical system ; they discovered that whatever \nin it was wicked, was likewise unfounded in truth. They advanced \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 221 \n\n\\vith increasing confidence towards evangelical perfection, just as the \nchurchmen were rushing most wildly in the opposite direction, and \ncasting wisdom and piety behind them. There was, however, some \nreason in this their madness. The superstitions of Rome were close- \nly connected with her authority, and these exerted on each other a \nreciprocal and potent influence. The superstitions enslaved the con- \nsciences, and thus commanded the riches of the faithful ; and so they \nministered to the papal power ; while on the other hand, that power \nestablished and canonized the abuses, and it had been, so long, effi- \ncient in protecting them that it almost seemed capable of supporting \nthem forever. \n\nIt was not till the popes had established their authority in most of \nthe courts of Europe, that the principles of persecution were display- \ned in their full extent, or the practice attended with much barbarity. \nThe previous efforts of Alexander III. and Calixtus II. betrayed the \ndisposition and showed the sting, but as yet it was not armed and poi- \nsoned. The execution of the mystics of Orleans at a still earlier pe- \nriod, was perpetrated by the king and the bishop, without any excuse \nof pontifical interference. In fact, the unity of the church was not \nprotected by the authorised use of the sword, until the reign of Inno- \ncent III. His great power enabled him not only to turn a casual \nstorm against a particular sect of the heretics of the day , but to en- \ngage the temporal weapon, by a general and perpetual edict, in the \nservice of the spiritual. \n\nThe third canon of the Lateran council, held by that pontiff, con- \ntained an injunction to the effect, \'that temporal lords be admonished \nand if necessary, compelled by censures, to take a pubhc oath to ex- \nterminate heretics from their territories. If any one, being thus re- \nquired, shall refuse to purge his land, he shall be excommunicated by \nthe metropolitan and his suffragans; and if he shall give proof of still \nfurther contumacy, the pope shall dissolve his subjects from their feal- \nty.\' Of Roman cathoUc waiters, those who would willingly cleanse \ntheir church from the stain of blood, and those who disapprove of its \nclaims to temporal authority, are equally perplexed by this edict. But \nthere are some who affect to doubt its genuineness ; while others af- \nfirm that it was directed only against feudatories, not against the su- \npreme lord ; others that it was directed by Innocent to a council so \nservile, as even to to impeach its authority ; others again, that it was \nonly levelled against the contemporary heretics, whose detested Mani- \ncheism deserved the sentence \xe2\x80\x94 a more plausible excuse may be alleged \nia the consent or silence of the princes and ambassadors who were \n\n\n\n222 THEHISTORYOF \n\npresent at the council. On Innocent\'s death which foil wed soon af- \nterwards, Honorius, his successor applied to Frederic II. to insert the \ncanon among the constitutions of the empire. He did so. Having \nthus embarked the state in the same conspiracy with the church, and \ndegraded it, besides to be the mere executioner of the sentences of its \naccomplices, he loaded the former with ignominy, and shared, with- \nout diminishing the guilt of the latter. \n\nHenceforward the ecclesiastical and civil governments legally and \nsystematically co-operated in the destruction of many bold and virtu- \nous spirits, who, for three successive centuries asserted, under differ- \nent forms and names, the private right of reading and interpreting the \ngospel. The secular arm was even in attendance on the decisions of \nsacerdotal barbarity ; and it was in this subordinate ministry of an in- \ndependent power, that the real executioners found a pretext to pro- \nclaim their own unsullied charity \xe2\x80\x94 that tneir hands were undefiled \xe2\x80\x94 \nthat the church was merciful and long-suffering, and that the pe- \nnal flames were lighted by the vengeance of the temporal powers ! \n\nThe inquisition embodied the principles and practices of persecution; \nand notwithstanding the abhorence which it raised in some places, it \nwas an engine of good service in protecting the unity of the Roman \nchurch. That fatal principle, of which the name and even the seeds \nmay be traced to the earliest ages, occasioned more than half the \ncrimes that stain the ecclesiastical annals. Every hope of salvation \nwas confined to the bosom of the church. Should any dare to aban- \ndon that exclusive sanctuary, their heritage was eternal perdition. \nIf then, by the fear and endurance of mere temporary torture, men \ncould be preserved from eternal inflictions, was not the office salutary? \nwas not the duty preemptory ? Alas ! for the presumption of those \nwho were sincere in this profession. But if there were any who false- \nly joined the cry, with no other object than to support a system by \nwhich they profited, there may be pardon reserved for them in the \nmercy of God, but there is no term in the vocabulary of crime which \ncan express their guilt. \n\nIt would be an insult to human nature to suppose that among the \nministers of the Roman church there were not many, who individual- \nly abhorred the practice, and softened by their private tolerance the \nrigor of the ecclesiastical code. But the dominant party in the church \nwas always that which stretched the principle of its \'unity\' to its ex- \ntreme length, and pursued the victims of that principle with as much \neverity, as the poHcy of princes and the endurance of the laity \nwould permit. As in the thirteenth century, so was it in the \n\n\n\nROMAN C/^THOLICISM. 223 \n\nfifteenth ; as with Innocent, so with Gerson and Clemangis, and the \nreformers of Innocent\'s abuses. The spirit possessed the church : \nthence it emanated and swelled the bosom of its ministers; and the \nmore devoted was the individual to the service of the church, the more \nthoroughly was his soul impregnated with the venom. \n\nEven these ecclesiastics may not have been destitute of private vir- \ntues, or may not have lost, in the exercise of official barbarity, all sense \nof justice or all feeling of mercy. They might be compassionate, they \nmight even be charitable. It might be that they were only cruel and \nunjust and uncharitable in as far as they were imbued with the high \necclesiastical principle ; in as far as they identified the religion of the \ngospel with their own modification of it ; in as far as they mistook the \ninterests ol their order for the honor of Chiist. \n\nA practice sanctified by the authority, and enforced by the zeal of \nthe sacred body, found innumerable advocates among the laity, and \nit was never in more general favor, than at the end of the fifteenth \ncentury. Even the philosophers of that age were hostile to the exer- \ncise, or ignorant of the name of tolerance. The popes pressed with \nunrelenting rigor the hereditary usage ; and the arm of the inquisition \nwas lengthened, and its weapons sharpened and refined. In the rar-i \niety of christian victims, for the Hussites were not victims, but ene- \nmies and warriors; attention was turned to the perversity of the Jews; \nandSixtus IV. Innocent VIII. and Alexander VI. added to their oth- \ner offences, the crime of persecution. Indeed, persecution was, at thia \ntime, almost the only proof the Romish church affected to exhibit of \nits attachment to religion. It had become the apparent object of the \nspiritual government ; and the perpetrator of every enormity sought \natonement for his guilt in the blood of an unbeliever. It had become \na part of ecclesiastical morality ; and it was now founded not so much \non hostility to any particular opinion, or any bigoted belief in the op- \nposite, as on the determination, that no new opinion should be broach^ \ned with impunity. It was not against the results of thought, but \nagainst the liberty of thinking, that the bolts were levelled. The re-^ \nbellion was more detestable than the heresy; and the wretches who \ndared to plead their bible against the church, were marked out, not \nfor conversion, but for massacre. The end being holy, sanctified the \nmeans, and in pursuing the details of religious warfare, we shall often \nobserve, that if the deeds of pure attrocity were equally balanced, \nthe superiority in fraud, perfidy and perjury, is without doubt on the \nside of the catholics. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. \n\nLeo X \xe2\x80\x94 his prodigalihj. \xe2\x80\x94 Sale of Indulgences. \xe2\x80\x94 John Tetzel. \xe2\x80\x94 Com-\' \nmencement of the Reformation. \xe2\x80\x94 Martin Luther \xe2\x80\x94 denounces the vires of \nRome\xe2\x80\x94 Is branded as a heretic \xe2\x80\x94 Continued opposition. \xe2\x80\x94 Withdraios \nfrom the Romish Church. \xe2\x80\x94 Progress of the Reformation. \xe2\x80\x94 Confession \nof Augsburg. \xe2\x80\x94 League of Smalcade. \xe2\x80\x94 War vnth the Papists. \xe2\x80\x94 Suc- \ncess of the Protestant cause. \xe2\x80\x94 Death and Character of Luther. \n\nTo overturn a system of religious belief, founded on ancient and \ndeep rooted prejudices, supported by power and defended with no less \nart than industry ; to establish in its room doctrines of the most con- \ntrary genius and tendency ; and to accomplish all this, not by exter- \nnal violence or by the force of arms, are operations which historians, \nthe least prone to credulity and superstition, ascribe to that Divine \nProvidence, which with infinite ease, can bring about events, which \nto human sagacity appear impossible. The in\'.erposition of heaven \nin favor of the christian religion at its first publication, was manifested \nby miracles and prophecies wrought and uttered in confirmation of \nit. Though none of the reformers possessed these supernatural gifts, \nyet that wonderful preparation of circumstances which disposed the \nminds of men for receiving their doctrines, that singular combination \nof causes which secured their success, and enabled men, destitute of \npower and policy, to triumph over those who employed against them \nextraordinory efforts of both, may be considered as no slight proof, \nthat the same hand which planted the christian religion, protected the \nreformed faith, and reared it from beginnings extremely feeble, to an \nastonishing degree of vigour and maturity. \n\nIt was from causes seemingly fortuitous, and from a source very in- \nconsiderable, that all the mighty effects of the reformation flowed. \nLeo X. when raised to ths papal throne, found the revenues of the \nchurch exhausted by the vast projects of his two ambitious predecess- \nors, Alexander VI. and Ju\'ius II. His own temper, naturally liberal \nand enterprising, rendered him incapable of that severe and patient \neconomy which the situation of his finances required. On the con- \ntrary, his schemes for aggrandizing the family of the Medici, his love of \nsplendor, his taste for pleasure, and his magnificence in rewarding \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 225 \n\nmen of genius, involved him daily in nev/ expenses ; in order to pro- \nvide a fund for which, he tried every device that the fertile invention \nof priests had fallen upon, to drain the credulous multitude of their \nwealth. Among others he had recourse to the sale of indulgences. \nAccording to the doctrine of the Romish church, all the good works \nof the saints, over and ahove those which were necessary for their \nown justification, are deposited, together v/ith the infinite merits of \nJesus Christ, in one inexhaustible treasury. The keys of this were \ncommitted to St. Peter, and to his successors the popes, who may open \nit at.pleasure,and by transferring a portion of this superabundant meritj \nto any particular person, for a sum of money, may convey to him ei- \nther the pardon of his own sins, or a release for any one in whose \nhappiness he is interested, from the pains of purgatory. Of the ori- \ngin and nature of indulgences, and the purposes to which they had \nbeen apphed by preceding pontiffs, we have already spoken. Julius \nII. had bestowed indulgences on all who contributed to build the \nchurch of St. Peter at Rome ; and as Leo was carrying on that mag- \nnificent and extensive fabric, his grant was founded on the same pre- \ntence. \n\nIn the 3Tar 1517, John Tetzel, a Dominican friar, began to publish \nindulgences in German}^ and to offer them for sale. FJe was em-* \nployed by Albert, elector of Metz, and archbishop of Magdeburg ; \nand Albert himself was the immediate agent of Leo X. whose pro- \nfuse munificence had exhausted the papal treasury, and induced him \nto replenish it by the most unjustifiable means. The indulgences in \nquestion, were plenary, in the highest sense of the word ; for Tetzel \nproclaimed the complete remission of sins, whether past, present or \nfuture, to all who could pay the stipulated sum.^ \n\n\n\n*Tlie terms in which Tetzel and his associates described the benefits of indulgence, and \nthe necessity of purchasing them, are so extravagant that they appear almost incredible. \nIf any man (said th^y) purchase letters of indulgence, his soul may rest eecure with re- \nspect to its salvation. The souls confiaed in purgatory, for whose redemption indulgen- \nces were purchased, as soon as the money tinkles in the chest, instantly effect their \nescape from that place of perpetual torment, and ascend into heaven. That the ef- \nficacy of indulgences was so great, that the most heinous sins would be remitted and \nexpiated by them, and the person freed from punishment and guilt. \xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x80\xa2 That this was the \nunspeakable gift of God, in order to reconcile men to himself.. That the cross erected by \nthe preachers of indulgences was as efficacious as the cross of Christ itself. Lo / the \nheavens are opened: if you enter not now, when will you enter ? For twelve pence you \nmay redeem the soul of 3"our father out of purgatory, and are you so ungrateful that yoit \nwill not rescue your parent from torment ? If you had but one coat, you ought to strip \nyourself instantly, and sell it in order to procure such ben efits, &c. \n29 \n\n\n\n226 T H E H I S T R Y O F \n\nHe who had money, or he who had interest enongh to borrow it, \nmight transgress with impunity, every precept of the decalogue, and \nset the justice of heaven at defiance. With an absolution ajready in \nhis possession, nothing but the punishment of the civil magistrates \ncould restrain him from committing the most atrocious wickedness ; \nand by the usurpations of the ecclesiastical courts, the number of \neven heinous crimes which fell within the jurisdiction of the civil ma- \ngistrate was small. \n\nThe church, or rather the pope, reigned triumphant ; the preroga- \ntive of the Supreme Judge was violated and destroyed , and the thun- \nderbolt of divine wrath, snatched from the hand of omnipotence. \nAll morahty was relaxed, all government weakened, and all subordi- \nnation and obedience appeared likely to cease ; and the pernicious \ntendency of the doctrines ^were exceeded by nothing but the shameless \nimpudence of Tetzel,* and his associates,who published the indulgen- \nces and magnified their value. \n\nThe lives of these unblushing apostles, corresponded with their \nmission ; they often squandered in low debauchery, the money which \nh\'a;d been given by the pious and simple, i^ the hope of obtaining ev- \nerlasting happiness ; and such was the perception of their worthless- \nness, and general opinion\'of their character, that even the persons who \npurchased the indulgences were ashamed to be seen in the company \nof the persons who sold them. \n\nThe princes and great lords were provoked to find their subjects \ndrained of their wealth, in order to supply the profusion of the sove- \nreign pontiff; men of reflection superior to the times in which they \n\n\n\n* This juggler ofiniquity was, however at different times himself out juggled by oth=^ \ners, and the following instance of his being overreached, as gravely related by Sechen- \ndorf, will show that the mummery of his trading was as ridiculously abstrrd as it was \ngrossly nefarious. A man of some rank at Leipsic who was disgusted with his villany, \nand determined to be even with him, applied to him for information whether he could \ngrant absolution for a sin of a particular kind, intended to be perpetrated, but to be kept \na secret until the time. Tetzel replied boldly that he could do so provided the payment \nwere made equal to it. The bargain was immediately struck, the money paid down, and \nthe diploma of absolution signed, sealed and delivered m due form. The purchaser thus \nempowered, waited quietly until Tetztl having collected from Leipsic and the neighbor- \nhood, all the money he was able to procure, set off for his home richly freighted. The \nman of absolution followed cautiously, overtook him on the road, plundered him of all \nhis gain, and having beaten him sc verely he thereupon very graciously produced his patent \nof absolution, avowing that this was 1 he sin he had purchased leave to commit, and sent \npoor Tetzel back to Leipsic to tell his own story. \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H O L I C I S M . 227 \n\nlived, marked the deep ignorance of the age ; and men of learning \nanticipated a brighter era, or hailed the indication of its approach. \n\nIn these circumstances, it seemed good to the providence of Al- \nmi2:hty God, to scatter the darkness, to put a stop to the accumulating \ncorruption, to awaken inquiry, and to restore the intellect of man, to \nits exercise and strength. The dominion of imposture and the despo- \ntism of Rome were now to be shaken. At the junction of affairs \nwhich we have described above, there arose in Germany the celebra- \nted Martin Luther, a man of humble extraction, but endowed with \npenetration, with learning and with courage, far beyond the proportion \nwhich falls to the ordinary lot of mortals. He was a native of Eisle- \nben in Saxony, and in early Ufe had entered a convent of Augustine \xe2\x80\xa2 \nfriars. Being speedily distinguished on account of his piety, his love \nof knowledge, and unwearied application, he was appointed by Fred-, \neric the Wise, Elector of Saxony, to teach philosophy and theology \nin the university of Wittemburg. This university the prince had lately \nfounded, and was anxious to fill it with men who were celebrated for \ntheir learning. \n\nNothing is more certain, than that he who teaches others must first \nbe taught himself When knowledge is disseminated through the \nworld, it is taken for granted that some individual mind has previous^ \nly been instructed. It would be gratifying, therefore, if w^e had it in \nour power, to ascertain the endeavors and approximations, in conse- \nquence of which Luther\'s own sentiments were formed. It would \ninteresting as a philosophical inquiry, and it would be most satisfactory \nlo the readers of ecclesiastical history, could we trace the steps by \nwhich this extraordinary individual was led to call in question the truth \n)of the prevailing opinions; to resist the authority of the pope; and \nto expose the insufhciency of his pretensions. \n\nBut whatever other helps Luther might have used, there is reason \nto believ,i3 that his sentiments were formed, in a very great degree \nby the perusal of the holy scriptures themselves. He dvew his knowl- \nedge from the original source, pure and living ; he sought Christianity \nin the first estate., and discovered her in all her native simplicity and \nbeauty. There lay in an obscure corner of his monastery, a neglect- \ned copy of the New Testament, to which his attention was casually di- \nrected; and having once begun to read in it, he commenced the stu- \ndy of the inspired volume, with all the eagerness and perseverance \nwhich belonged to his character^ What must have been his emotions, \n\' when he contrasted the simplicity of the primitive institute, with the \n\n\n\n22S T H E H I S T R Y F \n\npresumptuous pomp of the hierarchy and papacy; and placed in oppo- \nsition to each other, the humble follower of Jesus and the mighty \nmonarch who ruled uncontrolled over the understandiDgs and con- \nsciences of man ? What must have been his feelings, when he mark- \ned the terms of acceptance with God, as these terms are proposed to \nus in the sacred books, and bethought himself for a moment of the \npenances, and relics, and the intercessions of the saints, and works of \nsupererogation, indulgences and all the solemn trifling and elabor- \nate mummery, by which the church of Rome directed her votaries on \nthe y^ay to Heavenl How diiTerent the language of inspiration, *\' be- \nlieve on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved," and the lan- \nguage of the papal bulls, and even of the councils of Christendom. \n\nAt first Luther contented bimseif with a bold and vehement oppo- \nsition to Tetzel and the Dominicans. He declaimed against indul- \ngences, in all the power of his eloquence, from the pulpit of the great \nchurch at Wittemburg ; pointed out with bitter reprehension, the \nvicious hves of the monks, their injustice, extortion, and vulgar de- \nbauchery ;\' and adopting already the first principles of Protestantism, \nhe warned the people of their danger, in trusting for pardon and ac- \nceptance with Heaven, to any other means than those appointed in \nGod\'s word. The pope, he said, might unquestionably remit the pen- \nances he had imposed, or dispense with the ceremonies ordained by \nthe church ; but it belonged to the Supreme Judge, and to him alone, \nto forgive the transgret\'sions of the moral law. \n\nTo the pope he acknowledged he owed all submission- and he even \nspoke of referring the question at issue between him and his antagonist, \nto the sovereign pontiff. Fron^i this it is evident that the sentiments \nof Luther, with regard to the powers of papacy, were not yet mature, \nand had Leo X. conducted himself on this occasion with the prudence \noften displayed by the successors of St. Peter, the dispute might ei- \nther have been terminated among the combatants themselves, or left \nundecided altogether ; and historians would have handed it down to \nus, as nothing more than a contest betv/een certain ecclesiastics in \nGermany, scarcely deserving particular notice. But the temper of \nLeo appears to have been violent, and his cause was radically bad ; by \nthreats and ferocious dogmatism he roused the com age and sharpen- \ned the acuteness of the Reformer, induced him to prosecute his enqui- \nries, and in the end gave occasion to that memorable rupture, which \nhas rent assunder the christian church and shaken, even in its own es- \n^stimation, the supremacy of the holy see. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 229 \n\nIf ever there was a time when threats and dogmatism were impro- \nper to be used, it was the time of the controversy betweeen Luther \nand the agent of the pope. The era of ignorance was hastening to its \nclose. The human mind was quickened and stimulated, the intellec- \ntual eye began to open, learning had revived, books were printed and \ncirculated, inquiries were made and investigations pursued. \n\nThe reverence for antiquity was already much abated; and mankind \nnow looked for argument, in the decision of theological as well as phi- \nlosophical questions ; or if authority was referred to, they proceeded \nto examine the grounds upon which the authority was built. Refor- \nmations were talked of, abuses specified; the names of WicklifF and \nHuss were mentioned with respect ; whispers were abroad unfavour- \nable to the honor of Rome, and the security of the papal power. \n\nAt this most inauspicious time, Leo X. and his agents proceeded \nagainst Luther, wholly in the way of despotic authority and simple re- \ncantation. He was summoned to appear at Augsburg, before cardinal \nCajetan, a Dominican monk, at once the friend of Tetzel, and the un- \ndisguised enemy to the new opinions. The cardinal who had the rep- \nutation of learning, and was at the same time the pope\'s legate in Ger- \nmany, was imprudently nominated sole arbiter in the cause. \n\nLuther, though he perceived from the beginning, that little was to \nbe expected from the impartiality of the judge, repaired to the place \nappointed, ready to defend the sentiments he had published, and ani- \nmated with a courage which nothing could resist. The event corres^ \nponded with the expectations of the Reformer. The cardinal stood \nhigh upon his dignity, refused to enter into a dispute with an Augus- \ntine monk, would listen to none of the reasons v/ith which Luther \nendeavored to support his opinions, and required him, \'by virtue of \nthe apostolic power with which he was clothed, to retract his errors \nin regard to indulgences, and the nature of faith, and to abstain for the \nfuture from the publication of new and dangerous doctrines.\' \n\nNor was this all. The reformer v/as not only required to retract \nand abstain, but he was required to believe. And for the accommo- \ndation of his understanding, and as the subject of his belief, the cardi- \nnal propounded to him, in consequence of the apostolic powers to which \nwe have just alluded, the following authoritative dogma: "That one \ndrop of Christ\'s blood being sufficient toTedeem the whole human race, \nthe remaining quantity, which was shed in the garden and upon the \ncross, was left as a legacy to the church, from whence indulgence can \nbe drawn and administered by the pontiffs." \n\n\n\n230 T H E PI 1 S T OR Y O F \n\nThe answer of Luther was temperate yet firm. He declared in di- \nrect asseveration, that he could not renounce those opinions which he \nheld to be entirely consonant with the sacred scriptures ; and that \nnothing should ever induce him to do what he conceived to be so un- \nworthy in itself, and so dishonorable and offensive to God. He ex- \npressed his willingness, at the same time, either to reason the mat- \nter to an end either with the cardinal himself, or to refer it to the de- \ncision of certain universities which he named. He even went so far \nas to engage that he would abstain, in all time to come, from preach- \ning or writing against indulgences, provided his enemies were enjoin- \ned to observe a similar silence in regard to them. \n\nThis equitable and moderate conduct, however, and these conces- \nsions, had no effect upon the cardinal. He still insisted on a simple \nand unqualified recantation. He branded Luther vv^ith the name of a \nschismatic, and stigmatized him, as, indeed, the pope had already done, \nin his briefs and letters, under the character of a chHd of iniquity, and \na man given up to a reprobate sense. And such was the tyrannical vi- \nolence of this lofty prelate, that the Reformer after solemnly appealing \nfrom his judgment, to the more mature deliberation and decision of the \nholy see, complied with the earnest entreaties of his friends, ^nd \nwithdrew himself privately from Augsburg. \n\nFrom what we have stated, however, our readers will perceive, that \nan appeal to the pope, was both unwise and unnecessary. The dis- \npute respecting indulgences affected not only the authority of the papal \nchair, but the revenue of the pontiff. The cultivated magnificence \nand the splendid liberality of Leo, required extensive funds. By \ndiminishing the value of indulgences the profits of the sale were less- \nened. One country of Christendom would imitate another ; the re- \nsources of the church would be impaired ; and who does not know \nthat the power of the pope has always been intimately connected \nwith the resources of the church 1 But the appeal in question wa5 \nunnecessary as well as unwise. \n\nThe court of Rome had already decided against Luther and his \nfollowers. The sovereign pontiff had declared the new opinions her- \netical ; and a bill was in agitation, to cut off the seditious monk, and \ncast him out from the bosom of the church. The document if it may \nbe so called was very solemnly prepared. The whole college of car- \ndinals was consulted on the occasion, and w^ere repeatedly assembled, \nin order to select the most objectionable passages from the writings of \nthe Reformers; and the schools were ransacked to procure some able \n\n\n\nw^m \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 231 \n\ncanonists, that the sentence might be expressed with unexceptionable \nformality. \n\nAt length on the fifteenth of June in the year 1520, the bull, so fa- \ntal to the papal interests, was issued. "Forty five propositions extract- \ned from Luther\'s works, are condemned in it as heretical, scandalous \nand offensive to pious ears, all persons are forbid to read his writings, \nupon pain of excommunication ; such as had any of them in their \ncustod}^ are commanded to commit them to the flames ; he himself, \nif he did not in sixty days, publicly recant his errors, and burn his \nown books, is pronounced an obstinate heretic, is excommunicated, \nand delivered over to Satan for the destruction of his flesh ; and all \nsecular princes are required under pain of incurring the same censure \nto seize his person, that he might be punished as his crimes deserv- \ned." \n\nThis furious bull had no other effect upon the mind of Luther, than \nthat of exciting him to keener opposition, and more systematic hostili- \nty. He had persevered with habitual diligence, and with humble pray- \ner to God, in the study of the sacred scriptures. He had read of the \n*man of sin,\' the antichrist who v/as to come in the latter days, of the \nchurch ; that power which was to oppose itself to the interests of true \nreligion, and the dominion of the everlasting God. He marked the \nresemblance between the description of this power given us in the sa- \ncred books, and the unjustifiable pretensions, and blasphemous arro- \ngance of the holy see. He noted the distinguishing circumstances al- \nluded to in the particulars, " of sitting in the temple of God (referring \nto the man of sin) and showing himself that he is God," of " lying \nwonders," and the " deceivableness of unrighteousness," of "forbid- \nding to marry," and, " commanding to abstain from meats ;" and revol- \nving the whole matter in his mind, he at length boldly pronounced the \nPope the man of sin, and the power of the Romish church to be the \ndeadly power, which should raise itself, in the latter days against the \nsovereignty of Christ. \n\nAmidst a vast assemblage of people in the town of Wittemburg, he \nthrew the papal ball, and the volumes of canon law, into the flames, \nappealing to a general council, which he declared to be the only tri- \nbunal where his cause could be judged, and to which, in the opinion \nof Christendom, the pope himself was subject. He warmly exhorted \nthe princes of Europe, to shake off the yoke which they had too long \nand too ignominously borne ; and offered thanksgivings to Almighty \nGod, that he had been selected as the advocate of true religion, and. \n\n\n\n232 T H E H I S T II Y F \n\naccording to the measure of his abilities, as a friend to the liberties of \nmankind. \n\nNor was the voice of the reformer lifted up in vain. The new opin- \nions found supporters in almost every kingdom of Europe. It Swit- \nzerland, Ulric Zuinglius, a man of republican spirit, attacked the an- \ncient superstition with a courage b}^ no means inferior to that of Lu- \nther himself. The elector of Saxon}^ was the patron of the Refor- \nmation. Most of the Russian princes joined with the elector. The \nedict of Worms, which was unfavorable to Luther, could not be exe- \ncuted. At the same diet in which the edict alluded to was published, \nit was resolved that every secular prince should manage the ecclesias- \ntical affairs of his own dominions, as he should judge to be most pro- \nper, till the meeting of a general council. We must own, however, \nthat at a subsequent diet, this wholeseme resolution was reserved, but \nwe must not fail to state, that against the sentence of reversal, the \nelector of Saxony, the landgrave of Hesse, the Marquis of Branden- \nburg, together with the princes of Lunenburg and Anhalt, and the rep- \nresentatives of fourteen imperial cities, entered their most solemn protest. \nThey declared the sentence to be unjust as well as impious. From the \ncircumstance of protesting on the part of the princes and representatives \nmentioned above, the name of Protestants had its origin, a name since \napplied to all the varieties of sects, which have v/ithdrawn upon any \naccount, from the communion of Rome. The sacred scriptures were \ntranslated into the German tongue, and were read with astonishing \navidity. Melancthon, who had assisted Luther in the translation, \ndrew up the conciliatory creed, entitled the \' Confession of Augsburg.\' \nThe league of Sraalcade was formed, and the Protestants states were \nlinited into a regular body. The Helvetic cantons, under the auspi- \nces of the famous, John Calvin, proclaimed aloud their determined \nhostiUty to the rites and ceremonies of the papal institute. The se- \ncret friends of the Reformation abounded in France, Spain, Hunga- \nry, Bohemia and the Netherlands. And to crown the whole, king \nHenry VIII. of England, after writing in defence of papacy, and ob- \ntaining from the holy see the title of Defender of the Faith, suddenl}\'\' \ndeserted the cause which\'he had espoused, and commenced a rough \nand hasty, but effectual reformation throughout his dominions, dethro- \nning the pope, and_^v/ith blustering magnanimity, instituting himself in \nhis place. \n\nStill, however, the enemies of the Reformation were both numer- \nous and powerful. A very great proportion of tlie European prin- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 233 \n\nces remained attached to the present system; some of them from re- \nligious considerations, and others from motives of interest or policy. \nAmong the last class we must reckon the emperor Charles V. It was \nin opposition to this monarch that the league of Smalcade was form- \ned ; and during a considerable part of his reign, he was engaged in \nopen war with the protestant leaders. The sovereigns of France \nSpain and Portugal continued to acknowledge the power of the holy \nsee. All the Italian states remained submissive to the pope. The \nnumbers on both sides were great ; the interests jarring, but weighty; \nyet the strength of argument and the power of eloquence and of truth, \nbelonged chiefly to the Protestants. They rejoiced in the exercise of \ntheir faculties, emancipated and enlarged ; they published their opin- \nions and challenged investigation. True religion is ever friendly to \ninquiry ; it is error alone that hastens to hide iiself in darkness. Ev- \nery new discovery which was made in the arts, or sciences, and every \ncopy of the holy scriptures that was printed, conveyed additional light \nto the understanding, and gave additional vigor to the champions of the \nreformation. \n\nBut the cause of Protestantism, identified as we must conceive it to \nbe with that of true religion, suffered about this time in a very differ- \nent way. Luther, the great father of the reformation, died at E isle- \nben, in Saxony, on the 18th of February 1546. His health had for \nsome time been declining, and his constitution, naturally strong, had \nbeen exhausted with incessant study, and that agitation of mind, to \nwhich controversy naturally gives rise. To a zealous regard for truth, \nhe added an apostolical intrepidity in its defence. His manners were \npure, perhaps even austere, his diet was plain; his whole mode of liv- \ning characterized by a primitive simplicity. He knew nothing, and \nwished to know nothing, of the elegancies which belong to cultivated \nsociety: he was satisfied with the emoluments of his professorship, and \nleft the preferments and honors of the church entirely to his disci- \nples. \n\nUpright in his intentions, and fair and direct in all his conduct, no \nman could justly charge him with duplicity ; he disdained the crook- \ned artifices of little minds ; but his zeal was often excessive his tem- \nper inflexible and haughty, and his language, especially in controver- \nsy, contemptuous and coarse. Yet there was in this coarseness, a \nbarbaric strength ; and such was the power of his opposition, that it \nwas not safe for any one who valued himself on his literary reputation \nto awaken him into rage. His piety w^as very great and sincere ; and \n30 \n\n\n\n234 THE HISTORY OF \n\nin his last moments he discoursed to his friends of the happiness of \nHeaven, with a delight which could have resulted from nothing but a \nwell grounded hope of immortality. He left a character to be imita- \nted in almost every thing but the excess of his zeal ; nor will the \nfriends of genuine Christianity, of literature or of liberty, ever men- \ntion his name, but with the gratitude and reverence which are due to \nthe benefactors of mankind. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. \n\nConvocation of the Council of Trent. \xe2\x80\x94 Catholic interest preponderates. \nPapal authority Confirmed. \xe2\x80\x94 Decrees of the Council of Trent. \xe2\x80\x94 Preva- \nlence of Scholastic Philosophy. \xe2\x80\x94 Authority of the Tridentine Coun- \ncil. \xe2\x80\x94 Influence of the Reformation upon the papal church. \n\nIn the situation of affairs which followed the death of Luther, and \nwhen religious disputes were about to be settled by an appeal to arms \nthe council of Trent was suddenly convoked. It was summoned by \nthe authority of the pope, and commenced its session at the place from \nwhich it takes its name, in the yearl545. Strange as it may appear, \nthe Catholics were now the most forward in demanding a council ; \nand those assemblies, which in the preceding ages were the terror and \nabhorrence of the popes, were at length, convoked, if not with a great- \ner alacrity, at least with fewer objections. The weakness of human \nnature had been duly estimated. The court of Rome, always intri- \nguing in its character, and rendered dexterous by long practice in af ^ \nfairs, perceived that general councils might be influenced and mana- \nged, as well as other bodies of men. It was easy to throw difficul- \nties in the way and make it disagreeable or inconvenient for the Pro- \ntestant leaders to attend ; some of the members might be flattered in- \nto acquiescence, and others overawed. Bribes were to be tried in \nthe first instance, and if these were found to be unavailing threaten- \nings were to be employed. \n\nWhen the council met in obedience to the papal mandate, it was \nfound to consist almost entirely of the Italian and Spanish prelates. \nIn the first session there were present only the pope\'s legates, who \npresided, four archbishops, and twenty two bishops ; yet this incon- \nsiderable number immediately declared themselves to be a general \ncouncil, and proceeded to determine controversies, and to enact laws \nfor the benefit of the church. The subsequent sittings were better \nattended, but still the Italian and Spanish clergy formed by far the \ngreater part ; and even of these, some who were refractory, and who \nspoke of abuses and reformations were awed into silence by the over- \nbearing authority of the papal legates. \n\n\n\n236 THEHISTORYOF \n\nThe Protestant leaders had long ago declined the jurisdiction of the \ncouncil : they would not allow it to be a synod properly convoked, \nand far less would they acknowledge it as an assembly of the Chris- \ntian church. Every thing, of course, was transacted according to the \ndespotic will of the holy see. The case of St. Peter, whom the Pro- \ntestants have described as the most blundering of all the apostles, was \nintroduced, and argued at large. In the eye of Catholic interpreta- \ntion, St. Peter was the shepherd and the christian world the sheep ; \n\' Silly animals,\' as Lainez, the general of the Jesuits, expressed it, \n\n* which have no part or choice whatever in conducting themselves.\' \n\n* St. Cyprian too,\' continued he, compares the apostolic see to the root \nthe head, the fountain, the sun ; shewing by these comparisons that \nthe supreme jurisdiction resides in her alone ; and that it exists in oth- \ners only by deviation and participation. And this is the meaning of \nthe ancient language, when it is said that St. Peter and the pope pos- \nsess the plenitude of power, while others do nothing more than parti- \ncipate in the cure.\' \n\nTo the arguments of the general no effectual reply was made. The \nauthority of the pope was confirmed in all its extent and latitude. The \nFrench ambassador alone seems to have spoken in favor of the Pro- \ntestants, declaring, that so far from being the cause of the troubles \nwhich existed in France, they were the injured party. He plainly \nstated that abuses had crept into the church, that reformations were \nnecessary ; and- that his most Christian majesty, and the whole French \npeople expected nothing less than certain very considerable changes. \nHe requested in the name of his master, that the council should not \nsatisfy themselves with enacting laws, but that the pope and the cler- \ngy should make use of their power, in order to carry them into exe- \ncution. \' If,\' said he, \' the Fathers should ask why France is not in \npeace 1 \xe2\x80\x94 no other answer can be given than that which Jehu gave to \nJoram of old. What peace (can there be) so long as the whoredoms \nof thy mother Jezebel and her witchcrafts are so many V \n\nBut the council were unwilling to reform abuses or acknowledge \ntheir existence, they were sufficiently attentive to the security of their \nown rights and privileges. They enacted many statutes, the tenden- \ncy of which was to secure the ecclesiastical orders from all interfer- \nence on the part of the civil power. By the spirit, and even the letter \nof the statutes, no clergyman could be tried in a secular court. He \nwas indeed responsible only to the judicatories of the church. And, \neven in the excepted cases, it was determined that the trial of an ec- \n\n\n\nU M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 237 \n\nclesiastic before a secular judge must be preceded by a declaration or \npermission from the papal court. The property of the clergy is pro- \nnounced to be sacred ; the clergy cannot be compelled to pay taxes, \neven under the name of loans or free gifts, whether those taxes, loans \nor free gifts, apply to their patrimonial possessions, or to the goods \nbelonging to the community. The mandatory letters, sentences, or \ncitations, of the ecclesiastical judges, are to be executed without in- \nquiry or delay. \n\nFrom the enactments now alluded to, as well as others of a similar \ndescription, which our limits prevent us from specifying, we may form \nsome idea of the height to which sacerdotal presumption was carried in \nthe sixteenth century, and of that independence from the civil authori- \nties to which the exertions of the Romish church were so long and so \nunjustly directed. While the council took all pains to secure their own \nrights and privileges, they found it necessary to put forth a statute \'con- \ncerning the rule which should be held as supreme and decisive, in mat- \nters of faith.\' An ordinance relative to this important particular, was \nimperiously demanded by the progress of the reformation; and it was \nchiefly with a view to ascertain the opinion of the church with re- \ngard to it, that the council had been convened. \n\nAccordingly, at their fourth sitting, and when only forty-nine mem- \nbers were present, they promulgated their famous decree respecting \nthe canon of scripture, and the value of the apostolical traditions; a \ndecree which pronounces the apocryphal to be of the same authority \nwith those which are genuine, and which places the traditions of the \nfathers on a level with both ; an enactment which declares that the \nVulgate version of the sacred scriptures, thouoh not written, as its ti- \ntle implies, either in the ancient language of the prophets, or in that of \nthe apostles and evangelists, is nevertheless to be received throughout \nthe church, as authentic and canonical. Of this notable decree, the \nfollowing is a short account. \n\nIt is solemnly determined, \'that the books to which the designation \nof apoci^yphal hath been given, are of equal authority with those which \nwere received by the Jews and the primitive christians into the sacred \ncanon ; that the traditions handed down from the apostolical age, and \npreserved in the church, are entitled to as much regard as the doc- \ntrines and precepts which the inspired authors have committed to wri- \nting; and that the Latin translation of the scriptures, made or revised \nby St. Jerome, and known as the Vulgate translation, shall be read in \nthe churches, and appealed to, in the schools, as authentic and canon^ \n\n\n\n238 THEHISTORYOF \n\nical, and all persons who refuse to subscribe these tenets, are anatha- \nmatised, and cut off from the communion of the church.\' Upon this \ndecree, which has occupied so much attention, and been the topic of \nso much discussion since the era of the^ reformation, we shall only \nmake one or two additional remarks. First of all, when the council \nwas employed in concocting it, its members seem to have felt very in- \ndignant that pedants and grammarians should presume to contend \nabout the meaning of scripture with doctors of theology. And accor- \ndingly, while they pronounced the Vulgate version to be authentic \nand canonical, they appointed, at the same time a committee of six \npersons, apparently the whole number present that were acquainted \nwith the original language, to revise and correct it. \n\nSuch is the well known decree of the Tridentine court with regard \nto the rule of faith. It was passed with some difficulty, and not with- \nout considerable argumentation, even among the small number of \nmembers who were present. No sooner, however, was this famous \ndecree promulgated, than the pope, representing himself as superior \nto the council, and ultimate in decision, confirmed it by his apostolical \nauthority, prohibiting at the same time, all Christians in communion \nwith the holy see, from writing notes or comments upon it. They \nwere not even allowed to illustrate or defend it, without the permis- \nsion of the sovereign pontiff. \n\nHaving confirmed the decree respecting the rule of faith, as well as \nthe other acts of the council, the next step, on the part of the pope, \nwas to procure the formal and implicit acknowledgment of the whole \nby the different nations of Europe. The Venetians, with a dutiful \nsubmission to the supreme ecclesiastical authority, readily acquiesced. \nThe Poles hkewise expressed their willingness to abide by the decis- \nions of the council. The Spaniards too manifested a considerable \npromptitude of comprehension and compliance ; though in some pro- \nvinces the Tridentine decrees were received with certain murmurings, \ndoubts, enquiries and reservations. It was thought that the episcopal \norder was too much reduced.and the powers of papacy extended too \nfar. Among the German Catholics, there were many who objected ; \nbut the most refractory of the papal subjects were the French. No \ncommanding attitude on the part of the holy see, no stratagem of ec- \nclesiastical dexterity on the part of the devoted agents, could induce \nthe Galilean church to accept of the Tridentine decisions. \n\nThey specified no fewer than twenty-three articles which they af- \nfirmed were directly opposite, even in the letter of the enactments, to \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 239 \n\nthe ancient usages of the realm; and they pronounced them equally \ndestructive of civil liberty. \'In all which particulars,\' says the cele- \nbrated Pasquier, alluding to certain portions of the twenty three arti- \ncles, *we have found such a repugnance and contravention to our an- \ncient liberties, that we can never be induced to receive this council. \nIt takes away from the bishops the power of reforming the churches \nwhich are situated in their diocesses ; and grants them only such a \nmeasure of power as the holy see shall think proper to allot them ; a \nprocedure which we believe to be wholly irreconcilable with the an- \ncient canons, approved by the Galilean church. Besides this the \ncouncil seems desirous of establishing a new empire over kings, prin- \nces, barons, and every civil jurisdiction ; which in plain language, is \nto introduce the old abuses which we have long ago reformed. \nWhereas, I can demonstrate, that our national privileges, and the lib- \nerties of the Galilean church, are such as the authority of neither pope \nnor council can abrogate, being founded on the broad and sacred rea- \nson of things. By the admission of such decrees, instead of securing \norder, we shall bring in disorder, and introduce at the same time a \nmonarchy into the middle of our own ; a thing which we have never \nhitherto beheld. Wisely then, has this council never been received in \nFrance, by which with a single stroke of the pen, the pope would ac- \nquire more authority than he has been able to do since the commence- \nment of our common Christianity. I have no intention to depreciate \nthe good Fathers of Trent ; but I cannot help wishing that their zeal \nhad been accompanied with a little more wisdom and discretion ; \nand that in guarding the pretended privileges of the holy see, they had \nnot furnished its real enemies with the fittest weapons to overthrow it.\' \nSuch as are desirous of forming some accurate ideas of the reli- \ngion of Rome, will do well to consult the decrees of the council of \nTrent, together with the compendious confession of faith, which was \ndrawn up by the order of Pius IV. Those, however, who expect to \nderive, from these sources, a clear, complete and perfect knowledge \nof the Romish faith, will be greatly disappointed. To evince the \ntruth of this assertion it might be observed, that both in the decrees \nof Trent, and in this papal confession, many things are expressed in \na vague and ambiguous manner, \'and that designedly, on account of \nthe intestine divisions and warm debates which then prevailed in the \nchurch. Another singular circumstance should be kept in mind, that \nseveral tenets are omitted in both, which no Roman Catholic is allow- \ned to deny, or even to call in question. \n\n\n\n240 THEHISTORYOF \n\nBut waiving both these considerations, let it only be observed, that \nin these decrees, and this confession, several doctrines and rules of \nworship are inculcated, in a much more rational and decent manner, \nthan that in which they appear in the daily service of the church, and \nin the public practice of its members. Hence we may conclude that \nthe best view of the doctrine of Rome is not to be derived so \nmuch from the terms made use of in the decrees of the council of \nTrent, as from the real signification of these terms, which must be \ndrawn from the customs, institutions and observances, that are every \nwhere in use in the Romish church. Added to this another consider- \nation, which is, that in the bulls issued out from the papal throne in \nthese latter times, certain doctrines, which were obscurely proposed \nin. the council of Trent, have been explained with sufficient perspicu- \nity, and avowed without either hesitation or reserve. Of this Clement \nXI. gave a notorious example in the famous bull called Unigeniius, \nwhich was an enterprise as audacious as it proved unsuccessful. \n\nBefore the reformation, the seminaries of learning were filled with \nthat subtle kind of theological doctors, commonly known under the \ndenomination of schoolmen ; so that even at Paris, which was con- \nsidered the principal seat of sacred erudition, no doctors were to be \nfound who were capable of disputing with the Protestant divines in \nthe method they generally pursued, that of proving the doctrines they \nmaintained, by arguments drawn from the Bible and the writings of \nthe fathers. This scarcity of scriptural divines, produced much con- \nfusion and perplexity, even in the council of Trent ; where the scho- \nlastic doctors fatigued the audience, by examining and explaining the \ndoctrines that were there proposed, according to the intricate and am- \nbiguous rules of their captious philosophy.* Consequently it became \nnecessary to reform the methods of proceeding in theological disquisi- \ntions, and restore to its former credit that plan which drew the truth \n\n\n\n*The history of the scholastic philosophy, might fnrnish a philosophical writer with an \ninstructive theme; it would enter into the history of the human mind, and fill a niche in \nour literary annals ; the works of the scholastics with the debates of the Gluodlibetari- \nans, would at once show ihe greatness an-l the littleness of the i.iuman intellect; for \nthough they often degenerated into incredible absurdities, those who have examined the \nworks of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus have confessed their admriation of that \nHerculean texture of brain which they exhausted in demolishing their jerial fabrics. \n\nThe following is a slight sketch of the school divmity. The cliristian doctrines in the \nprimitive ages of the gospel were adapted to the simple comprehension of the multi- \ntude ; metaphysical subtleties were not even employed by the fathers, of whom several \nare eloquent. Even the homihes explained by an obvious interpretation some scriptural \npoint, or inferred by artless illustration some moral doctrine. "When the Arabians be- \n\n\n\nROMAN CiTHOLiClSM. 24! \n\nof religion more from the Bible, and the sentiment of the ancient \ndoctors, than from the uncertain sugg-estions of human reason, and \nthe ingenious conjectures of philosophy. It was, however, impossi- \nbkj to deprive entirely, the scholastic divines of the ascendancy they \nhad acquired in the schools of learning, arid had so long maintained \nwith little opposition. After having been threatened with a diminu- \ntion of their authority, they seemed to resume new vigor from the time \nthat the Jesuits adopted their philosoph}^ and made use of their subtle \ndialectic, as a more effectual armour against the attacks of heretics,^ \nthan either the language of scripture, or the authority of the fathers. \nThis intricate jargon was every way proper to ansv/er the purposes of \na set of m3n, who found it necessary to puzzle and perplexy \nwhere they could neither refute with perspicuity, nor prove with evi- \ndence. Thus they artfully concealed their defeat and retreated with \ntriumph, in the opinion of an ignorant and undiscerning multitude \n\nNothwithstanding the zealous attempts wdiich were made by many \npersons of eminent piety, to restore the institutions of pubHc worship \nto their primitive simplicity, an almost countless number and variety of \nvain and useless ceremonies still remained in the church, nor did the \n\n\n\ncame the only learned people, and their empire extended over the greatest part of the \nknown world, they impressed their own genius on those nations with whom\' they \nwere allied as friends, or revcrencea as masters. The Arabian genius M\'as fond of.ab- \nstruse studies; it was highly metaphysical and mathematical, for the fine arts their reli- \ngion did not admit them to cultivate; and it appears that the first knowledge whrch \nmodern Europe obtained of Euchd and Aristotle was through the medium of Latin trans.- \nlations after Arabic versions. The Christians in the west received their first lessons \nfrom the Arabians in the east; and Aristotle with his Arabic- commentaries, was enthroh-i \ned in the schools of Christendom. \n\nThen burst into birth from the dark cave of metaphysics a numerous and ugly spawn \nof monstrous sects ; unnatural children of the same foul mother, who never met but tcj \ndestroy each other. Religion became what is called the study of the divinity; and they \nall attempted to reduce the worship of God to a system ! the creed into a thesis ! and eve- \nry\' {joint relating to religion was debated through an endless chain of infinite questioi.s, \nincomprehensible distinctions, with differences mediate and immediate, the concrete and \nthe abstract, A perpetual civil war carried on agamst common sense in all the Aristotelian \nseverilj\'. There existed a rage for Aristotle; and Melancthon complains that in sacred \nassc\'tribiics the ethics of Aristotle were read to the people instead of the g-ospeh Aristot- \nle was placed ahead of St. Paul ; and St. Thomas Aquinas distinguishes him by the title \nof \'The philosoplier,\' inferring doubtless that no other man could possibly be a philoso- \npher who disagreed vi^ith Aristotle. \n\nPeter Lombard had laboriously compiled after thC celebrated Abelard\'s \'Introduction \nto Divinity,\' his foir books of \'Sentences,\' from the writings of the fathers ; and for this \nhe is called the \'Master of Sentences.\' These sentences, on which we have so many \ncommentaries, are a collection of passages from the fathers, the contradictions of which \nhs attempts to reconcile. But his suctcssms WCre not r\'^tisfied to be mere commentators \n\n\n\n242 THE HISTORY OF \n\npontiffs think it expedient to diminish the pomp and show, which gave \nthe ministers of religion, a great influence over the minds of the peo- \nple. Besides these ceremonies, many popular customs and inventions, \nwhich were multiplied b}^ the clergy, and were either absurd or super- \nstitious called loudly for redress ; and the council of Trent seemed \ndisposed to correct these abuses, and prevent their farther growth. \nThis good design was never carried into execution ; it was abandon- \ned, either through the corrupt prudence of the pope and clergy, who \nlooked upon every check given to superstition as an attempt to dimin- \nish their authority ; or through their criminal negligence about every \n\n\n\nof these sentences, which they now only made use of as a row of pegs to hang on their \nfine-spun metaphysical cobwebs. They at length collected all these quodlibetical ques- \ntions into enormous volumes, under the terrifying form 6^" \' Summaries of Divinity.\'\' They \ncontrived by their chimerical speculations, says then- modern adversary Grima]di,to ques- \ntion the plainest truths, to wrest the simple i-neaning of the Holy Scriptures, and give \nsome appearance of truth, to the most ridiculous and monstrous opinions. \n\nOne ol the subtle questions which agitated the v/orld in the tenth centur}\', relating to \ndialectics, was concerning imzi;ers\xc2\xab/s, (f.s for example, man, horse, dog, &c.) siguifying not \nf/m ol\' f/iaf in particular, but all in general. They distinguished urdversrds, ox vf\\\\dutw& \ncall abstract terms, by the genera and species rerrir.n ; and they never could decide wheth- \ner these were substances or names ! That is whether the abstract idea we form of ahorse \nWas nt>t r^aily a being, as much as the horse we ride ! All this and somecongenial points \nrespecting the origin of our ideas, and what ideas were, and whether we really had an \nidea of a thing before we discovered the thing itself; >n a\'word, what they call universals, and" \ntlje essence of universals-; of all this nonsense on which they at length proceeded to- \naccusations of heresy, and for which many learned men were excommunicated, stonedy \nand what not, the whole was derived from the reveries of Plato, Aristotle and Zeno, about \nthe nature of ideas ; than which subject to the present day no discussions- ever degenera- \nted into such insanity. A modern metaphysician infers that we have no ideas at all ! \n\nOf these scho-lastic divines, the most illustrious was St. Thomas Aquinas, styled tlie \nangelical doctor. Seventeen folio volumes not only testify his industry but even his geni- \n^^3. tie was a great man, busied all his life in making the charades of m.etaphysics- His \n*Sum of all Theology,\' is a metaphysical treatise, or the most obstrue metaphysics of \ntheolosy.- It occupies above 1250 foHo pages, of very small, close print, in double col- \nutniis\'. I^\'may be worth noticing that to this work are appended 19 folio pages of double \ncolumns\' of errata, and about two hundred of additional index ! The whole is thrown in- \nto the Aristotelian form ; the difficulties or questions are proposed first, and the answers\' \nare then appended. There are 168 articles on Love \xe2\x80\x94 358 on Angels \xe2\x80\x94 300 on the Soul \xe2\x80\x94 \nS5 oti Demons \xe2\x80\x94 251 on the Intellect \xe2\x80\x94 134 on Law \xe2\x80\x94 3 on the Catamenia \xe2\x80\x94 237 on Sins \xe2\x80\x94 \n17 on Virginity, and others on a variety of topics. \n\nThe scholastic tree is covered with prodigal foliage, but is barren of fruit; and when \nthe scholastics employed themselves in solving the deepest mysteries, their philosophy be-- \ncame nothing more than an instrument in the hands of the Roman pontiff. \n\nHe treats of angels, their substances, orders, offices, natures, habits, &c. &c. as if he \nhimself had been an old and experienced angel / \n\nAn<7el8 were not before the world / Angels might have been before the world / An- \ngels were created by God \xe2\x80\x94 they were created immediately by hira \xe2\x80\x94 they were created irF \n\n\n\nR O M A N CAT H O L i C I S M 243 \n\nthing that tended to promote the true interests of religion. Therefore \nin those countries where there are few Protestants, and consequently \nthe church of Rome is in no danger of losing\' its credit and influence \nfrom the attempts of these pretended heretics superstition holds unlimi- \nted sway. Such is the case in Ita]y,Spain and Portugal, where the fee- \nble glimmerings of Christianity that ye^t remain, are obscured by a \nmultitude of ridiculous ceremonies and absurd and fantastic rites ; so \n-that a person in these countries, aft^r having passed through other \nkingdoms of the same religion, is struck with the change, and is aL \nmost led to think himself transported into the darkest and most gloo- \nmy retreats of superstition. Nor are the customs of those countries, \n\n\n\nthe empyrean sky \xe2\x80\x94 they were created in grace \xe2\x80\x94 they were created in imperfect beatir \ntudc. After a severe chain of reasoning he shows that angels are incorporeal compared \nto us, but corporeal compared f o God. An angel is composed of action and potentiality ; \nthe more superior he is, he has the less of potentiality. They have not matter properly. \nEyery angel differs from another angel in species. An angel is of the same species as \nthe soul. Angels have not naturally a body united To them. They may assume bod- \nies; but they do not want to assume bodies for themselves, but for us. The bodies as- \n.turned by angels are of thiclc air. The bodies they assume have not the natural virtues \nwhich they show, nor the operations of life, but those which are common to inanimate \nthings. Angeis may be the same v.ith a body. In the same body there arc, the soul, \nformerly giving being, and operating natural operations and the angel operating supernar \ntural operations. Angels administer and govern every corporeal creature. God, an ansel, \nand the soul, are not contained in space, but contai-a it. Many angels cannot be in the \nsame space. The motion of angels in space is nothing\'else than difTerentcontacts of diiTer- \nent successive places. The motion of angels is a succession of his difierent operations. Hig \nniotion may be continuous or discontinuous as he will. The contmuous motion of an angel \nis necessary through every medium, but maybe discontinuous without a medium. The ve- \nlocity of an angel is not according to the quantity of his strength, but according to his will. \nThe motion of the illumijiation of an angel is drree fold, or circular, straight and oblique. \n\nAll the questions are answered with a subtlety and nicety of distinction more difficult \nto comprehend and remember th^n many problems in Euclid ; and perhaps a few of the \nbest might still be selected for youth as curious exercises of the understanding. However \na part of these productions are loaded with the most trifling-, irreverend and even scanda- \nlous discussions. The following question was a favorite topic foi discussion, and thou- \nsands of the acutest logicians, through more than one century, never resolved it: \'When \na hof is carried to market with a rope tied about its neck, which is held at the other end \nby a man, whether is the hog carried to market by the rops or by the man ? \n\nLord Lyttleton in his life of Henry 11. laments the unhappy efTects of the scholastic \nphilosophy on the progress of the human mind. The minds of men were turned from clas- \nsical studies to the subtleties of school divinity, which Rome encouraged as more profita- \nble for the maintenance of her doctrines. It was a great misfortune to religion and \'earn- \ning, that men of acute understandings who might have dgno much to reform the errors of \nthe church, and to restore science in Europe should have depraved both, by applying their \nadmirable parts to weave these cob- webs of sophistry , and to confound the clear simplici \nty of evangelical truth by a false philosophy, and a captious logic. \xe2\x80\x94 D\'\'IsraeWs Curiosities \nof Literature, \n\n\n\n244 T H E H I S T O R Y F " ^ \n\nwhich the neighborhood of Protestants, and a more free and liberal \nturn of mind have rendered somewhat less absurd, entirely exempt \nfrom the dominion of superstition, and the solemn fooleries that \nalways attend it ; for the religion of Rome in its best form, and in \nthose places where its external worship is the least disgusting is loaded \nwith rites and observances which are highly offensive to sound reason. \nIf from this general view, we descend to a more circumstantial con- \nsideration of the innumerable abuses that are established in the disci- \npline of that church; if we attend to the pious frauds, which are im- \nposed with impunity upon the deluded multitude ; if we pass in re\xc2\xbb- \nview the corruption of the clergy, the ignorance of the people, the \ndevout farces that are acted in the ceremonies of public worship, and \nthe insipid jargon and trifling rhetoric that prevail in the discourses of \nRoman Catholic preachers ; if we weigh all these things maturely \nwe shall find that they have little regard to impartiality and truth, who \npretend, that since the council of Trent, the religion and worship of \nthe Roman church have been every where corrected and amended, \n\n\n\n^ \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. \n\nReformation in England. \xe2\x80\x94 Popery restored by Queen Mary \xe2\x80\x94 her reign. \nPersecution of the French Protestants. \xe2\x80\x94 Plot j or their extermination. \nMassacre oj St. Bartholomeiv^s. \xe2\x80\x94 Civil War. \xe2\x80\x94 Siege of Rochelle. \nEdict of J^antz.-^ Cardinals Richelieu. \xe2\x80\x94 Revocation of the edict. \nFrench Protestants emigrate. \xe2\x80\x94 Butchery of the Irish Protestants. \n\nFrom the short account which we have given of the council of \nTrent, our readers will easily perceive, that it was by no means likely \nto put an effectual stop to the progress of the reformation. It was \nconsidered by the patrons of the new opinions, as the exertion of a \npower which felt itself to be unstable. Its authoratative decisions \nwere ridiculed by the protestants and even the catholics have ceased \nto regard and to observe them with their wonted veneration. The reVr \nolutionary spirit appeared by indications not to be questioned, in many \nof the kingdoms of Europe. In England, the changes v/ere both nu-^ \nmerous and radical. The reformations of Henry VIII. were no less \neffectual than hasty and tumultuous. He was declared by his parlia- \nment to be \'the supreme head, on earth, of the church of England;\' \nand he proceeded, not only to secure the property belonging to the \nmonasteries which he had suppressed, but to fabricate with all his dil- \nigence and skill, a suitable creed for the English people. History may \nrecord him as the first layman who took to himself, in the ecclesiasti- \ncal sense of the expression, the title of supreme head of the church. \nThe rough reformations of Henry, were succeeded by the more de- \nliberate and steady measures pursued by the government, during the \nminority of Edward VI. The bible, which had been translated into \nEnglish, was allowed to be more generally read ; a new liturgy was \ncomposed ; and the service was performed in the vernacular tongue, \n\nBy the^accession of Mary to the English throne, the Catholics were \nrestored to power, and all the energies of this bigoted queen, were \nimmediately put in requisition to crush the reformation, which had \nmade such rapid progress under the administrations of her father and \nbrother. The fires of persecution were immediately kindled, and \nEngland was filled with scenes of horror, which have ever since ren- \ndered the catholic religion the object of general detestation, and which \n\n\n\n246 T H E H I S T R Y O F \n\nprove that no human depravit}- can equal revenge and cruelty, covered \nwith the mantle of religion. \n\nThe persecutors began (says Hume,) with Rogers, prebendary of \nSt. Paul\'s a man eminent in his party for virtue as well as for learn- \ning. Gardiner\'s plan was first to attack men of that character, whom, \nhe hoped, terror would bend to submission, and whose example, either \nof punishment or recantation, would naturally have influence on the \nmultitude ; but he found a perseverance and courage in Rogers, \nwhich it may seem strange to find in human nature. Rogers, besides \nthe care of his ov/n preservation, lay under other powerful tempta-\' \ntions to compliance : he had a v/ife whom he tenderly loved, and ten \n.children ; yet such was his serenity after condemnation, that the jaiU \ners, it is said, waked him from a sound sleep when the hour of his ex- \necution approached. He had desired to see his wife before he died ; \nbut Gardiner told him that he was a priest, and could not possibly have \na wife ; thus joining insult to cruelty. Rogers was burnt in Smithfield. \n\nHooper, Bishop of Gloucester, had been tried at the same time with \nRogers ; but was sent to his own diocese to be executed. This cir- \ncumstance was contrived to strike the greater terror into his flock j \nbut it was a source of consolation to Hooper, who rejoiced in giving \ntestimony by his death to that doctrine which he had form.erly preach^ \ned amiong them. When he was tied to the stake, a stool was placed \n})efore him, and the queen\'s pardon laid upon it, which it was still in \nhis power to merit by a recantation ; but he ordered it to be removed, \nand cheerfully prepared himself for that dreadful punishment to which \nJie was sentenced. He suffered it in its full seventy. The wind, \nwhich was violent, blew the flames of the reeds from his body ; the \nfaggots were green and would not kindle easy ; all his lower parts \nwere consum.ed before his vitals were attacked ; one of his hands \ndropped off"; with the other he continued to beat his breast; he was \nheard to pray and to exhort the people, till his tongue, swollen with \nthe violence of his agony, could no longer permit him utterance. \nHe was three quarters of an hour in torture, which he bore with in- \nflexible constancy. \n\nSanders was burnt at Coventry ; a pardon was also ofl"ered him, \nbut he rejected it, and embraced the stake, saying, \'Welcome \ncross of Christ ! welcome everlasting life !\' Taylor, parson of Had- \nley, was punished by fire in that place, surrounded by his ancient \n\' friends and parishioners. When tied to the stake, he rehearsed a \npsalm in English. One of the guard struck him in the mouth, and \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 247 \n\nbade him speak Latin : another in a rage, gave him a blow on the \nhead with a halbert, which happily put an end to his torments. \n\nThe crime for which almost all the protestants were condemned, \nwas their refusal to acknowledge the real presence. . Gardiner who \nhad vainly expected that a few examples would strike a terror into \nthe reformers, finding the work daily multiply upon him, devolved the \noffice upon others, chiefly on Bonner, a man of profligate charac- \nter, who seemed to rejoice in the torments of the unhappy suff\'erers,- \nHe sometimes whipped the prisoners with his own hands, till he W\'as \nfired with the violence of the exercise ; he tore out the beard of a \nweaver who refused to relinquish his religion ; and that he might give \nhim a specimen of burning, he held his hand to the candle till his sin- \news and veins shrunk and burst. \n\nIt is needleejs to be particular in enumerating all the cruelties prac- \nticed in England during the course of three years that these persecu- \ntions lasted. The savage barbarity on the one hand, and the patient \nconstancy on the other, are so similar in all those martyrdoms, that the \nnarrative, little agreeable in itself, would never be relieved by any va- \nriety. Human nature appears not on any occasion so detestable, and \nat the same time so absurd, as in these rehgious persecutions, which \nsink men below infernal spirits in wickedness, and below the beasts in \nfolly. A few instances onl^^ may be worth preserving, in order, il \npossible, to warm zealous bigots for ever, to a^^oid such odious, and \nsuch fruitless barbarity. \n\nFerrar, bishop of St. David\'s was burned in his own diocese : and \nMs appeal to cardinal Pole was not attended to. Ridley, bishop of \nLondon, and Latimer, formerly bishop of Worcester, two prelatesy \n6elebTa!ed for learning and virtue, perished together in the flames at \nOxford, and supported each other\'s constancy by their mutual exhor. \ncations. Latimer Avhen tied to the stake, called to his comipanion . \n*Be of good cheer, brother , we shall this day kindle such a flame in \nEngland, as, I trust in God, shall never be extinguished. The execu- \ntioners had been so merciful as to tie bags of gunpowder about these \nprelates, in order to put a speedy period to their tortures ; the explo- \nsiott immediately killed Latimer, who was in extreme old age ; Ridley \ncontinued alive some time in the midst of the flames. \n\nOne Hunter, a young man of nineteen, an apprentice, having been \nseduced by a priest into a dispute, had unwarily denied the real pres- \nence. Sensible of his danger, he immediately absconded ; but Bon- \nder laying hold of his father^ threatened him with- the greatest severi- \n\n\n\n^48 THE HISTORY OF \n\nties, if he did not produce the young man to stand his trial. Hunter^? \nhearing of the vexations to which his father was exposed, vohmtarily \nsurrendered himself to Bonner, and v/as condemned to the flames by \nthat barbarous prelate. \n\nThomas Hawks, when conducted to the stake, agreed with his \nfriends that if he found the torture tolerable, he would make them a \nsign to that purpose in the midst of the flames. His zeal for the \ncause in which he suffered so supported him, that he stretched out his \narms, the signal agreed on ; and in this posture he expired. This ex- \nample, with many others of like constancy, encouraged multitudes, \nnot only to suffer, but even to court and aspire to martyrdom.- \n\nThe queen now determined to bring Cranmer, who had long been \ndetained in piison, to punishment ; and the more fully to satiate her \nvengeance, she resolved to punish him for heresy, rather than for trea- \nson. He was cited by the pope to stand his trial at Rome ; and though \nhe was known to be kept in close custody at Oxford, he was, upon \nhis not appearing, condemned as contumacious. Bonner and Thirl- \nby, bishop of Ely, were sent to degrade him; and the former executed \nthe melancholy ceremony with all the joy and exultation which suit- \ned his savage nature. The implacable spirit of the queen, not satisfi- \ned with the eternal damnation of Cranm.er which she beheved inevi- \ntable, and with the execution of that dreadful sentence to which he \nwas condemned, prompted her also to seek the ruin of his honor and \nthe infamy of his name. Persons were employed to attack him not \nin the way of disputation, against v/hich he was sufficiently armed ; \nbut by flattery, insinuation and address ; by representing the dignities \nto which his character still entitled him, if he would merit them by a \nrecantation ; by giving hope of long enjoying those powerful friends \nwhom his beneficent disposition had attached to him during the \ncourse of his prosperity. Overcome by the fond love of life, terrified \nby the prospect of those tortures which awaited him ; he allowed^ in \nan unguarded hour, the sentiments of nature to prevail over his reso- \nlution, and he agreed to subscribe to the doctrine of the papal suprem- \nacy, and of the real presence. The court equally perfidious and cru- \nel, were determined that this recantation should avail him nothing : \nand they sent him orders that he should be required to acknov/ledge \nhis errors in church before the whole people and that he should thence \nbe immediately carried to execution. \n\nCranmer, whether he had secretly received an intimation of their \ndesign, or had repented of his weakness, surprised the audience by a \n\n\n\nH O M A N CATHOLICISM. 249 \n\ncontrary declaration. He said he was ^vell apprised of the obedience \nwhich he owed to his sovereign and the laws ; but this duty extended \nno farther than to submit patiently to their commands, and to bear, \nwithout resistance, whatever hardships they should impose upon him ; \nthat a superior dut}^, the duty which he owed his Maker, obliged hiffr \nto speak truth on all occasions, and not to relinquish by a l)ase denial \nthe holy doctrine which the Supreme Being had revealed to mankind : \nthat there was one miscarriage in his life, of which above all others^ \nhe sincerely repented, the insincere declaration of faith to which he \nhad the weakness to consent, and which the fear of deatli alone had \nextorted from him ; that he took this opportunity of atoning for his \nerror, by a sincere and open recantation ; and was willing to seal with \nhis blood, that doctrine which he firmly believed to be communicated \nfrom heaven.; and, that as his hand had erred in betraying his heart, \nit should first be punished, by a severe, but just doom, and should first \npay the forfeit of its offences. He was then led to the stake amidst \nthe insults of the Catholics ; and, having now summoned tip all the \nforce of his mind, he bore their scorn as well as the torture of his pun- \nishment, with singular fortitude. He stretched out his hand, and \nwithout betraying, either by his countenance or motions, the least sign \nof weakness, or even of feeling, he held it in the flames until it was \nentirely consumed. His thoughts seemed wholly occupied with re- \nflections on his former fault ; and he called aloud several times. \n\' This hand has offended.\' Safisfied with that atonement, he then \ndiscovered a serenity in his countenance, and when the fire attacked \nhis body, he seemed to be quite insensible of his outward sufferings, \nand by the force of hope and resolution^ to have collected his mind \naltogether withiii itself and to repel the fury of the flames. He was \nundoubtedly a man of merit, possessed of learning and capacity, and \nadorned with candor, sincerity and beneficence, and all those virtues \nwhich were requisite to render him useful and amiable in society. \n\nMany of the persons condemned to these punishments were not \nconvicted of teaching, or dogmatising, contrary to the established re- \nligion \xe2\x96\xa0 they were seized merely on suspicion ; and articles being of- \nfered theni to subscribe, upon refusal they were immediately commit- \nted to the flames. These instances of barbarity, so unusual in the \nnation, excited horror ; the constancy of the martyrs excited admira- \ntion ; and as men have a principle of equity engraven in their minds, \nwhich even false religion is not able totally to obliterate, the.y were \nshocked to see persons of probity, of honor, of pious dispositions \n\n\n\n^?. \n\n\n\n250 T H E HIS T O II Y O F \n\nexposed to punishments more severe than were inflicted on the great-^ \nest ruffians, for crimes subversive of civil society. To exterminate \nthe whole protestant party, was known to be impossible, and nothing\' \ncould appear more iniquitous than to subject to torture the most con- \nspicuous and courageous among them, and allow the cowarfsand hy- \npocrites to\' escape; Each mart^^rdom, therefore, was equivalent to a* \nhundre\'d sermbns against poper}^, and men either avoided such horrid \nspectacles, or returned from them full of violent, though secret indig- \nnation against the persecutors. \n\nIt is computed that during the short reign of qu\'een M^ltj, two hun- \ndred and seventy seven persons were brou^\'ht to the stake ; besides \nthose who were punished by imprisonment, fines and confiscalbiis.\' \nAmong those who suffered by fire were five bishops, twenty one (Cler- \ngymen, eight lay gentlemen, eighty four tradesman, one hundred hus- \nbandmen, servants and laborers, fifty five women and four children. \nThis persevering cruelty appears astonishing ; yet it is much inferior \nto what has been practiced in other countries. An author computed \nthat in Netherlands alone, from the time that the edict of Charles^ T. \nwas promulgated against the reformers, there had been fifty thousand" \np^rson^ hanged, beheaded, buried alive, or burnt on accou-nC of reli- \ngion. \n\nAt the death of Henry II. of France, in 1559. Francis II. a \nyouth of sixteen years, feeble both in body and mind succeeded. His? \nmother, Catharine de Medicis, the Duke of Guise, and his brother the \ncardinal of Lorraine, all decided papists, ruled the nation, and were \nzealously bent on crushing the reformation, and extirpating all here- \ntics. The king of Navarre^ the prince of Conde, and the admiral \nColigni, on the other hand were friendly to the reformers, and with \nothers were in league to overthrow the influence of the Guises. But \nas usual in such conflicts, the friends of the reformation Avere betray- \ned, and the protestants were generally involved in persecution. Ma- \nny perished, numbers fled from the country, and still more were im- \nprisoned, robbed of their property, and variously harrassed for seven- \nteen months. In 1560, Charles IX. commenced hisreign, and being \nonly eleven years old when his brother died, their mother still contin- \nued regent. To secure her power she sought the friendship of the \nking of Navarre, and of the Protestants. She needed money, and \nthe states general were assembled the following year, but they did \nnothing but Avrangle. The papists demanded the extirpation of all \nheretics, and the protestants demanded toleration. The court issued a \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 251 \n\nckcree forbiddin,^ religious disputes, releasing imprisoned protestants \nand allowing toleration to all who would externally conform to the \nestablished religion, unless they chose to quit the country. \n\nIn 1562, a national convention assembled at St. Germain, and agreed \nthat the protestants should be allowed to hold private worship, till a \ngeneral council should decide all religious disputes. The protestants \nwere not quite satisfied with this, but the papists were outrageous. \nTumults ensued. The king of Navarre, to gain an addition to his \nterritop}^, abandoned the protestants, and suinmoned the duke of \nGuise to the capital, to suppress the tumults. He obeyed, and pass- \ning through Vassi in Cljampaigne, he found an assembly holding wor- \nship in a barn. His soldiers commenced a quarrel with them, and \nthen murdered 260 <b( their number. A civil war now broke out. \nThe protestants made Orleans their head quarters, and had the prince \nof Conde and admiral Goligni for leaders ; while the papists were cotti- \nniandedby the duke of Gmsc, the king of Navarre and the constable \nMontmorency. Much blood was shed many towns were taken and \nravaged. The king of Navarre fell in battle, the duke of Guise was \nassassinated. Montnjorency and Conde were both taken prisoners. \nAfter some other changes a peace v/as concluded in 1570, on the \nprinciple of amnesty for the past, a free toleration of the protestants \nevery where, a limited right to except against papists judges, and the \npossession of four cities for two years, to be garrisoned by the protes- \ntants. This treaty on the part of the papists was a lure, and to lull \nthe protestants the more into security, the court now enforced the \ntreaty with much apparent zeal ; for they were resolved to effect by \ntreachery what they could not effect by power. \n\nA marriage was proposed between the young king of Navarre, who \nsince the death of his father, had espoused the protestant cause, and \nthe sister of the king of France. By this means the king of Navarre, \nthe admiral Coligny, and the young prince of Conde, were drawn to \nthe court as guests. This v/as a step preparatory to the tragical scene \nwhich YVdiS to follow, which was no less than the murder of all thesQ \nillustrious personages and their friend.? in the city, Avhile they v/ere put \noff their guard, and were reposing confidence in the pledged faith and \nhospitality of papists. The marriage was celebrated on the T7th of \nAugust 1472, and on the 22d of that month Coligny was wounded \nby a shot from a window, as he v/as going to his house. Upon learn- \ning this, the king paid him a visit, promised to find out and punish the \nassassins, and to all appearance was filled with indignation and sorrow \n\n\n\n252 THE HISTORY OF \n\nfor the accident. Two days after this, the i)iassaci e of St. Bartholo-r \nmew took place. When the king gave his directions concerning it, \nhe added, with his customary oaths, \' since it is to be done, take care \nthat no one escapes to reproach me.\' The direction of the massacre \nwas entrusted more especially to the duke of Guise ; and the signal \nfor its commencement was to be given by striking the great bell of \nthe palace. Colign}^^ regular in his habits, and still weak with his \nwounds, had retired to rest on the eve of St, Bartholomew very early : \n])iit he was roused by the noise of the assassins, who had surrounded \nhis house. A German, by the name of Besme, entered his chamber ; \ngtnd the admiral suspicious of his designs, prepared to meet his fate \nwith calm and perfect resignation. Scarcely had he uttered the words, \n^ young man, respect these gray hairs, nor stain them with blood/ \nwhen the German plunged his sword into his bosom ^nd afterwards \nthrew the corpse into the court. The duke of Guise beheld it in si- \nlence ; but Henry, count of Angouleme, natural brother to the king, \nspurned it with his foot, exclaiming, \'courage, my friends ; we have \nbegun well, let us also finish well.\' \n\nThe massacre continued five days. The catholic citizens who had \nbeen secretly prepared, by their leaders, for such a scene, zealously \nseconded the execution of the soldiery, and imbued their hands with- \nout remorse in the blood of their neighbors, their companions, and \neven their nearest relations. Among the most illustrious victims, be- \nsides Coligny, were the count de Rochefoucalt and Teligny, who had \nmarried the daughter of the admiral. The Count de Montgomery, \nand tjie Vidame of Chartres, with near a hundred others, who lodged \non the south of the Seine, escaped on horseback, half naked ; but \nthey were pursued and overtaken by the duke of Guise, who cut in \npieces nearly the whole of them. \n\nThe young k\'mg of Navarre and prince of Conde, exempted from \nthe general destruction, were brought before Charles and command- \ned to objure their religion. The king of Navarre consented; but the \nprince hesitating, Charles In a transport of rage, exclaimed, \'Death, \nmass, or the bastile.\' The violence of this threat intimidated the \nprince, and recanting his heresy, he received absolution from the car- \ndinal of Bourbon. During the greater part of the massacre, Charles \nposted himself at one of the windows of his palace, from which he \nnot only saw and encouraged the assassins, by frequently calling out \n\'kill, kill !\' but even fired upon the miserable fugitives. \n\nThe same barbarous orders were sent to all the provinces of the \n\n\n\nR O M AN CATHOLICISM. 253 \n\nkingdom ; iand they were faithfully obeyed in Lyons, Orleans, \nRouen, Bourges, Angers, and Toulouse. In Provence, Dauphine, \nand some other parts the protestants were protected. The viscount \nOrthes, who commanded in Bayonne, in reply to the order which he \nreceived wrote back to the king, that Bayonne contained loyal citizens \nand brave soldiers, but among them he was not able to find one exe* \ncutioner. The bishop of Liseux, on this occasion, conducted himself in \n;a manner becoming the religion of which he was a minister ; for when \nthe commandant of that place communicated to him the orders of the \ncourt, he ansv/ered, Tou must not execute them ; those whom you \nare commanded to destroy are my flock ; it is true they have gone \nastray, but I shall use my endeavors to bring them back to the right \nfold. The gospel does not say that the shepherd should spill the blood \nof his flock; on the contrary, I read in it, that I ought, if necessary, \nto spill my blood for them.\' These instances of humanity, were how- \never, few ; and it is supposed, that throughout France, 25,000 protes- \ntants perished, and in Paris alone 10,000. \n\nAs a justification of this dreadful and unparalelled massacre, Charles \npretended, that the protestants had formed a conspiracy to seize his \nperson ; and that in his own defence, he had been under the necessi- \nty of giving orders for its execution. But the real motive and object \nwere by no means thus concealed ; they were even (displayed to pub- \nlic notice, by the proceedings of the parliament and court. The for^ \nmer ordered an annual procession to celebrate the deliverance of thp \nkingdom; and the latter had a medal struck, with a legend, intimat- \ning, in express terms, that piety had armed justice on this occasion. \nStill more unequivocally were the real causes of the massacre of St. \nBartholomew displayed, by the feelings with which the intelligence ojF \nit was received at Rome, and in Spain. In both, public rejoicings \nwere held, and solemn thanks were returned to God for its success, \nunder the name of the \'triumph of the church militant.\' Among the \nprotestants, it excited the most deep and penetrating horror, and no \nwhere to a greater degree than in England. Fenelon, the French em- \nbassador to the court of St. James, gives the following striking picture \nof his audience after the massacre was known : \'A gloomy sorrow \nsat on every face ; silence, as in the dead of night, reigned through \nall the chambers of the apartments ; the ladies and the courtiers clad \nin deep mourning, were ranged on every side;^ and as I passed by \nthem, in my approach to the queen, not one bestowed on me a favor- \nable look, or made the least return to my salutations.\' \n\n\n\n264 THE HISTORY OF \n\nThe effect of the massacre on the protestants v/as directly the re- \nverse of what the king expected ; but such as a knowledge of human \nnature, and religious zeal and enthusiasm, would have anticipated. \nCalvinism, instead of being destroyed, became more formidable by \ndespair ; and a thirst for revenge, united to an ardent spirit of civil \nand religious liberty. A fourth civil war was kindled. The protes- \ntants assembled in large bodies, and took refuge in the strong places \nwhich belonged to their party. In these they were resolved to defend \nthemselves to the last extremity. At their head appeared the king of \nNavarre, and the prince of Conde, both of v/hom abjured a religion \nwhich they had been compelled to profess. Rochelle made a desper- \nate defence against the duke of Anjou, who lost almost all his arniy \nbefore it. The siege continued eight months, during which time the \ncitizens repelled nine general, and twenty particular attacks, and at \nlength obliged the duke to grant an advantageous peace. The town \nof Sancarre was defended with equal bravery seven months ; nor did \nthe inhabitants surrender till they had obtained the promise of liberty \nof conscience. About this time the duke of Anjou was elected king \nof Poland; and the miseries of France daily increasing, Charles em- \nbraced the pretence afforded by the elevation of his brother, to con- \nclude a treaty with the protestants, which he did not intend to keep \nand to which they never trusted. \n\nThe protestant chiefs losing all confidence in the papists, and in the \ngovernment under their influence, entered into combinations foi their \nown safety. Charles IX. died, and was succeeded by Henry III. a \ndissolute man and a violent papist. Civil war again raged. But in \nthe result the protestants gained more freedom of worship. The pa- \npists, grieved at this, entered into alliance with the king of Spain and \nthe pope, and obliged the king to abrogate his decrees in favor of the \nprotestants. The v/ar was renewed, and again in result, the protes- \ntants gained their point. This led the papists again to the king of \nSpain with whom they formed a league to exterminate the protestants \nand overthrow the government. After the death of Henry HI. the \nking of Navarre was next heir to the crown, which he assumed un- \nder the title of Henry IV. To effect a peace, he professed the po- \npish faith, but gave a free toleration to all his protestant subjects. \nIn 1598, he published the edict of Nantz, as the basis of protestant \nliberty, and by it he confirmed all the privileges ever before conceded \nto them ; gave them equal civil rights, equal privileges in the univer- \nsities and public schools, made them eligible to all public oflices, and \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 255 \n\nallowed them to establish houses of worship, in places of particular \ndescription throughout the realm, lie also gave them an anntial sti- \npend of 40,000 crowns for the support of their ministers. And though \nthe papists murmured and endeavored to infringe on these privileges, \nHenry protected the protestant cause to the end of his reign. \n\nThis edict of Nantz was an occasion of as great grief to the pa- \npists, as the massacre of St. Bartholomew had been of joy. But they \nnever found an opportunity to procure its abrogation till the reign of \nLouis XIV. grandson to Henry IV. who granted the edict. Cardinal \nRichelieu the prime minister under Louis XHL set himself to accom- \nplish the ruin of the protestant cause in France. He made war upon \nthe protestants contrary to former treaties, and at length reduced \ntheir principal fortress, Rochelle. Not satisfied with this success, he \nnext attacked their religion, demanding that they should return to the \npapal church, or be considered enemies to the state. At first, milder \nmeasures were resorted to, such as promises, and conciliator}^ exposi- \ntion of doctrines, particularly offensive to the reformed churches. Rich-- \nelieu spared no pains or arts which he thought would have any in- \nfluence, to draw the reformed, by stratagem and deception, to return to \nthe popish church. But as little was efTected by these measures, the \npopish bishops resorted to the most unrighteous laws, and all_ possible \nmeasures of vexation and persecution which were in their power, grad- \nually to exhaust the people, and compel them from necessity if not \nfrom choice, to join the popish standard. Many yielded, being over- \ncome by their grievous sufferings, others left the countr}^, but most re- \nmained firm in the religion of their fathers. At length, under Louis \nXIV. after all artifices had been exhausted, the popish prelates an<^ \nthe Jesuits, who then bore sw?y in the councils of the king, determin- \ned that this people, the protestants of France, must be exterminated \nby violence and crushed by a single stroke. \n\nOvercome by their arguments and solicitations, the king in the year \n16^85, with the approbation and applause of the Roman pontiff, in vi- \nolation of all laws, human and divine, revoked the edict of Nantz, \nand commanded his reformed subjects to return to the arms of pope- \nry. This was the signal for distress and violence to the protestants \nthroughout the kingdom. Vast multitudes of French people were \nobliged to leave their country and wander into various parts of Eu- \nrope, and into the wilds of America, to find an asylum from cruel \npersecution. Soldiers were despatched into all parts of the kingdom \nto make converts to papacy at the point of the bayonet. Every spe-- \n\n\n\n256 T H E H I S T R Y d F \n\ncies of tortiire\', vexation and suffering was inflicted on the pjoor per- \nsecuted profe^ants, to make them profess with their lips, and adopt \nin outward forms, a re%ion which they abhorred in their hearts. \nGreat pains were taken to prevent their escape from the country, for \nthe papists -^vduid admit of no alternative but to submit, or die. But \nafter all their vigilance, from half a million to a million are supposed \nto have found means to reach foreign countries. And some of the \nbest families in the United States came to this country and adopted it \nas their own in consequence of this persecution. \n\nThe same tyrannical and persecuting spirit which had been pro- \nductive of so much cruelty and bloodshed among the more western \nnations of Europe, penetrated Austria, where also, the suppression of \nProtestantism was vainly expected from a repetition of the same ef- \nforts which had already covered the Romish Church with infamy, \nand utterly failed to accomplish the desired object. A war of perse- \ncution was commenced in that country and was waged for nearly \nthirty years, with unabated vigor and unparalleled barbarity. It ori- \nginated in the exactions and oppressions which were imposed, upon all \nthose which had renounced papacy. They were deprived of all their \nrights, though guaranteed by the most solemn treaties and laws: and \nas most of them had neither resolution or ability to defend their cause, \nthese outrages were long borne in silence. But these acts of tyranny \nwere not, however, accompanied with universal submission among the \nprotestants. The Bohemians perceiving it to be the fixed purpose of \nthe catholics, to deprive them of every vestige of liberty, though that \nliberty had been recently confirmed to theni by a royal charter, with \na spirit worthy of the descendants of the early Bohemian Reformers, \nresolved to assert their violated rights, by an appeal to arms. Hav- \ning entered into a league, they ventured the attempt to avenge their \nown wrongS) and those which had long borne down their injured couii^- \ntrymen. By the death of their former sovereign an opportunity was \noffered for the election of Frederic V. the electoral prince Palatine? \nwho professed the Reformed religion. But this circrmstance, appa- \nrently so auspicious to the prosperity and advancement of the protes- \ntant cause, proved the harbinger of evil and ruin to themselves, and \ntheir sovereign. Frederic w^as vanquished by his papal adversaries, \nand soon became an exile. Many of the Bohemians were punished \nwith imprisonment, banishment, confiscation of their property, and \ndeath; and the whole nation, were henceforth forced to receive the re- \nligion of their conquerors and obey the mandates of the pope. Elated \n\n\n\nKOMAN CATHOLICISM. 25t \n\nby these successes, the Catholic party did not fail to improve to the \nutmost, the opportunity which was thus presented, to exhibit the true \ngenius of their religion. Confident that the time had arrived \nwhen they could destroy the whole heretical mass, or bring them \nagain into submission, they carried fire and sword through a great part \nof Germany. In Hungary also, the protestants were molested with \nevery species of vexation, which papal ingenuity could devise. Of the \nevils which they suffered from the Jesuits there was neither measure \nnor limit. \n\nA volume might be filled with tragical accounts of the sufferings of \nthe protestants in Ireland, in the great massacre and rebellion that com- \nmenced in 1641, in the reign of Charles I. \'The rebellion,\' says \nHume, \'which had been upwards of fourteen years threatened in \nIreland, and which had been repressed only by the vigor of the Earl \nof Stafford\'s governm^ent, broke out at this time with incredible fury. \nOn the fatal day, the Irish, every where intermingled with the En- \nglish, needed but a hint from their leaders and priests to begin hostili- \nties against a people whom they hated on account of their religion, and \nenvied for their riches and prosperity. The houses, cattle and goods \nof the unwary English were first seized. Those who heard of the \ncommotions in their neighborhood, instead of deserting their habita- \ntions and assembling together for mutual protection, remained at \nhome in hopes of defending their property, and fell thus separately in- \nto the hands of their enemies. After rapacity had fully exerted itself, \ncruelty, and that the most barbarous that was ever known or heard of \nin any nation, began its operations. A universal massacre commen- \nced of the English protestants, now defenceless, and passively resign- \ned to their inhuman foes ; no age, no sex, no condition was spared. \nThe wife weeping for her butchered husband, and embracing her \nhelpless children, was pierced with them, and perished ^by the same \nstroke ; the old, the young, the vigorous, the infirm underwent the \nlike fate, and were confounded in one common ruin. In vain did \nflight save from the first assault ; destruction was every where let \nloose, and met its hundred victims at every turn. In vain was re- \ncourse had to relations, to friends, to companions ; all connexions \nwere dissolved, and death was dealt by that hand from which protec- \ntion was expected and implored. \n\n\'Without provocation, without opposition, the astonished English, \nbeing in profound peace and full security, were massacred by their \nnearest neighbors, with whom they had long held a continued int r \n3S \n\n\n\n25S THEHISTORYOF \n\ncourse of kindness and good offices. But death was the lightest pun- \nishment inflicted by those enraged rebels ; all the tortures which wan- \nton cruelty could devise, all the lingering pains of body and anguish of \nmind, the agonies of despair, could not satiate revenge excited with- \nout injury, and cruelty derived from no cause. To enter into particu- \nlars would shock the least delicate humanity ; such enormities, though \nattested by the most undoubted evidence, would appear almost in- \ncredible. \n\n\'The weaker sex, themselves, naturally tender and compassionate, \nhere emulated their more robust companions in the practice of every \ncruelty, Even children taught by the example and encouraged by \nthe exhortations of their parents, essayed their feeble blows on the \ndead carcases, or defenceless children of the protestants. The very \navarice of the Irish was not a sufficient restraint to their cruelty ; such \nwas their frenzy, that the cattle v/hich they had seized and by rapine \nmade their own, yet because they bore the name of English, were \nwantonly slaughtered, or when covered with wounds, turned loose in \nthe woods and deserts. \n\n\'The stately buildings or commodious habitations of the planters, \nas if upbraiding the sloth and ignorance of the natives, were consum- \ned with fire or laid level with the ground ; and where the miserable \nowners shut up their houses and prepared for defence, perished in the \nflames, together with their wives and children, a double triumph was \nafforded to their insulting foes. If any where a number assembled \ntogether, and assuming courage from despair, were resolved to sweeten \ndeath by revenge upon the assassins, they were disarmed by capitula- \ntions and promises of safety, confirmed by the most solemn oaths ; \nthen the rebels (in the immutable spirit of popery) v/ith perfidy equal \nto their cruelty, made them lead the fate of their unhappy country- \nmen. Others more ingenious still in their barbarity, tempted their \nprisoners in the fond hope of life, to imbrue their hands in the blood \nof their friends, brothers, and parents ; and having thus rendered \nthem accomplices in guilt, gave them that death which they sought to \nshun by deserving it. \n\n\'Amidst all these enormities, the sacred name of religion sounded \non every side, not to stop the hands of these murderers, but to en- \nforce their blows, and to steel their hearts against every movement of \nhuman or social sympathy. The English, as heretics abhorred of \nGod, and detestable to all holy men, were marked out by the priests \nfor slaughter; and of all actions, to rid the world of these declared en- \n\n\n\nROMAN C A^ T H O L 1 C I S M . 259 \n\nemies to catholic faith and piety was represented as the most meritori- \nous in its nature, which in that rude people, sufficiently inclined \nto atrocious deeds, was farther stimulated by precepts and national \nprejudices, im poisoned by those aversions, more deadly and incurable, \nwhich \'arose from an enraged superstition. While death finished the \nsufferings of each victim, the bigoted assassins with joy and exultation, \nstill echoed in his expiring ears, that these agonies were but the com- \nmencement of torments infinite and eternal.\' \n\nOn the accession of James 11, to the throne of England, the Ro- \nmanists indulged the hope of again bringing England under the spirit- \nual jurisdiction of their sovereign pontiff. James,. who was a weak and \npusillanimous prince, having imbibed the catholic doctrine, commen- \nced his reign by the commission of many violent acts, to which he \nhad been instigated by the popish emissaries who constantly surround- \ned him. The eminent ministers of the preceding reign were immedi- \nately displaced, and the most zealous and bigoted catholics were ele- \nvated to the highest offices. In short every thing betokened a re- \npetition of the bloody tragedy which had been acted under the admin- \nistration of queen Mary. Public opinion, however, had become too \nmuch enlightened for the nation to submit tamely to papal tyrrany ; \nand the catholic sovereign was obliged to abandon his throne and \nseek protection in the more congenial climate of France. The de- \nsigns of papacy on the elevation of James, as well as its real character, \nmay be correctly inferred from the following letter written by father \nLa Chaise, confessor to Louis XIV. of France, to father Peters, con- \nfessor to James II. in 1688. It was taken from the manuscript pa- \npers in the library of Edward Harley, earl of Oxford. \n\'Worthy Friend: \n\nI received yours of the 20th of June last, and am glad to hear \nof your good success, and that our party gains ground so fast in Eng- \nland ; but concerning the question you have put to me, that is, \' What \nis the best course to he taken to root out all heretics,^ to this I answer, \nthere are divers ways to do that, but we must consider which is the \nbest to make use of in England. I am sure you are not ignorant how \nmany thousand heretics, we have in France, by the power of our \ndragoons converted in the space of one year ; and by the doctrine of \nthese booted apostles, turned more in one year, than Christ and his \napostles could in ten years. This is a most excellent method, and far \nexcels those of the great preachers and teachers, that have lived since \nthe time of Christ. But I have spoken with divers fathers of our so- \n\n\n\n260 THE HISTORY OF \n\nciety, who do think that your king is not strong enough to accomplish \nthis design by such kind of force ; so that we cannot expect to have \nour work done in that manner, for the heretics are too strong for the \nthree kingdoms ; and therefore we must seek to convert them by fair \nmeans, before we fall upon them with fire and sword, halters, gaols, \nand other such like punishment. And, therefore, I can give you no \nbetter advice than to begin with soft, easy means. Wheedle them by \npromises of profit and places of honor, till you have made them dip \nthemselves into treasonable practices against the lav/s established, and \nthen they are bound to serve from fear. \xc2\xa5/hen they have done \nthus, turn them out, and serve others so by putting them in their \nplaces, and by this way gain as many as you can. And for the here- \ntics that are in places of profit and honor, turn them out, or suspend \nthem on pretence of misbehaviour, by which their places are forfeited ; \nand they subject to what judgment you please to give upon them. \nThen you must form a camp that must consist of none but catholics. \nThis will make the heretics heartless, and conclude that the means of \nrehef and recovery are gone. And lastly, take the short and the best \nway, which is, to surprise the heretics on a sudden, and to encourage \nthe zealous catholics, let them sacrafice all, and wash their bands in \ntheir blood, which will be an acceptable ofiering to God. And this \nwas the method I took in France, v/hich hath v/ell, you see, succeed- \ned ; but it cost me many threats and promises, before Icould biing it \nthus far ; our king being a long time very unwilhng. But at last I \n\ngot him on the hip ; for he had the for which I would by \n\nno means give him absolution, till he had given me an instrument un- \nder his own hand and seal, to sacrifice the heretics all in one day. \nNow, as soon as I had my desired commission, I appointed the day \nwhen this should be done ; and in the mean time, made ready some \nthousands of letters to be sent into all parts of France, in one post \nnight. I was never better pleased than at that time. But the king \nwas affected with some compassion for the Hugonots, because they \nhad been a means of bringing him to the crown and throne ; and the \nlonger he was under it, the more sorrowful he was, after complaining \nand desiring me to give him his commission again. But that I would \nby no persuasion do ; advising him to repent of that heinous sin, and \nalso telling him that the trouble and horror of his spirit did not proceed \nfrom any thing evil in those things which were to be done, but from \nthe wickedness he had done ; and that he must resolve to undergo the \nsevere burden of a troubled mind, for one of them or for the other^ \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M 261 \n\nand if he would remain satisfied as it was, his sins being forgiven, there \nv/oiild be, in a fe^v days a perfect atonement made for it, and he per- \nfectly reconciled to God again. \n\nBut all this would not pacify him ; for the longer the more restless. \nI therefore ordered him to retire to his closet, and spend his time con- \nstantly in prayer, without permitting any one to interrupt him ; and \nthis was in the morning early, when in the evening I was to send \naway all my letters. I did indeed make the more haste for fear he \nwould disclose it to any body ; yet I had given him strict charge to \nkeep it to himself. And the very things which I most feared, to my \ngreat sorrow came to pass. For just at the nick of time, the devil, \nwho hath at all times his instruments at work, sent the prince of Con- \nde, to the court, who asked for the king. He v/as told that he was \nin his closet and would speak v/ith no man. He impudently answer- \ned that he must, and would speak with him, and so went directly to his \ncloset, he being a great peer, no man durst hinder him. And being \ncom.e to the king, he soon perceived by his countenance that he was \nunder some great trouble of mind, for he looked as if he had been \ngoing into the other world immediately. \' Sire,\' said he, \' what is the \nmatter with you V The king at the first refused to tell him, but he \npressing harder upon him, at last the king with a sorrowful, complaint \nburst out and said, \' I have given father La Chaise, a commission under \nmy hand to murder all the Hugonots in one day, and this evening will \nthe letters be despatched to all parts by the post, for performing ofit; \nso that there is but a small time for my Hugonot subjects to live, who \nhave never done me any harm.\' Whereupon this cursed rogue an- \nswered, let him give you your commission again. The king said, how \nshall I ^et it out of his hand ? For if I send to him for it, he will refuse \n.to send it. This devil answered, if your majesty will give me an order \nI will quickly make him return it. The king was soon persuaded, \nbeing willing to give ease to his troubled spirit, and said, * well go then \nand break his neck if he will not give it you.\' Whereupon, this son \nof the devil went to the post-house, and enquired if I had not a great \nnumber of letters there ? And they said yes, more than I had sent in \na whole year before. \n\nThen said the prince, by an order from the king yon must deliver \nthem all to me, which they durst not deny, for they knew well enough \nwho he was. And no sooner was he got into the post-house and \nasked these questions, than I came in after him, to give order to the \npostmaster, to give notice to all those under him in the several parts of \n\n\n\n262 T H E H I S T R Y O F \n\nthe kingdom, that they should take care to deliver my letters with all \nthe speed imaginable. But I was no sooner entered the house, than \nhe gave his servants orders to secure the door, and said confidently to \nme you must, by order from the king, give me the commission which \nyou have forced from him. I told him I had it not about m^e,but would \ngo and fetch it, thinking to get from him and so get out of town, and \nsend the contents of these letters another time. But he said you must \ngive it, and if you have it not about you, send some person to fetch it, \nor else never expect to go alive out of my hands ; for I have an order \nfrom the king, either to fetch it, or break your neck, and I am resolv- \ned, either to carry that back to him in my hand, or your heart\'s blood \nupon the point of my sword. I would have made my escape, but he \nset his sword to my breast, and said, you miist give it me or die, \ntherefore, deliver it, or this goes through your body. \'So when I saw \nnothing else would do, I put my hand into my pocket and gave it him \nwhich he carried immediately to the king, and gave him that, and all \nmy letters which they burned. And being all done," the king said, \nnow his heart was at ease. Now how he should be eased by the devil \nor so well satisfied with a false joy I cannot tell ; but this I know, \nthat it was a very wicked and ungodly action, as well in his majesty as \nin the prince of Conde, and very much increased the burden and dan- \nger of his majesty\'s sins. I soon gave an account of this affair to sever- \nal fathers of our society, who promised to do their best, to prevent the \naforesaid prince\'s doing another such act, which was accordingly done. \nFor within six days he was poisoned, and well he deserved it. The \nking, also, did suffer too, but in another fashion, for disclosing the de_ \nsign unto the prince and hearkening unto his councils. Many a time \nsince, when I have had him at confession, have I shook hell about his \nears, and made him sigh, fear and tremble, before I would give him \nabsolution ; nay, more than that I have made him beg for it on his \nknees, before I would consent to absolve him. By this I saw that he \nhad still an inchnation to me, and was willing to be under my govern- \nment, so I set the baseness of his sin before him, by telling the whole \nstory, and how wicked it was, and that it could not be forgiven until \nhe had done some good action to balance that, and expiate the crime. \nWhereupon, he at last asked me what he must do ? I told him he \nmust root out all the heretics from his kingdom. So when he saw \nthere was no rest for him without doing it, he did again give them all \ninto the power of me and our clergy, under this condition, that we \nshould not murder them, as he had before given orders, but that we \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 263 \n\nshould, by fair means or force, convert them to the Catholic religion^ \nNow when we got the commission, we presently put it in practice, \nand what the issue hath been you very well know. But now, in Eng- \nland the work cannot be done after this manner, as you may perceive \nfrom what I have said to you, so that I cannot give you better coun- \ncil than to take that course in hand, wherein we were so unhappily \nprevented, and I doubt not but it may have better success with you \nthan with us. \n\nI would write to you of many other things, but I fear I have al- \nready detained you too long, wherefore I will write no more at pres- \nent, but that I am \n\nYour friend and servant \n\nLA CHAISE. \nParis, July 8, 1688. \n\nSuch is the character of the means by which the Roman Catholic \nchurch sought to retain its power and grandeur. But fortunately for \nEurope and the world, this simultaneous effort to scourge and \nwheedle mankind into an observance of its pagan rites, and quiet sub- \nmission to it tyranny, was wholly ineffectual. The spirit of Reforma- \ntion had gained too permanent a footing in England, France and Ger- \nmany, to be eradicated by the arm of power or the seductive wiles of \npopery. But in Spain, Portugal and Italy, where the introduction of \nthe inquisition immediately followed the first symptoms of disaffection, \npapacy was more successful \xe2\x80\x94 and to this infernal tribunal, the his- \ntory of which we have treated separately, popery is probably indebted \nfor most of its present influence, if not its very existence. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. \n\nJliissionary enierprises of the Papal church in the seventeenth century.-^\xe2\x80\x94 \nEstablishment of the College de Propaganda Fide. \xe2\x80\x94 Diffusion of \nChristianity among the Chinese and Japanese. \xe2\x80\x94 Dissensions between \nthe Jesuits and the Monastic orders. \xe2\x80\x94 Expulsion of the Europeans \nfr(y)n Japan. \xe2\x80\x94 Internal Constitution of the church. \xe2\x80\x94 Decrease of Papal \npower. \xe2\x80\x94 Contest with the Venitians, Portuguese, and French. \xe2\x80\x94 Cath- \nolic controversy. \n\nWhen the pontiffs of Rome, saw their ambition checked, and the \nundisputed sway they had so long held, constantly passing from them \nby the irresistable progress of the Reformation in Europe, they began \nto turn their attention towards other parts of the globe, and became \nextremely solicitous for the propagation of Christianity among distant \nnations which were yet involved in the darkness of paganism. This was \nconsidered as the most politic method of making amends for the loss \nv/hich they were constantly sustaining, and the most plausible pretext \nfor assuming to themselves, the title of Heads of the Universal Church. \nSome effort had been made in the preceding century, for the advance- \nment of this object, but as they were improperly supported, their fruits \nwere neither abundant nor permanent. In the commencement of the \neighteenth century the same attempts were renewed with vigor, \ncrowned with success, and gave a new stability to the tottering gran- \ndeur of papacy. They were begun by Gregory XV. who, by the ad- \nvice of his confessor, Narni, founded at Rome, in the year 1622, the \nfamous Congregation for the propagation of the Faith, and. enriched \nit with ample revenues. This congregation, which consists of thirteen \ncardinals, two priests, one monk and a secretary, is designed to pro- \npagate and maintain the religion of Rome in all parts of the world. \nIts riches and possessions were so greatly augmented by the munifi- \ncence of Urban VIIL and the liberality of an immense number of \ndonors, that its resources immediately became adequate to the most \nexpensive and magnificent undertakings. \n\nTo this celebrated establishment, another less magnificent, but high- \nly influential was added, in the year 1627, by pope Urban VIIL un- \nder the denomination of a college, or seminary for the propagation of \nthe faith. This seminary was set apart for the education of those \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 265 \n\nwho were designed for the foreign missions ; and they were here \nbrought up with the greatest care, in the knowledge of all the langua^ \nges and sciences which are necessary to prepare them to spread the \ngospel among distant nations. This excellent foundation was due tp \nthe zeal and munificence of John Baptist Yiles, a Spanish nobleman, \nwho resided at the court of Rome, and who began by presenting to the \npontiff all his ample possessions, together with his house, which was, \na noble structure, for this generous purpose. His liberality excited \na spirit of emulation, which for a long time was followed with great \nzeal. The seminary was at first committed by Urban to the care \nand direction of three canons of the patriarchal churches; but this \nappointment was afterwards changed, and ever since the year 1641, \nit has been governed by the congregation founded by Gregory XV. \n\nThe same zealous spirit reached France, and produced there sever- \nal pious foundations of a like nature. In the year 1663, the Congre- \ngation of Priests of the Foreign Missions v/as instituted by royal au- \nthority, while an association of Bishops and other ecclesiastics found- \ned the Parisian seminary for the Missions abroad, designed for those \nwho were set apart to spread Christianity among the Pagan nations. \nFrom thence they sent apostolical vicars to Siam, Tonquin, Cochin \nChina, and Persia, bishops to Babylon, and missionaries to other Asi- \natic nations ; all these spiritual envoys were supported by the ample \nrevenues and possessions of the congregation and seminary. \n\nThere was also another religious establishment formed in Prance \nduring this century, under the title of the Congregation of the Holy \nSacrament whose founder was Autherius, bishop of Bethlehem, \nand which in the year 1664, received an order from Urban VIIL to \nhave always a number of ecclesiastics ready to exercise their ministry \namong the pagan nations, whenever they should be called upon by \nthe pope, or the Congregation de Propagandi, for that purpose. It is \nnot necessary to mention other associations of less note, which were \nformed in several countries for promoting the cause of Christianity \namong the darkened nations ; and the care taken by the Jesuits, and \nother religious communities, to have a number of missionaries always \nready for that purpose. The efforts, hov/ever, which wer^ put forth \nwith so much zeal for the extension of papal jurisdiction, w^re greatly \nparalized by the violent dissensions which arose between the Jesuit^ \nand other missionaries. \n\nThe rise of these dissensions maybe ascribed to the methods of \nconversion used by the former, which were entirely different from \n34 \n\n\n\n266 T H E H I S T O R Y F \n\nthose that were employed by the latter. The crafty disciples of Loy- \nola judged it proper to attack the superstition of the Indian nations by \nartifice and stratagem, and to bring them gradually, with the utmost cau- \ntion and prudence, to the knowledge of Christianity. In consequence \nof this principle^ they interpreted and explained the ancient doctrines \nof Faganism, and also those which Confucius taught in China, in such \na manner as to soften and diminish, at least in appearance, their op- \nposition to the truths of the gospel ; and whenever they found in any \nof the religious systems of the Indians, tenets or precepts that bore \neven the faintest resemblance to the doctrines or precepts of Chris- \ntianity, they employed all their dexterity and zeal to render this resem- \nblance more plausible and striking, and to persuade the Indians, that \nthere was a great conformity between their ancient theology and the \nnew religion they were exhorted to embrace. They went still farther \nand indulged their proselytes in the observance of all their national \nrites and customs, except such as were glaringl}^ inconsistent with the \ngenius and spirit of Christian worship. These rites were modified a \nlittle by the Jesuits and directed towards a different set of objects, so \nas to form a kind of coafition between Paganism and Christianity. , To \nsecure themselves an ascendancy over the untutored minds of those \nsimple Indians, they studied their inclinations and propensities, com- \nplied with them on all occasions, and carefully avoided whatever might \nshock their prejudiced and superstitious minds. \n\nOne of the principal points of controversy respected an ancient \nusage of the Chinese, in worshipping the souls of their departed an- \ncestors. The laws of the Chinese require the people annually, at \nstated seasons, to honor their departed ancestors with certain ceremo- \nnies which appear to partake of religious homage ; And besides, all \nthe literati of the nation, at certain times must pay a kind of worship \nwhich appears to have a religious aspect, to Confucius, who is esteem- \ned among them as the father of all wisdom. The question was, wheth- \ner this worship was to be considered as a civil or religious honor ; \nwhether they were real sacrifices, or only ceremonies established for \nstate purposes. The Jesuits averred, according to their governing \npolicy, that these rites were instituted merely to keep the people in \norder, and preserve the tranquihty of the state. They maintained \nthat the Chinese did not offer rehgious homage to their departed rela- \ntives, nor to Confucius, but only intended by these ceremonies to tes- \ntify their grateful sense of the merits of their departed ancestors, and \nof their great lawgiver. Hence they concluded that it was allowable \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 267 \n\nfor papal converts to observe these ancient rites of then- country, pro- \nvided they understood the true nature and ground of them, and kept \nin view their object. If these reasonings were correct, it is to be re- \ngretted that the first Christian martyrs, under the emperors of pagan \nRome, did not understand the policy of bringing Christianity and Pa- \nganism to coalesce ; for the same arguments will apply to pagan Rome. \nHer idolatries were enjoined by public laws, and might therefore have \nbeen considered as mere matters of state ; and the early christians, if \nthey had regarded them in this light, might, by com-pliance, have es- \ncaped the flames of martyrdom. SomiC of the more candid of the \nJesuits however v/ere so little satisfied v/ilh this plea, that they attempt- \nted to justify the practice, en the ground of necessit3^ and expediency. \nThey maintained that the advantages of the practice were so great, \nthat the evils, if any there were, should not be accounted evils. \n\nAnother point in this celebrated controversy which so long agitated \nthe Catholic Church and exhausted the ability of its most learned men \nrespected the worship ot God. The Chinese call the supreme God \nwhom they worship Tien, and Shangti, that is, in their languag*e \nheaven. The Jesuits transferred this name to the God they professed \nto worship, and thus seemed to say that there was no difference be- \ntween the God of the Chinese and the God of papists ; or that the \nChinese attach the same idea to Tien, that Christians do to God, or \nJehovah. But this was denied by the adversaries of the Jesuits, who \naverred that the Chinese understood by the words specified merely \nthe visible heavens, and were therefore idolaters. The Jesuits found \nit for their interest to maintain the opposite opinion. They contend- \ned that these names were used by the ancient Chinese philosophers, \nwho, they thought, had just ideas of natural religion, to denote such \na God as the bible reveals, and therefore that the Chinese terms in \nworship might v/ith propriety be retained. They therefore allowed \ntheir converts to continue the use of the former terms of worship, nay \nthe Jesuits, in becoming all things to all m.en, and in accommodation \nto the feelings of their heathen converts, used these terms in their own \nworship. Thus they converted the Chinese by joining in their idola? \ntry. \n\nThe ministerial labors of the Romish missionaries were crowned \nwith surprising success, in Japan, where an almost incredible number \nof converts, were made to that church. But this prosperous state \nwas soon interrupted by the prejudice which the priests and grandees \nof the kingdom had acquired against the new religion\xe2\x80\x94 prejudices \n\n\n\n268 ^ TttEHISTORYOF \n\nwhich in many places proved alike fatal to both missionary and cori- \nvert. But the prosperity of papacy did not, however, suffer only from \nthe virulence and malignity of its enemies ; it was wounded in the \nhouse of its friends, and received the greatest detriment from the in- \ntestine quarrels and contentions of those to whom the care of the ris- \ning church was committed. The same scenes of fraternal discord \nwhich had so often proved prejudicial to the success of the missionary \nenterprises of Rome, vv^ere renewed in Japan, where the Dominicans, \nFranciscans and Augustinians were at perpetual variance with the \nJesuits. This variance was productive on both sides of the most se- \nHous accusations and bitter reproaches. The Jesuits were again \ncharged with insatiable avarice, with the exercise of extreme indul- \ngence to the vices and superstitions of the Japanese, with crafty and \nlow pt\'acitices unworthy the ministers of Christ, with an ambitious thirst \nafter authority and dominion, and with numerous other misdemeanors \nof a kindred nature. These accusations which had often been pre- \nferred against that order, were not only exhibited at the court of Rome \nbut were spread abroad through every section of Christendom. The \ndisciples of Loyola were by no means silent under these reproaches, \nbut in their turn gravely charged their accusers with imprudence, ig- \nnorance of the world, obstinacy, asperity of manners, and a disgus- \nting rusticity in their mode of living ; affirming that these distinguish- \ning traits of character, rendered their ministry rather detrimental than \nadvantageous to Christianity among a people remarkable for their \npride, generosity and penetration. It w^ould be impossible to deter-^ \nmine, at the present time, the correctness of these charges, but, it is \nnot improbable that they were mostly founded in truth, and that the \ndisastrous results which soon after overthrew the efforts of the Cath- \nolic church in that empire, and forever blasted its hopes of success, \nare wholly attributable to the excesses and unchristian conduct, of \nwhich they mutually reproached each other. \n\nIn the year 1515, the emperor issued an edict of persecution against \nthe professors and ministers of Christianity, which was executed with \na degree of barbarity unparalleled in the annals of Christian history. \nThis persecution raged for many years, and was only terminated by \nthe extinction of Christianity throughout that mighty empire. This \nreligion, which had been suffered to make such rapid and triumphant \nprogress, was at length considered as detrimental to the interests of \nmonarchy, inconsistent with the welfare and happiness of the people, \nand derogatory to the majesty of their high priest, whom they revered \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 269 \n\nas a person descended from the gods. From these considerations, and \nthe disreputable character which the missionaries had acquired, it was \njudged unworthy not only of protection but of toleration. This \njudgment was followed by the fatal order by which all foreigners that \nwere Christians, and more especially the Spaniards and Portuguese, \nwere commanded to quit the kingdom ; and the natives who had em- \nbraced the gospel, were required to renounce the name and doctrine \nof Christ, on pain of death presented to them in its most aggravated \nform. This tyrannical order was the signal for the perpetration of \nsuch horrors as it were vain to attempt to record. Innumerable mul- \ntitudes of the Japanese Christians, of each sex, and of all ages, ranks \nand conditions, expired with magnanimous constancy amidst the most \nexcruciating torments, rather than apostatize from the faith which \nthey had so zealously embraced. The operations of the Romish \nChurch were not confined during the seventeenth century, to the ex- \ntension of papal Christianity among the Asiatic nations. Every sec- \ntion of the globe was visited by the monastic missionaries, and the \nChurch received an extensive numeral augmentation, from the abori- \ngines of America, and the natives of Africa. In all these enterprises. \nthe Jesuits held the most prominent rank; and as the foreign enterpri- \nses of the church are closely connected with the history of that cele- \nbrated order, the reader is referred to the annexed account of Jesuit- \nism. \n\nHitherto our viev^^s have been confined to the external state and \ncondition of this church, and to the good or ill success that attended \nits endeavors to extend its dominion in the different parts of the world. \nIt will now be proper to change the scene, to consider this establish- \nment in its internal constitution, and to review its polity, discipline, in- \nstitutions and doctrines. Its ancient form of government still remain- \ned ; but its pontiffs and bishops lost, in many places, that extensive \nauthority which they had so long enjoyed. The halcyon days were \nnow over, in which the papal clergy excited with impunity, seditious \ntumults in the state, interfered openly in the transactions of govern- \nments, struck terror into the hearts of sovereigns and subjects by the \nthunder of their anathemas, and, imposing burthensome contributions \non the credulous multitude, filled their coffers by notorious acts of ty- \nranny and oppression. The pope himself, though still honored with \nthe same pompous titles and denominations, frequently found, by a \nmortifying and painful experience, that these titles had lost a consid- \nerable part of their former signification, and that the energy of these \n\n\n\n270 THE HISTORY OF \n\ndenominations daily diminished. For now almost all the princes and \nstates of Europe had adopted the important maxim, formerly peculiar \nto the French nation ; that the power of the Roman pontiff was con- \nfined to matters of a religious and spiritual nature, and cannot, under \nany pretext whatever, extend to civil transactions or worldly affairs. \nIn the schools, indeed, and colleges of Roman Catholic countries, and \nin the writings of the Romish priest and doctors, the majesty of the \npope was still exalted in the most emphatic terms, and his prerogatives \nwere still displayed with all imaginable pomp. The Jesuits, also, who \nhave always been ambitious of a distinguished place among the asser- \nters of the power and preeminence of the Roman see, and who have \nalways been the pope\'s most obsequious creatures, raised their \nvoices in this ignoble cause, even above those of the schools and col- \nleges. Even in the courts of princes, very flattering terms and high \nsounding phrases were sometimes used, to express the dignity and au- \nthority of the head of the church. But as in other cases, the actions \nof men are widely different from their language, so in the case of \nRome^s holy father. He was extolled in words by those v/ho most de- \nspised him, and when any dispute arose between him and the princes \nof his communion, the latter respected his authority no farther than \nthey found expedient for their own purposes^ and measured the extent \nof his prerogatives and jurisdiction, not by the slavish adulation of the \ncolleges and the Jesuits, but by a regard to their own interests and \nindependence. \n\nThis the pontiffs learned by disagreeable experience, as often as \nthey endeavored to resume their former pretensions, to interpose their \nauthority in civil affairs, and encroach upon the jurisdiction of sove- \nreign states. The conduct of Paul V. and its consequences, furnish \na striking example that abundantly verifies this observation. This \nhaughty and arrogant pontiff, in 1606, laid the republic of Venice un- \nder an interdict. The reasons alleged for these insolent proceedings, \nwere the prosecution of two ecclesiastics for capital crimes, and the \npromulgation of two edicts, one of which prohibited the erection of \nany more religious edifices in the Venetian territories, without the \nknowledge and consent of the senate, while the other forbade the |al- \nienation of any lay possessions or estates in favor of the\'clergy, with- \nout the express approbation of the republic. The assembled senators \nreceived this papal insult v/ith dignity, and conducted themselves un- \nder it, with becoming resolution and fortitude. Their first step was to \nprevent their clergy from executing the interdict, by an act prohibi- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 2^1 \n\nting that cessation of public worship and that suspension of the sacra- \nments, which the pope had so imperiously commanded. Their next \nstep was equally vigorous ; for they banished from their territories the \nJesuits and Capuchins, who intended to obey the orders of the pope, \nin opposition to their express commands. \n\nIn the process of this controversy they employed their ablest pens, \nand particularly that of the learned and ingenious Paul Sarpi, of the \norder of Servites, to demonstrate on one hand, the justice of their cause, \nand to determine on the other, after an accurate and impartial inquiry, \nthe true limits of the pontiff\'s jurisdiction and authority. The argu- \nments of these writers were so strong and cogent, that Baronius, and \nthe other learned advocates whom the pope had employed in support- \ning his pretensions and defending his measures, struggled in vain \nagainst irresistable evidence. In the mean time all things tended to- \nwards a rupture ; and Paul was assembling his forces in order to make \nwar upon the Venitians, when Henry lY. king of France, interposed \nas mediator, and adjusted a peace between the contending parties, on \nconditions not very honorable to the ambitious pontiff; for the Veni- \ntians could not be persuaded, either to repeal the edicts and resolutions \nthey had issued against the court of Rome on this occasion, or to re- \ncal the Jesuits from their exile. It is remarkable, that at the time of \nthis rupture, the senate entertained serious thoughts of a total separa- \ntion of the church of Rome, in which the ambassadors from England \nand Holland did all that was in their power to confirm that assembly. \nBut many considerations of a momentous nature intervened to pre- \nvent the execution of their design, which, as it would seem, had not \nhad the approbation of the sagacious and prudent Father Paul, not- \nwithstanding his aversion to the tyranny and maxims of the court of \nRome. \n\nHad the Portuguese acted with the same wisdom and resolution \nthat distinguished the Venetians, their contest, which began under the \npontificate of Urban VIII. in 1641, and was carried on until the year \n1666, vv^ould have been terminated in a manner equally disadvanta- \ngeous to the haughty pretensions of the pontiffs. Unable any longer \nto bear the tyranny of the Spanish government, they threw off the yoke \nand chose Don John, Duke of ^^Braganza, for their king. Urban and \nhis successors preemptorily refused either to acknowledge Don John\'s \ntitle to the crown or to confirm the bishops whom that prince had na- \nmed to fill the vacant sees in Portugal. \n\nThe French and other European courts, advised and exhorted the \n\n\n\n272 THEHISTORYOF \n\nnew king of Portugal to follow the noble example of the Venitians, \nand to assemble a national council, by which the new created bishops \nmight be confirmed, in their respective sees. Don John seemed dis- \nposed to listen to their councils, and to act with resolution and vigor \nat this important crisis ; but his enterprising spirit was checked by the \nformidable power of the court of inquisition, the incredible supersti- \ntion of the people, and the blind zeal and attachment which the na- \ntion in general, discovered for the person and authority of the pontiff. \nHence the popes continued their insults with impunity ; and it was \nnot before peace was concluded between Portugal and Spain, twenty \nfive years after this revolution, that the bishops nominated by the king \nwere confirmed by the pope. It was under the pontificate of Clem- \nent IX. that an accommodation was brought about between the courts \nof Portugal and Rome. \n\nThere had subsisted, during many preceding ages, an almost unin- \nterrupted variance between the French monarchs and the pontiffs, \nw^hich had often occasioned an open rupture, and vv^hich during this \ncentury, more than once produced this effect. The first of these con- \ntests happened in the pontificate of Alexander VII. and arose from the \ntemerity and insolence of his Corsican guards, who, m 16G2, insulted \nthe French ambassador and his lady, the duke and dutchess of Cre- \nqui, at the instigation as it is supposed of the pope\'s nephew. Louis \ndemanded satisfaction for the insult offered to his representatives ; \nand the pope, delaying to answer this demand, he actually ordered \nhis troops to file off for Italy, and to besiege the pope in his capi- \ntal. Alexander, terrified by these warlike preparations, implored the \nclemency of the incensed monarch, who granted pardon and absolu- \ntion to the humble pontiff, and concluded a peace with him at Pisa, in \n1664, upon the most inglorious and mortifying conditions. These \nconditions were, that the pope should send his nephew to Paris, in the \ncharacter of a suppliant for pardon ; that he should brand the Corsi- \ncan guards with perpetual infamy, and break them by a public edict ; \nand should erect a pyramid at Rome, with an inscripfion destined to \npreserve the memory of this audacious instance of papal insolence, \nand of the exemplary manner in which it was punished by the French \nmonarch. It is, however, to be observed, that in this contest, Louis \ndid not chastise Alexander, considered as head of the church, but as \na temporal prince violating the law of nations. Yet he shov/ed on oth- \ner occasions, that when seriously provoked, he was as much disposed \nio humble papal as princely ambition, and that he feared the head of \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 273 \n\nthe church as little as the temporal ruler of the ecclesiastical state. \n\nNotwithstanding its boasted uniformity of doctrine, the Romish \nchurch has al\\va3^s been divided by an almost innumerable number of \ncontroversies. It would be an endless task to enumerate the disputes \nwhich have arisen between the seminaries of learning, and the con- \ntests which have divided the monastic orders. Most of these will be \npassed over in silence, as they contain nothing that could interest the \ngeneral reader. It will be sufficient to give a brief account of one of \nthese debates which divided the church during the seventeenth centu- \nry. This was carried on between the Jesuits and the Dominicans \nconcerning the nature and necessity of divine grace ; the decisions of \nv/hich important point had, towards the conclusion of the preceding \ncentury, been committed by Clement VIII. to a select assembly of \nlearned divines. These arbiters, after having employed several years \nm deliberating upon this nice and critical subject, and in examining \nthe arguments of the contending parties, intimated to the pontiflf, that \nthe sentiments of the Dominicans, concerning grace, predestination, \nhuman liberty and original sin, were more conformable to the doctrine \nof scripture, and the decisions of the ancient fathers, than the opinions \nof Molina which were patronised by the Jesuits. They observed, \nmore especially, that the former leaned towards the tenets of St. Au- \ngustine, while the latter bore a striking resemblance to the Pelagian \nheresy. In consequence of this declaration, Clement seemed to pass \ncondemnation on the Jesuits, and to determine the controversy in fa- \nvor of the Dominicans. \n\nAffairs were in this state in 1610, when the Jesuits, alarmed at the \ndangers which threatened them, beset the old pontiff night and day, \nand so importuned him with entreaties, menaces, arguments and com- \nplaints, that, in 1602, he consented to re-examine this intricate con- \ntroversy, and undertook himself, the critical task of principal arbiter. \nFor this purpose he chose a council, which, in the course of three \nyears, assembled seventy eight times, or, to speak in the style of Rome, \nheld so many congregations. At these meetings, the pontiff heard at \none time, the Jesuits and Dominicans disputing in favor of their res- \npective systems ; and at another ordered the assembled doctors to \nweigh their reasons, and examine the proof that was adduced on both \nsides of this difficult question. The result of this examination is not \nknown with certainty ; as the death of Clement, which happened on \nthe fourth of March, 1605, prevented his pronouncing a decisive sen- \ntence. The Dominicans assure us, that the pope, had he lived, would \n35 \n\n\n\n274 \n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF \n\n\n\nhave condemned Molina. The Jesuits on the contrary, maintain \nthat he would have acquitted him publicly from all charge of heresy \nand error. \n\nThe pioceedings of the congregation that had been assembled by \nClement, vrere suspended for some time, by the death of that pontiff; \nbut. they were resumed, in the same year, by Paul V. his successor. \nTheir deliberations, which were continued from September to the \nfollowing March, did not turn so much upon the merits of the cause, \nwhich were already sufficiently examined, as upon a prudent and pro- \nper method of continuing the contest. The great question now was, \nwhether the well being of the church would admit the decision of this \ncontroversy by a papal bull, and if such a decesion should be advisable, \nit still remained to be considered, in what terms the bull should be \ndrawn up. All these long and solemn deliberations resembled the \ndelivery of the mountain ia the fable, and ended in the resolution, that \nthe whole controversy, instead of being decided, should be suppressed, \nand that each of the contending parties should have the liberty of \nfollowing their respective opinions. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. \n\nGeneral view of the Romish Church in the eighteenth century. \xe2\x80\x94 Catho- \nlic outrages in Poland. \xe2\x80\x94 Clement XI F. \xe2\x80\x94 Suppression of the society \nof Jesuits by a Papal edict. \xe2\x80\x94 Rise of Infidelity in France \xe2\x80\x94 attempts \nto check its progress. \xe2\x80\x94 Farther declension of Papal power. \xe2\x80\x94 French \nRevolution. \xe2\x80\x94 All Religion discarded.-^Death of Pius. \n\nThe continued attacks of the Protestants on the church of Rome \nhad forced the outworks, and weakened the barriers of that establish- \nment: but it still presented a bold front to its assailants, and number- \ned among its votaries the greater part of the inhabitants of Europe. \nIts greatness was impaired, but not subverted ; and it had an imposing \nif not a very formidable aspect. The pope\'s power of interdiction \nand excommunication had ceased to fill nations with dismay. Some \nof the potentates of his communion addressed him in a tone which \nmany of his predecessors would not have endured ; harrassed him \nwith various pretensions, and encroached upon that authority which \nhe deemed legitimate and even divine. Notwithstanding these as- \nsaults, he retained some degree of power and a considerable portion of \ninfluence, and was supported in the dignity of supreme pontiff by the \ngreatest princes of the continent. \n\nThe doctrines of the church, at this period, remained in the same \nstate in which they had long subsisted. The worship of the Virgin \nMary, the tenet of trasubstantiation, the idea of purgatory, the pro- \npriety of invoking the saints, the right and power of absolution and \nother parts of the catholic creed, were still retained, and exerted con- \nsiderable influence. The pageantry of procession, the multitude of \nceremonies, and the forms of worship, were nearly the same as they \nhad been in the preceding century ; and the church government and \ndiscipline were not materially altered. But the majority of the people \nentertained less exalted ideas of the pope\'s supremacy, and preferred \nthe authority of general councils. The catholic sovereigns were more \nenlightened, and more disposed to tolerate other religions ; and the \necclesiastics themselves were less bigoted, and more indulgent to the \nsupposed errors of those who differed from them. \n\nIt will not be necessary to trace methodically the pontifical succes- \n\n\n\n276 THE HISTORY OF \n\nsion through the eighteenth century, smce there would be found but \nlittle interest in such a detail. Most of the popes, particularly in the \nearly part of the century, were undistinguished for any splendid spiritu- \nal or political exploits, and the see of Rome, continued to retain its ter- \nritories and power without many accessions or losses. It was dur- \ning the pontificate of Benedict XIII. who succeeded Innocent XIII. \nin 1724 that the affair of Thorn occurred, which, while it contributed \nto the supposed advantage of the catholic church by injuring the pro- \ntestant interests in Poland, wounded the feelings of the pontiff, who \nlamented and reprobated the cruelty that attended the triumph of the \nRomanists on that occasion. Some Lutherans neglecting or refusing \nto kneel at a procession of the host, a student of the Jesuits reproach- \ned and even struck them, and some other zealots of that seminary af- \nterwards insulted the peaceful inhabit? nts. \n\nThe aggressor being apprehended and confined, his comrades de- \nmanded, and obtained his release ; but they were not suffered to res- \ncue another who had been seized by the city guards. Enraged at this \ndisappointment, they committed various outrages ; and, in retaliation, \nthe college was attacked and plundered by the populace. The pres- \nident of the city, on pretence of his connivance at this tumult on the \npart of the people, was decapitated by order of a Polish tribunal; nine \nother citizens were subjected to the same fate ; and the privileges of \nthe Lutheran inhabitants were arbitrarily annulled. This barbarity \ndisgusted the catholics who had any sense of humanity, and excited \nthe indignation of every protestant community. The Jesuits, howev- \ner, maintained, that they had only inflicted due chastisement on their \ninsolent adversaries, who had entered into a nefarious conspiracy \nagainst their catholic fellow citizens ; and the king of Poland boasted, \nin the same spirit of bigotry, that he had vindicated, by the punishment \nof profane heretics, the honor, and dignity of true religion. That \nprince seemed to think that he had sufficiently blended mercy with \njustice, by sparing the lives of the vice president and some other citi. \nzens who had been condemned. The Jesuits had, at this time, too \ngreat an influence at the court of Warsaw ; and they rarely exerted \nthat influence in the cause of justice or humanity. \n\nOf all the priests who for some centuries had ruled the church of \nRome, Clement XIV. who was elected to the papal chair in 1769, \nseems to have been the most unprejudiced and liberal. It was in the \nfifth year of his pontificate, that the Jesuits, who had long been char- \nged with intriguing and treacherous conduct, and had become unpop- \n\n\n\n< \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 277 \n\nular in almost every European court, were suppressed, by an order \nfrom the pope. He declared it to be his opinion, that the order had \nceased to answer the end of its institution, and that the members, by \nthe impropriety of their conduct, their loose casuistry, and their mis- \nchievous arts, had forfeited all claim to farther encouragement. A \nbull for the annihilation of the society, was therefore promulgated ; its \ncolleges were seized and its revenues confiscated. Lorenzo Ricci, \nthe refractory general of the order, was sent to the castle of St. An- \ngelo, and died in confinement. \n\nClement did not devote his chief attention to the selfish interests of \nthe see of Rome ; nor did he treat other religious establishments with \nsupercilious arrogance, studied contempt or marked reprobation. His \nmoderation entailed on him the censures of the rigid and severe, who \nalleged that he was too lukewarm and indifferent in religious concerns \nto be a proper defender of the fortress of Catholicism, which required \nfor its support the most strenuous exertions of active zeal. He was \neven accused of being a well wisher to Protestantism ; a heavy charge \nagainst the head of that church to which the Protestants were deter- \nmined foes ; but this charge amounted to no more in effect, than that \nhe was not a bigot to popery. His treatment of the Jesuits exposed \nhim to censures still more severe, and to all the rancour of malignity, \nbut in acting against that order, he only complied with the wishes of \nthe most enlightened members of the grand community of Christen- \ndom, and justly dissolved a most immoral and unprincipled society. \nThe time was opportune for such dissolution ; the clamors which it \nexcited soon spent their force, and a phalanx, once potent and formi- \ndable, had not the power of withstanding the energy of papal hostili- \nty ; energies that were undoubtedly declining, but which, in the pre- \nsent case, were supported by the chief Catholic princes and states. \n\nThe government of the church was next consigned to John Angela \nBraschi, who had been erected cardinal by Clement, and was regard-- \ned as a moderate man, rather than a bigot or zealot. He was more \nindebted for his election to the clashing of parties, than to the pecu-^ \nliar favor or interest of any one faction. He was less popular, at the \ntime of his elevation, than his predecessors ; and his partiality and in^ \ndulgence to his nephew did not tend to increase his popularity. Hav- \ning a graceful person and a pleasing countenance, he was fond of \nshow and parade, and took every opportunity of exhibiting himself to \nthe public. In capacity and eloquence he was not deficient, but he \nhad no extraordinary vigor of mind. \n\n\n\n278 THEHISTORYOF \n\nWhen he had superseded the vulgar name of John by the appella- \ntion of Pius^the sixth, some of those who were not inclined to think \nfavorably of his disposition or his abilities, applied to him a reproachful \nverse, predicting the ruin of Rome under a Sextus. His friends on the \nother hand, ridiculed this gloomy prophecy, and boasted of his ability \nand the goodness of his heart and character. He commenced his ad- \nmmistration with acts of beneficence and charity, with the selection \nof deserving men for various offices, and the removal or discourage- \nment of some individuals who had misbehaved. He also formed the \nresolution of undertaking a work calculated for the national benefit, \nthe draining of the Pontine marshes. A bank was instituted to re- \nceive subscriptions for this purpose ; but after much labor and expense \nthe work was only effected in part. For what was done however, Pi- \nus deserved thanks and praise. \n\nIt was about the middle of this century, that scepticism and infidel- \nity began to make somewhat rapid progress in France. Bayle, and \nother writers in the reign of Louis XIV. had propagated a freedom of \nopinion on religious topics which had shaken the faith of many read- \ners, and Voltaire following more openly a similar course, had dissemi- \nnated an anti-christian spirit, which menaced the estalishment with \nperil. Diderot and d\'Alembert, who in 1751, sent the Encyclopedia \ninto the world, insinuated scepticism and impiety in the midst of sci- \n-entific discussions, and free-thinking became so prevalent as to alarm \nthe clergy, and call forth their zeal in defence of an endangered church. \nThe Jesuits nursed in priestcraft, and devoted to the holy see, were \npeculiarly exposed to these profane attacks. Their arts and intrigues \nwere developed, and their selfish policy was reprobated with severity. \nTheir Jansenist opponents, at the same time were not spared, as they \nhad too much religion to be in favor with sceptics. \n\nIn an assembly held in the year 1765, an animated remonstrance \nhad been voted by the prelates against the new philosophy. They \nconjured the king to take vigorous measures for the repression of that \nprofane boldness, that impious freedom, which vilified whatever had \nfor ages been deemed sacred among mankind, and aimed at the sub- \nversion of all holy and venerable institutions. If he should be tame \nor passive at so alarming a crisis, the most portentious mischief, they \nsaid, might be apprehended. They accused the Protestants of being \ndeeply concerned in these practices, and blamed his majesty for not \nenforcing the law against those presumptuous sectaries. In the year \n1770, the progress of infidelity gave occasion for another remonstrance \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M. 279 \n\nin which the assembled clergy pointed out various works of the new \nphilosophers, as objects of condemnation, and called for the exertion \nof all the powers of government in the defence and support of religion \nmorality and good order. An assembly of bishops, in 1772, renew-* \ned the attack upon the new philosophy ; but their fulminations were( \nineffectual; and the contagion continued to spread. \n\nLouis XVI. who had a stronger sense of religion than his prede- \ncessor, lamented the presence of scepticism ; yet he sometimes gave \nhis confidence to men who were known to be infidels. Alarmed at \nthe ministerial influence of Turgot, the clergy, in a council which \nthey held in the year 1775, agreed to such a remonstrance as the \ndanger of the church seemed to require. They represented to the \nyoung monarch, in strong terms, the alarming progress of infidelity \nand atheism, the illegal boldness of the Protestants, (who had dared \neven to- erect churches,) the flagrant licentiousness of the press, and \nthe presence of a restless and inquisitive spirit, which threatened to \nunhinge society. Louis promised to attend to these complaints ; but \nhe did not take any measures of remedial efUcacy. When he was \ninfluenced by free-thinking ministers, he was taught to believe that it \nwas not necessary to interfere ; and when he was under other guides, \nhe was too irresolute to act with vigiour. To govern a nation so im- \npetuous and volatile as the French, at a time when freedom of \nthought began to prevail, a prince more of energetic character was \nrequisite. Sometimes, indeed, he was preemptory, but he was not \nconsistently firm or steadily resolute. He acquiesced in measures \nwhich in his heart he disapproved, and he neglected the enforcement \nof those which he conceived to be just, expedient and salutary. Un- \nder his sway infidelity and faction alarmingly gained ground, and by \nassisting the American colonists, the spirit of disaffection was increase \ned in France. Even in Spain and Portugal, though in a much less \ndegree than in France, freedom of thought, in affairs of religion, be- \ngan to diffuse itself among the higher and middle classes. The vigi- \nlance of the government, however, prevented it from being dangerous^. \nIn the extensive territories of the house of Austria, a similar freedom \nwas repressed by the spirit of Maria Theresa, whose bigatry, at the \nsame time, prompted her to infringe on the rights of her Protestant sub- \njects. Her son, the emperor Joseph, was himself a free-thinker, \nwhile he professed an adherence to the doctrines of the Romish \nChurch. This prince might justly be called the imperial projector. \nMany of his whims, like those of the ingenious but profligate duke of \n\n\n\n280 THEHISTORYOF \n\nBuckingham, \' died in thinking ;\' others were matured into schemes. \nWith his political plans we have no concern on this occasion : it is \nonly requisite that we should take notice of his regulation in the affairs \nof the church. He would not, he said, impeach the established doc- \ntrines ; but he had a strong inclination to abridge the papal power in \nhis dominions; and with him, an inclination was soon converted into \nan act. Pius, being acquainted with the freedom of Joseph\'s senti- \nments, apprehended an attack from that enterprising innovator ; and \nhis fears were not visionary ; for the emperor in 1781, began with im- \nposing restrictions upon the operations of bulls and rescripts sent from \nRome. This ordinance was followed by an exemption of monaste- \nries from all obedience to the chiefs of the different orders at Rome ; \na measure which the partisans of the pope reprobated in warm terms. \nThe generals of the orders desired the subalterns to maintain with \nspirit the constitutions of their establishments ; but they were over- \nawed into submission by the firmness of the emperor, who also releas- \ned all the colleges of missionaries from their dependance on the papal \ncourt. He farther displeased the pontiff by ordering that no money \nshould be sent into foreign countries for masses, that no dignity should \nbe solicited at Rome without his permission ; that pilgrimages should \nbe discontinued ; and that the number of images and ornaments in \nchurches should be diminished. The disgust felt by Pius at this con- \nduct, was not allayed by the liberal edict of Joseph, granting full tol- \neration to all the Protestants in his dominions, as well to all the mem- \nbers of the Greek church, and the dissolution of a great number of \nmonasteries, with the conversion of the buildings into colleges, hospi- \ntals, or barracks, increased the indignation of the vicar of St. Peter. \n\nThus harassed, and as he thought, insulted, Pius resolved to visit the \nemperor, who, among other demands, had insisted on presenting, in \nfuture, to all vacant bishopricks and benefices in the Milanese and \nMantuan territories. The pope remonstrated against this profane \nencroachment upon his supposed right of patronage, but he was per- \nsuaded by some of his counsellors to promise acquiescence in this \npoint, if Joseph would engage to desist from his career of reform. \nThis was an engagement which none who knew that potentate could \nexpect from him ; and, with regard to the intended visit, he declared \nthat it would be wholly fruitless, although in a private letter to Pius, he \nhad hinted that all disputes might be better accommodated in such a \nway, than my mere correspondence. His holiness, to the surprise of \nall, repaired to Vienna, in the hope of warding off a storm which blew \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 281 \n\nwith increasing\' violence. Joseph, in one of his interviews with his \nspiritual father, claimed the right of altering the ecclesiastical govern- \nment of his own territories, while he suffered the catholic doctrines \nto remain unimpaired. The pontiff, finding expostulation useless, re- \nturned to Rome, and suffered the storm to rage. He prohably thought \nthat Joseph was little better than a heretic, however he might pretend \nto doctrinal purity; and, on the other hand, the emperor imputed to \nthe pope the narrowness of bigotry, and a want of philosophic liberal- \nity of sentiment. \n\nThe continuance of Joseph\'s reformative measures no longer sur- \nprised the pope, who had now witnessed the inflexibility of the char- \nacter of that prince. The see of Rome lost the presentation to bish- \noprics in Lombardy and other Austrian dependencies ; its nuncio\'s \nwere deprived of their power and jurisdiction in Germany, and by \nthese and other attacks, the lustre of papacy was visibly eclipsed. \n\nOther Catholic sovereigns, even those who had acquired the repu-. \ntation of piety, did not scruple to assail that fabric which was thus \nweakened. Unfortunately for the cause of papacy, there seemed to \nbe a general disposition, during the pontificate of Pius, to diminish the \nauthority of the see over which he presided. The court of Madrid \nassumed a greater degree of religious freedom than it had been accus- \ntomed to exercise ; claimed rights nearly equal to those which the Gal- \nilean church had long maintained ; reduced the inquisition to a state of \npassive subserviency, and made a farther diminution of the papal de- \nmands of revenue. Even the bigoted court of Lisbon entertained \nideas of reform. The queen was a devout Catholic, superstitiously \nfaithful to the doctrines, and attached to the ceremonies of popery : \nbut she suffered her son, the prince of Brazil, to lead her into anti- \npapal measures. Some publications which had been introduced by \nthe emperor into the schools of Vienna, were translated into the lan- \nguage of Portugal, and ordered to be studied, for the promotion of \nfree inquiry, in several new seminaries founded in that kingdom. \n\nQuestions tending to weaken the fabric of papal supremacy, to \nabridge the power of the clerical body, and even to recommend toler- \nation of various religions, were authoritively proposed for discussion \nin the universities, and the press was permitted to aid the progress of \nsuch argumentation, although it was not allowed to impugn the pecu- \nliar doctrines of Catholicism. No persons were suffered to devote \nthemselves to monastic confinement, without the particular sanction \n36 \n\n\n\n282 THE HISTORY OF \n\nof the sovereign. Even after the death of the prince the court con- \ntinued to encroach on the ciaims^\'of the pope and the imnranities of \nthe church. The courts of Naples and Florence took greater liber- \nties in this respect than that of Lisbon. A considerable number of \nmonasteries were suppressed by the king and the grand duke ; bish- \noprics and rich benefices were granted without consulting his holiness \nwith regard to the individuals proper to occupy them ; and contribu- \ntions to the Roman treasury were abolished or restricted. The re- \npublic of Venice dissolved some conventual foundations, and applied \ntheir revenues to better purposes than the support of superstitious in- \ndolence. The duke of Modena put an end to the horrors of the inqui- \nsition in his dominions, and treated with less respect the general au- \nthority of the pontiiF. These incidents and trasactions occurred at \ndifferent times ; but they are mentioned here together, to preserve a \ncontinuity of subject. They tend to show the reduced state of papa- \ncy at the period in question ; but it may be observed, that, for its to- \ntal extinction, Europe was not then prepared. \n\nThe pope could only resist these assaults by remonstrances, to \nwhich the reforming courts paid no regard. He was fully sensible of \nthe decline of his influence, but concealed his chagrin under the ap- \npearance of composure. With the pomp of ceremony, and with rit- \nual formahties he amused himself and his people, while his authority \nwas exposed to rude shocks. He also attended to the improvement \nof the museum, which had been formed at Rome by Benedict XIV. \nand which Ganganelli had considerably augmented. \n\nThe Cathohc princes in general^ not only annihilated, or materially \nreduced the papal authority over their subjects, but suffered public \nopinion so far to operate as to check the arbitrary use of their own \nauthority ; and the Protestant governments relaxed, in some degree, \nthe rigors of power. Much, however, remained to be done for the \npurposes of popular benefit; for even in Great Britain, the land of \nboasted freedom, the government was rather a combination of mon- \narchy and^aristocracy, than as now, a mixture of those two kinds of \npolity and democracy. While almost every nation of Europe seem- \ned to be gradually advancing to a melioration of its government, and \nto a greater freedom of inquiry, the French unfortunately took the \nlead, and obscured the risii g prospect by senseless precipitancy and \nabsurd innovations. They overturned former establishments, before \nthey had concerted or devised rational plans of substitution : they in- \ndulged in all the wildness of theory and all the licentiousness of ca- \n\n\n\nR M A N C A T H L I C I S M 289 \n\nprice. The most outrageous cruelty was mingled with their political \nfanaticism ; anil the effects were calamitous and deplorable. \n\nA revolution like that which convulsed France, could not be expect- \ned to prove favorable to the interests of religion. Men who were in- \nclined to cherish a boundless freedom of opinion, and who boasted of \nbeing wholly uninfluenced by the wisdom of former times, were not like- \nly to feel any high degree of respect for that system of religion which \nhad long prevailed. Not content with ridiculing and reprobating the \nRomish ritual and establishment, they spoke contemptuously of all \nother creeds ; and a neglect of religion became the order of the day. \nThe Constituent Assembly, however, amidst all its innovations, made \nprovision for the continuance of public worship ; and the catholic re- \nligion was still the predominant system. The papal interests, indeed, \nwere materially affected by the change of government. The vote \nagainst the payment of fees to the pope, the order for the suppression \nof monasteries, the seizure of all the possessions of the church, as the \nproperty of the nation, and the entire subjection of the clergy to the \ncivil power, struck at the vitals of the court of Rome. Pius, incens- \ned at these proceedings, seemed ready to hurl the thunderbolts of \npontifical vengeance upon the audacious and profane revolutionists ; \nbut prudence checked his arm. He apprehended that his menaces \nand edicts would be disregarded, and might only serve to provoke em- \nbittered hostilities. In the mean time, he endeavored to secure the \nfavor of those princes whose power might afford him some protection \namidst the revolutionary storm. \n\nThe bishops and priests who acted under the new constitution of \nFrance, were not regarded as true members of the Romish church, \nby the clergy of the old school, however observant they might be to \nthe catholic creed. The pope sent a brief to the king, condemning \nthe new arrangements ; but Louis was constrained to acquiesce in \nhese and other innovations. Only three of the former bishops re- \ntained their stations ; all the other prelates became non-jurors, and, \nwith the majority of parochial ministers, were deprived of their prefer- \nments. The legislative assembly, affecting to be alarmed at the in- \ntrigues of the clerical non-jurors, menaced them with imprisonment \nor exile. Many of their number emigrated in the sequel ; and many \nwere assassinated by the populace. \n\nUnder the sway of the democratic convention, so little attention \nwas paid to religion, that it seemed to be in danger of being wholly \nabsorbed by worldly politics. The assembly did not, indeed, express- \n\n\n\n2S4 THEHISTORYOF \n\niy vote for its extinction in the new republic; but contented itself with \nencouraging the surrender of letters of priesthood, and the open renun- \nciation of all religious sentiments. At length Robespierre pretended \nto be shocked by the growing spirit of atheism, and moved for the pro- \nmulgation of a decree favorable to the cause of religion. By this ordi- \nnance, a periodical festival was instituted in honor of the Creator of \nthe world, or the Supreme Being ; the propriety of public worship \nwas allowed; and the immortality of the soul was recommended to \npublic belief. The clergy of the old. school, however, were still har- \nassed, and in danger of exile and confinement, until the legislature, in \nthe year 1797, released them from the oaths with which their con- \nsciences were offended, and merely required them to promise submis- \nsion to the government. Two years before this concession was ob- \ntained, five bishops, had ventured a circular letter to the clergy, in \nwhich] they affirmed that religion, in the altered government of their \ncountry, had no longer a political foundation ; that the connexion \nwas dissolved between the church and the state ; that the former still \nexpected justice and protection from the latter ; but, being left to it- \nself, was obliged to take measures for the establishment of doctrinal \nuniformity and general regularity of discipline. They recognised the \npope as the head of the church and acknowledged the doctrines of \nCatholicism, as interpreted and explained by Bossuet, the celebrated \nbishop of Meaux \n\nBefore the end of the same year, another letter was addressed to \nthe friends of the churches for the whole republic, and a bishopric \nfor each department ; recommending a popular election, both of pre- \nlates and parochial ministers ; disowning the authority of apostolical \nvicars, or papal delegates, and advising the peremptory rejection of all \nbulls or briefs from Rome unless it should fully appear that they were \nconsonant with the ordinances and the spirit of the Galilean church. \nWhen a sufficient^ time had beeii allowed^ for the operation of \nthese letters, and of the private influence of clerical exhortations, \nan ecclesiastical council met in the French metropolis consisting of \nthirty-eight prelates and fifty three representatives of the inferior cler- \ngy. The members agreed to a profession of faith, founded on the \ncreed promulgated in 1560, by Pius IV. but they were not so bigoted \nto this faith as to give license or encouragement to the perpetration of \nany acts of violence under the pretence of defending it. However, \nthe church might be called militant, \'it knew and authorised no other \na,rms (they said) than prayer and the word of God.\' The country. \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 285 \n\nthey added might be lawfully defended by the people, with the arm \nof flesh ; and the clergy were desired to inculcate the propriety and \njustice of such patriotic hostilities ; but the church ought only to de- \nfend itself by spiritual arms. Episcopacy was declared to be essen- \ntial to the proper government of the church ; but royalty, of which \nthat system was the usual accompaniment among Christian nations, \ndid not meet with so favorable testimony ; for it was enjoined that \nroyalty should be the object of determined hatred, because a proper \nknowledge of national interest strongly condemned that form of gov- \nernment ; and it was affirmed that the exaction of an oath against, \nthe revival of such an obnoxious system in France, was by no means, \nrepugnant to the laws of the gospel. \n\nThe proceedings of this assembly were closed by an order for the \ncommunication of its decree to the pope, who was, at the same time, \nearnestly solicited to convoke a general council. But his holiness \ndeclined a compliance with their request, being probably of opinion \nthat the political convulsions of the times precluded ecclesiastical ac- \ncommodation and religious union. \n\nAmidst these arrangements, the pontiff remained at Rome, in a \nstate of suspense and anxiety. He had already surrendered three \nprovinces to French invaders ; and he had not power to defend the \nrest of his territories. A republic being formed at Rome in the year \n1798, he retired into Tuscany ; and when that duchy was also revolu- \ntionized, he was sent as a prisoner of war into Dauphine. Harassed, \ninsulted and oppressed, he died at Briancon, in the eighty second \nyear of his age. \n\n\n\nCHAPTERXX. \n\nFius VII , \xe2\x80\x94 officiates at the CorGuation of Bonaparte \xe2\x80\x94 Is divested of \ntemporal p Older and Imprisoned. \xe2\x80\x94 Restored by the fall of JVapoleon. \xe2\x80\x94 \nState of ReligiGn in France. \xe2\x80\x94 Leo XII. \xe2\x80\x94 Celebration of a Jubilee \nin 1825. \xe2\x80\x94 Gregory XVL the reigning Pope. \xe2\x80\x94 Present condition of \nthe Church of Rome, among the European nations. \xe2\x80\x94 General Re^ \nmarks. \xe2\x80\x94 Conclusion. \n\nAfter the death of the unfoitunate pontiff, Pius VI. the Roman \nchurch remained for eleven months without a head, while the cardi- \nnals, exiled from Rome, were dispersed over different countries. The \npious zeal of the emperor of Germany, at length prompted him to \nprovide a remedy for this unsettled state of affairs, which seemed to \nreflect disgrace on those princes who professed a reverential regard \nfor the catholic hierarchy. He desired the fugitive members of the \ngacred college to hold a conclave at Venice, which was then an Aus- \ntrian dependency; and the cardinal di Chiaramonte, a native of Cese- \nxia, who had been raised by the late pope to the see of Imola, was ad- \nvanced to the papal dignity. This pontiff assumed the designation \nf)f Pius VII. and entered with alacrity upon the exercises of his spirit- \nual functions, to which the advantages of temporal power were again \nannexed, when the Roman territory was recovered by the vigor of \nthe allied arms. \n\nWhen Napoleon had raised himself to the dignity of first consul or \nsovereign of France, he applied to the new pope, for the purpose of a \nreligious settlement. It was then stipulated that the \'catholic, apos- \ntolic and Romish religion,\' should be freely and publicly exercised in \nFrance; that a new division of dioceses should take place; that^ as \ngoon as the first consul should have nominated bishops, the pope should \nconfer upon them the honor of canonical institution; that the prelates \nshould appoint, for parochial ministers, such persons as the three con- \nsuls should approve ; that no counsel or synod should meet without \nthe consent of the government; and that no papal legate or nuncio \nshould act, and no bull or brief should be operative in France, unless \nthe ruling power should sanction such interference. Ten archbish- \nops, and fifty bishops, were assigned to the whole republic ; and it \n\n\n\nR O M A N C A T H L I C I S M . 287 \n\nwas required that the}^ should be natives of France, and have attained \nthe age of thirty rears. They were not to be very Hberally remu- \nnerated for the due exercise of their functions, only 15,000 francs \nbeing- promised to each of the former as an annual stipend, and 10,000 \nto each of the latter ; and the parochial priests were declared to be \nentitled only to 1,500 or 2,01:0 francs per annum. \n\nWhile Napoleon allowed that the Romish faith should be the estab- \nlished religion of France, he did not mean to preclude himself or hig \neventual successors from the power of making such alterations aS\' \nmight be deemed expedient, either in doctrine or in discipline ; for his- \ngreat object was to be despotic both in rehgious and civil affairs, and \nto dictate the laws in every branch of polity. \n\nHis power was now at its height ; but he was not content without \nthe acquisition of the imperial dignity ; and when he had obtained his \nwish from a servile and prostrate nation he aspired to the honor of be- \ning annointed and crovv^ned, in the most solemn and religious manner. \nFull of this idea, he applied to his friend, the pope, and requested his \nspeedy attendance at Paris. Sensible of the expediency of compli- \nance, Pius submitted, with good grace, to a mandate, which he had \nnot the courage to resist, and prepared for a journey to France. Hav- \ning convoked a secret council of cardinals, he congratulated his ven- \nerable brethren on the effect of the concordat, which had restored the \ntrue worship of God in France, and had seasonably checked the mis- \nchievous influence of impiety and profaneness : he applauded the zea^ \nof that powerful prince who had promoted this change, and declared \nthat he felt himself bound both by policy and gratitude to bestow the- \nimperial crown on \'his dearest son in Christ.\' When a prince ear- \nnestly desired the performance of a sacred ceremony, it was the duty \nof the head of the church (said the servile pope) to gratify him by im- \npressing a religious character on the ties which bound him to his people; \nand an act of this kind would be rewarded with the divine benediction- \nHaving given direction for the administration of pubhc affairs, he pre- \nsented himself at Paris in the autumn of the the year 1S04, and offi- \nciated at the imperial coronation, which, with all its splendor, did not \nstrikingly excite the joy or enthusiasm of the people. He was treated \nby Napoleon with politeness and respect ; but if he had had the hon- \nor or the feelings of a mauj he could not be pleased with his own con- \nduct. \n\nAfter his return to Rome, Pius gave a pompous account of the re- \nsult of his journey. Even bis appearance in France, he said, had \n\n\n\n288 THEHISTORYOF \n\nbeen visibly beneficial to the cause of religion. An innumerable crowd \nfollowed him in every part of his progress, and his readiness to grant \napostolical benediction gladdened the people, and invigorated their \npious zeal. He reclaimed to their duty some bishops "vvho had refus- \ned to submit to the concordat, and procured decrees for the augmenta- \ntion of the revenues of the prelates, for the regular establishment of \nfunds sufficient to defray the expenses of public worship, for the erec- \ntion of theological seminaries, and for the revival of many religious \nsocieties, particularly the priests of the Mission and the daughters of \nChristianity. He also obtained an edict, allowing to the bishops the \nfull liberty of judging with regard to spiritual offences, and of punish- \ning violations of the canonical laws. In return for these concessions \nhe conferred on the archbishop of Paris and Rouen the highest digni- \nty that he could grant, by presenting the cardinals hat to each of \nthese prelates. \n\nThe French had left to the pope scarcely any other pretence for \ninterfering in their concerns, than that of granting canonical institu- \ntion to those prelates whom their emperor might think proper to nom- \ninate : but with this shadow of honor his holiness was not so elated \nas to be particularly anxious for the performance of that ceremony. \nThe applications made to him for that purpose were coolly disregard- \ned ; so that, in 1811, twenty seven bishops, of the imperial choice, \nwaited for his confirmation. Resenting his refusal, Napoleon de- \nclared that the concordat was at an end, and called a council of pre- \nlates to act in this case for the refractory pontiff. He hinted that the \npope, if he would not conduct himself like a Frenchman, could not \nexpect to retain any authority or influence in the great empire. This \nis not an unreasonable doctrine, for every state ought to have a pecu- \nliar director of its religious concerns, rather than have recourse, on \nany occasion to a foreign priest. \n\nNapoleon always pretended to be a friend to religion ; and, in his \nown opinion he did not forfeit that character, when, in the year 1809, \nhe divested the pope of his temporal power , but however justly he \nmight argue in this case, he acted * solely from motives of ambition. \nIt suited his policy to adopt a line of argument which philosophers had \nused, by representing the possession of political power as inconsistent \nwith the essence of religion, and injurious to the purity and sanctity of \nspiritual government. But the despot went still farther, and, by im- \nprisoning the pontiff at Avignon, disunited him from the sacred col- \nlege, prevented him from presiding in a grand ecclesiastical councils \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM, 28^ \n\nand impaired his authority and influence as a director of . the con- \nscience and a teacher of piet}\'. Pius did not tamely bare the insults \nand injuries to which he was subjected. He protested, in a public \ndeclaration, against the outrageous violence and sacrilegious wicked- \nness of Napoleon, and even ventured to excommunicate the daiing \noppressor; but it must be observed, that he evinced his moderation \neven in this act of apparent revenge ; for he disclaimed all intention of \nexciting a revolt or an insurrection, declaiing that the act was merely \na spiritual censure, inflicted with a view of bringing the delinquent to \na due seiLse of his error and a consequent reparation of his injustice. \nHe indeed denied and condemned the assertion of some former pon- \ntifls, that sovereigns might lawfully be deposed by the lawful father of \nChristendom. If a national council had at a,ny time voted the depo- \nsition of a prince, the pope (he said,) might as justly confirm the sen- \ntence) if it suited his own ideas of policy or rectitude, as he might \ncrown a legitimate prince, or consecrate a foreign prelate who had re- \nceived his appointment from the ruling power in the state to which he \nbelonged. This acknowledgement was a concession to the reforming \nspirit of modern times, and a proof of the decline of pontifical arro- \ngance. \n\nThe idle thunder of excommunication only provoked the tyrant\'s \nderision, and the mode in which it Avas softened excited ridicule, while \nthis treatment of the pontiff was considered by miany catholics as a \njudgment upon him for having favored and indulged an enemy of the \nchurch in the concordat and at the coronation. Still aflecting a high \nregard for religion and its ministers, the ruler of France concluded a \nnew agreement with the pope, whom he unexpectedly gratified with \nthe privilege of nomination to ten bishoprics, either in France or It- \naly, in the same manner in which his predecessors had acted : but the \nmaster of Rome v/as not yet so humbled by a reverse of fortune, as to \nbe disposed to reinstate the pontiff in his temporal authority. \n\nThe ruin of Napoleon was at length the consequence of his v/anton \nambition. After his mad expedition to Russia, he was unable to with- \nstand that powerful confederacy, which with the most determined \nzeal, was organized against him. Holland and the German states \nshook off" their yoke, \xe2\x80\x94 and Rome reverted to its temporal and spiritual \nJord. \n\nAdversity has been styled a teacher of wisdom, but the maxim was \nnot verified by the conduct of the restored pontiff", who soon manifest- \ned his bigotry and impudence, instead of displaying the enlightened \n37 \n\n\n\n290 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\npolicy of a wise prince. Not content with the resumption of ecclesi- \nastical property, and the abolition of Napoleon\'s code in the Roman \nstates, he re-ordained the observance of all the festivals, re-established \nthe monastic orders, revived in some degree, the inquisition, and \nreinstated the obnoxious society of the Jesuits. As an excuse for the \nlast measure, he declared that the catholic world demanded, with an \nunanimous voice, the revival which he had ordered. He therefore \nreadily granted to Taddeo Barzozowski, \'general of the company of \nJesus,\' and his associates, all suitable and necessary powers for the \nadmission of all who might be disposed to follow the rules prescribed \nby St. Ignatius of Loyola5-^for the education of youth in the princi- \nples of the catholic faith, and in good morals, \xe2\x80\x94 for hearing confessions^ \npreaching the word of God, and administering the sacraments of the \nchurch. As this edict required funds for its execution, such property \nas had not been irrevocably transferred from the former association \nwas assigned to the new fraternity, compensations were allowed for \nthat which had been alienated, and subscriptions were requested froin \nthe opulant and the liberal. \n\nEven if this impolitic conduct in religious affairs had been accompa-^ \ntiied with the display of wisdom and justice in the civil and ordinary \nadministration, it would not have been redeemed from censure or \ncomplaint; but when joined with general misgovernment, it tended \nonly to convince the public of the pope\'s unfitness to be the ruler of a \nnation. Pius, however, proceeded in his course v/iih little alteration \nand few concessions, considering himself as the worthy successor of \nSt. Peter, and as a proper object of general regard and esteem. \n\nAfter the deposition and banishment of Napoleon, the pope enter- \ntained the hope of some accession to his authority, as it was not to be \nsupposed that Louis XVIII, would retain, unaltered, the ecclesiastical \nsettlement which the usurper had framed ; but when a new compact \nwas adjusted with France, in the year 1817, it was more calculated to \naugment and dignify the establishment, than to increase the influence \nof the supposed head of the church. Thirty two new sees were or- \ndered to be erected; but his holiness was to have no more concern \nwith them than to grant canonical institution to such individuals as \nmight be nominated by the king ; and it was foreseen or understood, \nthat, if he should refuse to confirm the royal appointment, his majesty \nwould not revoke it ; for Louis, however pious and devout, was deter- \nmined to support the independence of his kingdom against the high^ \nclaims even of the spiritual father of Christendom, \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nm \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 291 \n\nThe general state of religion in France, for a considerable time \nafter the expulsion of Napoleon, was so inconsistent with true piety, \nthat the respectable part of the priesthood seemed to apprehend its \nspeedy extinction. Alarmed at this prospect, many churchmen in \ndifferent parts of the kingdom, undertook missions with a view of re?- \nclaiming the people. As a specimen of the mode in which these mis- \nsions were conducted, we may observe, that in the year 1819, nine \necclesiastics paraded the chief streets of Avignon, singing penitential \npsalms, and two of them, halting on a hill, preached to two divisions \nof the assembled multitude. On the following day they visited the \nchurches, and harangued overflowing congregations ; and, for a week \ntheir time was almost wholly employed in giving public or private in- \nstrucuion to the people, and in visiting the hospitals and prisons for \ntthe same purpose ; and the second week was principally devoted to \nthe consolation of those who came to confess their sins, and who, \nseeming to be penitent, received absolution and pardon. The baptismal \nvows were publicly renewed with pompous solemnity, and, in every \nchurch, while the Gospel was held up to general view, all were requir- \ned to sv/ear that they v/ould faithfully observe the precepts contained \nin that divine book. After the administration of all the sacraments \nof the church, a great cross was borne in magnificent procession, and \nerected on a terrace in holy triumph; and the mission was closed with \nappropriate and interesting discourses. \n\nAs these missions had only a partial effect, the state of the church \nwas represented as deplorable, in a letter which the bishops addressed \nto the pope. The eclesiastical discipline, they said was relaxed ; many \ndioceses were so neglected by their lawful rulers, or so ill-governed, \nthat the faithful wandered like sheep without shepherds, the enemies \nof the church took advantage of this weakness, to inflict severe wounds \non the declining hierarchy ; and the pious divines who endeavored, b)^ \nacting as itinerant preachers, to revive that religious spirit which had \nbecome nearly extinct, were treated with contempt or with insult. It \nwas therefore highly expedient that some measures should be soon \ntaken, to restore the dignity and influence of the true church. Re- \npeated deliberations on this subject in the French cabinet led to a roy- \nal ordinance for the erection of chapels of ease whenever they seemed \nto be requisite, for the immediate grant of pecuniary aid to the empov- \nerished church, and for the general protection of that establishment. \n* It was the duty of every state (said the leading minister on this occa- \nsion) to foster or renew a religious spirit. To support religion was to \n\n\n\n2y2 T H E H I S T R Y F \n\nsupport the unfortunate whom it consoles, to cherish that morality \nwhich it elevates, and that virtue which it creates and maintains.\' \n\nWhilst these measures were operating to the relief of the established \nchurch, tranquility was restored to the south of France. At Nesmes \nand other towns, the protestants had for several years been most illib- \nerally molested by the catholics, and in a great measure deprived of \nthat toleration to which they were by law entitled. Some of them had \nbeen murdered on their way to the meetings of the electoral collegesj \nand, in defending their cause, two military officers of highrankhad lost \ntheir lives. It was pretended that the court connived at these out- \nrages, becnuse the sufferers were more attached to Napoleon than to \nthe house of Bourbon ; but this was an unfounded allegation ; for the \nking, though he did not in every point adhere to the charter which he \nhad granted, was not disposed to violate its provisions in the case of the \nprotestants. The ultra royalists (as the friends of the old regime were \nstyled) would probably have continued these persecutions to the presr \nent day, if Louis had not covered the descendants of the Huguenots \nwith the broad mantle of toleration. \n\nThe pope, from the time of his restoration to the day ot his death, \nwas chiefly influenced by the counsels of cardinal Gonsalvi, who was \na better governor both of the church and state than his master. Thus \nthe pontiff became more popular in the decline of his life, than he had \nbeen in the vigor of his age ; and his death, which happened in th^ \neighty fourth year of his age and the twenty fourth of his reign, was \nnot unlamented either by the clergy or the people. \n\nThe intrigues for the election of a new pope, were conducted on \nthe part of the Italian cardinals, with great art and dexterity. They \nresolved neither to be ruled by the French nor by the Austrian faction \nand were intent upon the choice of a zealot, who would be disposed \nto assert and maintain the high prerogatives of the church. Cardinal \nSeveroli, though not so violent in his disposition as some of the bishops \nwished, was one whose professed principles were agreeable to the \nparty ; and therefore, on one of the days of the meeting he had twenty \nsix votes. He might have had as many more as would have served \nhis purpose, if the Austrian party, had not in the emperor\'s name, exclu^ \nded him from the chance of appointment; for there are four potentates \nwho are allowed to exercise that right. When the exclusion was an- \nnounced to him, he seemed to bear it with fortitude ; and he desired \nthat the act might be registered to prevent the privilege from being \nexercised twice in the same conclave, as in that case one of bis inti^ \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 293 \n\nmate friends might be rendered ineligible. The disappointment prey* \ned on his spirits, and is said to have hastened his death. \n\nOn the morning after this rejection, the friends of Severoli request- \ned him to name a fit candidate for the papal throne. He replied, \nthat, if he had sufficient influence over the election, either the cardinal \nAnnibale deila Genga, or Gregorio, (an illegitimate son of Charles \nIII. of Spain,) would be the next pontiff. The former was the deter.? \nmined enemy of Gonsalvi, and his election which soon followed the \nrecommendation, demonstrated the prevalence of the bigoted party. \nHe assumed the name of Leo XII. because one of his ancestors had \nreceived some feudal property from the tenth pope of that name. \n\nGonsalvi was now dismissed from power, and the chief adviser of \nthe new pope was the cardinal della Somiglia, who, like his sovereign, \nhad been a libertine in his youth and in his middle age. From the \nhigh church principles and arbitrary policy of such men, no just gov- \nernment, no attention to the rights of the people could be expected ; \nand their subsequent conduct appears to have proved, that those who \nforeboded ill from their combination with the Jesuits, did not judge \ntoo harshly. \n\nWith all his bigotry and all his zeal against reform, this pontiff \ntreated the protestants in his dominions with a degree of mildness and \ncomplacency not expected from his rigid principles. He allowed a \nchapel at Rome for the exercise of their religion, being probably in- \nfluenced by a regard for the British and other Protestant governments, \neven while he thought that the professors of that faith did not pursue \nthat course which would give them a full assurance of salvation. He \nfound it expedient to make some concessions to the more enlightened \ns[)irit of the age, while his own mind was darkened by inveterate \nprejudices. He wished to dictate as his predecessors had done, to all \nthe princes of Christendom ; but as he could not influence them to \nthe extent of his wish, he contented himself to exhort without com- \nmanding. Chailes X. king of France, was most devoted to him, who, \nin his hostility against sacrilege, imitated the pontifical rigor of the \nmiddle ages ; but it does not appear that he was inclined to surren- \nder, to the claims of papacy, any of the prerogatives of the Galilean \nchurch. \n\nLeo had the high honor of celebrating a Jubilee. It commenced \non Christmas eve, in 1824, and a whole year from that time was con- \nsecrated as peculiarly sacred. The beginning of these ceremonies was \na solemn procession to the sacred gate which leads to St Peter\'s \n\n\n\n294 T H E H I S T O R Y O F \n\nchurch. The magistrates of Rome, the chief citizens, the cross \nbearers and other ecclesiastical attendants, the parochial clergy, the \nbishops and cardinals, and last in order, the holy father, with his tiava \ncarried before him, advanced to the gate. As it did not open at the first \nblow which he gave to the wall with a silver hammer, he tried a se- \ncond, saying with an air of authority, \' I will enter thy house, O Lord.\' \nAn opening not being yet made, he struck the wall the third time, and \nwith the aid of Vorkmen on the other side a passage was opened for \nthe anxious throng. Fragments of stone, thrown out in this operation \nwere eagerly picked up by the votaries of superstition, and the me- \ndals which had been left within the wall at the Jubilee of the year \n1800, were seized by the scrambling devotees. The church was soon \nfilled to an overflow ; the pope set the example of singing and pray- \ning, and the thanksgiving service was performed amidst the united \nsounds of choral and martial music, enlivened by peals of bell ring^ \ning. Similar scenes occurred at three other churches ; and all the \nsubjects of the state, as well as pilgrims who flocked from various \ncountries, now hoped for a remission of their sins^ a favor which might \nbe purchased at the altars on moderate terms. Poor strangers obtainr \ned this indulgence gratis, and the pope sometimes condescended to \ngrant it to them in person. He presided at the celebration of the most \nsacred service in the metropolitan church, and afterv/ards entertained \nthe pilgrims at the Vatican palace with humble fare and spiritual con, \nversation, and distributed silver medals among them, commemorative \nof the jubilee. But the usual place of resort for these strangers, is \nthe hospital of the Pelegrini, where they are treated with great respect \nand even have their feet washed by some of the cardinals. In the \ncourse of the year which is thus dignified with peculiar sanctity, public \namusements and diversions are prohibited ; yet the idea of a jubilee \nought not we think, to impoverish the public stock of harmless pleas- \nures. Where a general fast is ordered, there may be some reason for \nthe suspension of ordinary amusements; but, in the case of a joyful \ncelebration, the interdiction seems to be misplaced and inapplicable. \n\nFrom the religious concerns of France and Italy, we proceed to \nthe survey of other catholic governments. In Spain the pope\'s au^ \nthority was not suffered to be free from control, as will appear from \nthe following restrictions upon his representative. In 1 803, the coun- \ncil of Castile, in admitting the archbishop of Nicea to the office of pa^ \npal legate in the Spanish dominions, stated three remarkable excep- \ntions to the authority claimed by that officer. One was, that he was \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. HOb \n\nnot to have the power of visititing the patriarchal, metropolitan or oth- \ner churches, with a view to correction or reform ; another was, that \nhe was not to examine any individual, whether of a religious or civi] \ncharacter, who might be estranged from a particular community of \ninstitution, or in any way criminal; and the third imported, that \nhe would not be allowed to receive any appeals from the ordinary \njudges. \n\nThe pontifical authority was still more restricted after the usurpa- \ntion of the Spanish throne by Napoleon\'s brother Joseph, who while \nhe declared that the Romish religion should be allowed, left to his ho- \nliness a mere shadow of power, suppressed a considerable number of \nmonasteries, and abolished the court of inquisition. But as the \ncontinued efficacy of his regulations depended on the permanence o^ \nhis power, for they were not attended with the general assent of \nthe nation ; it remained for the cortes to determine whether his ordi_ \nnances should be exploded or confirmed. They decreed, in the year \n1813, that the inquisition was injurious to religion and to the state, \nbut to gratify the bigots, they voted the erection of episcopal courts \nfor the trial cf heretics. They made various attempts for the refor-^ \nmation of abuses and the redress of grievances ; but amidst the prev*- \nalence of war and civil dissensions, they could not make effective \nprogress in theii schemes ; and their acts were annulled by the ty-- \nranny of that prince whose throne they endeavored to establish, Ber- \ning released by Napoleon in 1814, Ferdinand re-entered Spain with \nthose emotions of resentment which promoted him to reject the new \nconstitution ; and by listening to the suggestions of priests, excited dis- \ncontent and odium. He was even so much attached to the old \nschool of bigotry, that he concurred with the pope in the propriety of \nre-establishing the order of Jesuits, and commanded that all the col- \nleges, houses, funds and rents, which belonged to this fraternity at \nthe time of its suppression, and had not been altogether alienated, \nshould be quickly restored. \n\nIn his other concernsfwithjhe court of Rome, he displayed a laii- \ndable spirit ; for when the papal nuncio required that the ancient \noath of fidelity to the king and regard for his prerogative, exacted from \nevery prelate on his consecration^should no longer be administered, he \nanswered the unwarrantable demand by declaring that no innova* \ntion should be made in that respect. The king of Portugal is equally \nattached with Ferdinand to the Romish faith, and, at the same time, \nequally ready to resist the high claims of the pontiff. \n\n\n\nl96 T H E H I S T K Y F \n\nPope Leo, died in 1831, and was succeeded by thx^i present incum- \nbent Gregory XVI. The influence of papacy, among most of the na- \ntions of Europe which still continue to acknowledge the spiritual ju- \nrisdiction of the see of Rome, is greatly diminished, when contrasted \nwith former ages. \n\nIn the kingdom of Naples, the pope\'s authority is seriously checked \nby the spirit of the government, although the doctrines which he \nmaintains are still professed by the people. No bulls, rescripts, or dis- \npensations are effective without the royal assent ; and in the appoint- \nment of bishops, the court justly assumes a paramount authority. \n\nIn Sicily so feeble is the papal power, that it is treated with a free- \ndom bordering on contempt ; and the intercourse still maintained \nwith the court of Rome is confined to the formality of procuring eith- \ner patents for bishoprics, to be granted to those who are either nom- \ninated by the kino^j or dispensations for spiritual wants, v/hen the in- \ndividuals who apply for them, have received the royal permission. \nIf these applications should be disregarded, the king, being by an an^ \ncient grant, a legate of the holy see by birth, would in all probability^ \norder the prelate, who acts for him in that capacity, arid who presides \nin the spiritual courts, to accede to the different requests in the pope\'s \nname, like the English parliamentaries, who, Avhen they opposed \nCharles I. in the fields pretended to act in his name. \n\nIn the grand duchy of Tuscany, after the laudable efforts of Leo- \npold in opposition to papal encroachment, little remained to be done \nin the present century to establish the independence of the temporal \nsovereign. It appears, indeed, that the pope ostensibly supplies the \nvacancies in episcopal prefermments ; but the rule is, that the names \nand pretentions of four candidates are communicated to him by the \nTuscan minister at Rom.e, who points out the one more particularly \nfavored by the grand duke ; and with this recommendation, his holi- \nness feels himself obliged to comply. The ordinary benefices are \nconferred on such persons as are deemed by the king or the bishop \nthe most deserving, and the pope\'s confirmation of any appointment \nof this kind, is considered as absolutely unnecessary. The injunctions \nof the pontiff are allowed to have some influence in cases of con- \nscience or of private penance ; but, if the answers to these cases \nshould affect in any way the civil state of the persons who have soli- \ncited the illuminations of his wisdom, the acceptance is noticed and \nsometimes punished as a misdemeanor^ \n\nEven the hereditary bigotry of the king of Sardinia does not render \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. ^9i \n\nllim a slave to the pope. He bestows the highest ecclesiastical pre- \nferments at his own discretion, and rejects such orders from Rome as \nrelate to the external polity of the church. He indeed suffers appeals \nto be made from bishops or their judicial deputies to the pontiff, in \nthose few causes which are still subject to the jurisdiction of an ec- \nclesiastical tribunal ; but these appeals are not actually transferred to \nRome ; unless each subject should have been thrice investigated, \nwithout a uniformity of decision by pontifical delegates, chosen from \nthe whole number of churchmen resident within the kingdom. \n\nThe catholic zeal of the Bavarian government has in this century \ndeclined. Bigotry has in a great measure yielded to a sense of liber- \nality, and the protestants are not only tolerated, but encouraged. A \nnew constitution, allowing a national assembly, has been conceded to \nthe people and a meliorated system, both in the church and state, con- \nsequently prevails. \n\nThe condition of the Romish church in France and Spain have not \nundergone any material change since the election of the reigning pon- \ntiff. In Austria the supporters of papal pretensions find their strong- \nest auxiliary. The influence of that despotic court has been secured \nby the ambitious prelate who now fills the chair of St. Peter, for the \nprosecution of one of the boldest designs, that ever emanated from the \nVatican \xe2\x80\x94 a design, in the successful or disastrous termination of \nwhich, the destiny of our own nation is involved. These exertions, \nand this new attitude in which papacy now stands forth to the world, \nwill furnish the subject of the concluding part of this work. \n\nThe outlines of the History of the Romish church have now been \ngiven. The limits prescribed for this history, have rendered brevity \nunavoidable, yet it is believed that all the most important and interesting \nfacts connected with the rise, condition, and character of the \nhierarchy, have been preserved entire. The fallacious nature of \nthe claims put forth by the see of Rome to superiority and identity as \nthe only true branch of the Christian church, have been exhibited, \nand the continued series of usurpations through which it acquired \nsuch an immense influence over the religious and political v/orld, in \nthe middle ages, together with the disastrous effects that have attend- \ned the exercise of this influence, have been fully shown. It will be \nseen that anterior to the Reformation, the church was constantly re- \nceding from the condition of primitive simplicity and purity in which \nit was first organised, and contracting all the vices and superstitions, \nof a polytheistic and barbarous age. Christianity existed only in name, \n38 \n\n\n\n298 THEHISTORYOF \n\nwhilst the Roman church emulated its pagan cootempraries, in riches, \nin the splendor and pomp of its ceremonies, and in all the vain pa- \ngeantry, with which idolatry ever attempts to conceal its deformities, \nand excite the astonishment and reverence of an ignorant and credu- \nlous world. The authority and infallibility of the pope was acknow- \nledged throughout all Europe, and many parts of Asia and Africa. \nPrior to the Reform commenced by Luther there was nothing that \ntended to circumscribe or moderate the authority of the church ol \nRome, but science and philosophy, which began to revive and be cul- \ntivated. The progress of these, however, was inconsiderable; \nthey always operate slowly ; and it is long before their influence \nreaches the people, or can produce any sensible effect upon them. \nThey may perhaps, gradually, in a long course of years, undermine \nand shake an established system of false religion, but there is no in- \nstance of their having overturned one. The battery is too feeble to \ndemolish those fabrics which superstition raises on deep foundations, \nand can strengthen with the most consummate art. \n\nLuther had attacked the papal supremacy with other weapons, and \nwith an impetuosity more formidable. The time and manner of his \nattack concurred with a multitude of circumstances, which have \nbeen explained, in giving him immediate success. The charm which \nhad bound mankind for so many ages, was broken at once. The hu- \nman mind, which had continued long as tame and passive, as if it had \nbeen formed to believe whatever was taught, and to bear whatever \nwas imposed, roused of a sudden and became inquisitive, mutinous, \nand disdainful of the yoke to which it had hitherto submitted. That \nwonderful ferment and agitation of mind, which at this distance of \ntime, appears unaccountable, or is considered as extravagant, was so \ngeneral, that it must have been excited by causes which were natural \nand of powerful efficacy. \n\nThe defection of so many opulent and powerful kingdoms from the \npapal see, was a fatal blow to its grandeur and power. It abridged the \ndominions of the pope in extent, it diminished their revenues, and left \nthem fewer rewards to bestow on the ecclesiastics of various denomi- \nnations, attached to them by vows of obedience as well as ties of inter- \nest, and whom they employed as instruments to establish or support \ntheir usurpations in every part of Europe. The countries too, which \nnow disclaimed their authority were those which formerly had been \nmost devoted to it. The empire of superstition differs from every \nother species of dominion ; the power is often greatest and most im- \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. \' 299 \n\nplicitly obeyed in the provinces most remote from the seat of govern- \nment ; while such as are situated nearer to it, are more apt to dis- \ncern the artifices by which it is upheld, or the impostures on which it \nis founded. The personal frailties or vices of the popes, the errors \nas well as corruption of their administration, the ambition, venality \nand deceit which leigned in their courts, fell immediately under the \nobservation of the Italians, and could not fail of diminishing that res- \npect which begets submission. But in Germany, England and the \nmore remote parts of Europe, these were either altogether unknown, \nor being only known by report, made a slighter impression. Venera- \ntion for the papal dignity increased accordingly, in these countries in \nproportion to their distance from Rome ; and that veneration added \nto their gross ignorance, rendered them equally credulous and passive. \nIn tracing the progress of the papal domination, the boldest, and \nmost successful instances of encroachment, are to be found in Ger- \nmany and other countries distant from Italy. In these its impositions \nwere heaviest, and its exactions the most rapacious ; so that in esti- \nmating the diminution of power, which the court of Rome suffered in \nconsequence of the reformation, not only the number but the charac- \nter of the people which revolted, not only the great extent of territo- \nry, but the extraordinary obsequiousness of the subjects which it lost, \nmust be taken into the account. \n\nNor was it only by this defection of so many kingdoms and states \nwhich the reformation occasioned, that it contributed to diminish the \npower of the Roman pontiffs. It obliged them to adopt a different \nsystem of conduct towards the nations which still continued to ac- \nknowledge their jurisdiction, and to govern them by new maxims and \nwith a milder spirit. The reformation taught them, by a fatal exam- \nple, what they seem not before to have apprehended, that the credu- \nlity and patience of mankind might be overburdened and exhausted. \nThey became afraid of venturing upon any such exertion of their au- \nthority as might alarm or exasperate their subjects and excite them to \na new revolt. They saw a rival church estabhshed in many parts of \nEurope, the members of which were on the watch to observe any er- \nrors in their administration and eager to expose them. They were \nsensible that the opinions, adverse to their power and usurpations \nwere not adopted by the enemies alone, but had spread even among \nthe people who still adhered to them. Upon all these accounts it \nwas no longer possible to lead or govern their flock in the same man- \nner as in these dark and quiet ages when faith was implicit, when sub- \n\n\n\n300 THEHISTORYOF \n\nmission was unreserved, and all tamely followed and obeyed the voice \nof their pastor. \n\nFrom the era of the reformation, the popes have ruled rather by ad- \ndress and management, than by authority. Though the style of their \ndecrees be still the same, the effect of them is very different Those \nbulls and interdicts, which before the reformation, made the greatest \nprinces tremble, have since that period been disregarded or despised \nby the most inconsiderable. Those bold decisions and acts of juris- \ndiction which, during many ages not only passed uncensured, but were \nrevered as the awards of a sacred tribunal, would, since Luther\'s ap- \npearance, be treated by one part of Europe as the effect of folly or \narrogance, and be detested by the other as impious and unjust. The \npopes in their administration, have been obliged not only to accommo- \ndate themselves to the notions of their adherents, but to pay some re- \ngard to the prejudices of their enemies. They seldom venture to \nclaim new powers, or even to insist obstinately on their ancient pre- \nrogatives ;. lest they should irritate the former; they carefully avoid \nevery measure that may either excite the indignation, or draw on them \nthe derision of the latter. The policy of the court of Rome has be- \ncome as cautious and circumspect, as it was once adventurous and \nviolent ; and though their pretensions to infallibility, on which all their \nauthority is founded, does not allow them to renounce any jurisdiction \nwhich they have at any time claimed or exercised, they find it conve- \nnient to suffer many of their prerogatives to be dormant, and not ex- \npose themselves to the risk of losing that remainder of power which \nthey still enjoy, by ill-timed attempts towards reviving obsolete pre- \ntensions. \n\nThe French Revolution, as important in its results as it was fear- \nful in character,\xe2\x80\x94 which meliorated the political and moral condition \nof Europe, and imparted a new impetus to the progress of science, \nand the arts, gave another and fearful blow to the declining power of \npapacy. Since the agitation of the political elements produced by that \nevent have subsided, and Europe has again become tranquil, the papal \nchurch perceives that its energies have become weakened, and its for- \nmer greatness departed. Ever the ally of monarchy, when it could \nnot tyrannise over monarchy itself, it acknowledges the fatal influ- \nence which liberal forms of government, and the general diffusion of \nknowledge, exert upon its system, and deprecates their tendency. \nBeing well aware, that the pretension of its remaining power, and \neven the prolongation of its very existence, are entirely dependent \n\n\n\nROMAN CATHOLICISM. 301 \n\nupon the arrest of the liberal spirit which now pervades the world, and \nthe overthrow of all free institutions, a desperate scheme for the accom- \nplishment of these objects, is now in progress, in which the concentrated \nenergies of the spiritual and temporal tyrants of the old world are en- \ngaged. Time only can unveil the result of these efforts, \xe2\x80\x94 ^but if they \nshall prove unsuccessful, and the arms of St. Peter shall again be dis* \ncomfited, it requires not the spirit of prophecy to foretell that this \nwill prove the last, the fatal struggle of Roman Catholicism, \n\n\n\nI - \n\n\n\nHISTORY \n\nOF \n\nTHE INQUISITION \n\n\n\nCHAPTER I \n\n\n\nObject of the establishment of Inquisitorial tribunals. \xe2\x80\x94 Principles re- \ncognized by the Inquisitors. \xe2\x80\x94 Laws first enacted for the punishment of \nheresy. \xe2\x80\x94 Increase of papal power and tyranny. \xe2\x80\x94 St. Dominic \xe2\x80\x94 his \ncharacter. \xe2\x80\x94 Miracles attending, his birth and minist ry. \xe2\x80\x94 Mission to \nthe Mbegeois. \xe2\x80\x94 Persecution of that sect, and establishment of Inquis-^ \natorial tribunals. \xe2\x80\x94 Ineffectual opposition. \xe2\x80\x94 Decrees of the fourth La- \nter an Council. \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisition introduced into Spain by Twquemada, \nwho is appointed first Inquisitor General. \xe2\x80\x94 Expulsion of the Moors \nand Jews. \xe2\x80\x94 Death of Torquemada. \n\nThe Inquisition, or the Holy Office, is the court which takes \ncognizance of heresy in some countries subject to the Pope, and par- \nticularly in Spain and Portugal. \n\nThe existence of such a court proceeds from the idea, that it is \nthe duty of the civil magistrate, either in his own name, and by his \nown authority, or as a prop and the resource of the ecclesiastical pow- \ner, to search after heresies, and to extirpate them. It takes for gran- \nted, likewise, the absurd and monstrous proposition, that the human \nunderstanding can be influenced and won by other means than those \nof information communicated, or argument proposed ; and that real \nand conscientious discipleship can be the result of civil or political de_ \nprivations, or the infliction of corporeal punishment. \n\nIn the early times, the church herself appears to have maintained \na doctrine, the very opposite of that which has now been stated. As \nthe satirist, when reduced to poverty himself, speedily perceived tha* \n\n\n\n304 H I S T R t F \n\npoverty was no fit object of satire, so the Christians, when trembling \nunder the fear of persecution, or expiring amidst its agonies, were not \nslow to discern, or backward to declare, that persecution was not the \nmeans by which true converts were to be made. Accordingly, in the \nApologies which they presented to the Roman emperors, in behalf of \ntheir religion, during the first three centuries, they argue the question, \nand zealously maintain, that the province of the civil magistrate ex- \ntends no farther than for securing the peace, and promoting the wel- \nfare of the community ; and that peisecution for any opinion which \nlies hid in the understanding, whether that opinion be true or false, is \nnot only absurd, because it is inefficacious, but unjust and cruel in the \nhighest degree. \n\nThese correct and righteous sentiments prevailed for a considerable \ntime, and the deviations from them were slow and progressive. When \nthe empire became Christian it still appeared to the civil magistrate? \nthat he was bound to support the religion adopted by the state. Hence \nit was that certain laws which are yet to be found in the codes of \nTheodosius and Justinian were enacted against heretics ; by which \nthey were subjected to fines, and confiscation of goods, and to impris- \nonment and banishment, according to the description of the offences \nand the measure of the delinquency ; with this limitation, however, in \nevery case, that it was the peculiar province of the ecclesiastical judge \nto determine wnether the opinions professed, were heretical or not. \nHence, too, it was, that those charged with heresy by the magistrate \nwere usually charged with sedition or rebellion of the same time ; and \nwhenever the punishment v/as capital, it was understood to be the re- \nsult, not merely of inaccurate or of perverted theology, but of a crim- \ninal opposition to the civil and political authorities. In this situation \nthe law and the practice respecting heresy, continued till about the \nyear 800. The trial of the whole case was in the hands of the civil \nmagistrate ; and, with the exception of ecclesiastical censures, it be- \nlonged to the synods and councils merely to answer the question, " Is \nthe opinion or doctrine libelled heretical or otherwise." \n\nDuring the course of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries, how- \never, the power of the ecclesiastical tribunals, and of papacy itself, \nincreased in a most remarkable degree. The zeal which animated the \nchurch and the people of Europe, became fierce and ungovernable; \nand the crusades against the infidels in foreign parts v/ere equalled, in \nferocious feeling and disposition, at least, by those against the heretics \nat home. At last, in an evil hour, and under some planet of malig- \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 306 \n\niiant aspect, and of disastrous inflPvCnce, St. Doininic (as he is called) \nthe father of the inquisition, arose. \n\nThe character of St. Doininic and some of the incidents of his life \nas they have been given by many writers, possess a strange interest, \nnot so much on account of the marvelous with which they teem, but \nas illustrating the spirit of the writers, and the depravity, the folly, and \nthe inconceivable ignorance of those ages. Domingo de Gusman, \nstyled in the Roman Calender, St. Dominic, is the only saint en re- \ncord, in whom no solitary speck of goodness is discoverable. To im- \npose pain and privation v/as the pleasure of his unnatural heart; and \ncruelty in him, v/as an appetite and a passion. No other human be- \ning has ever been the occasion of so much misery. The few traits of \nhis character to be gleaned from the lying volumes of his biographers \nare all of the darkest color. He is said never to have looked a wo- \nman in the face, nor spoken to one. On his preaching expedi-ionshe \nslept in churches or upon graves, wore an iron chain round his body, \nand his fastings and self-whippings were excessive. \n\nThe coming into the world of this bloody man was preceeded by \nprodigies, which, indeed, are all false, but they nevertheless show what \nimpression his actions had made upon those v/ho had either seen or \nread of them. It is related that, before his birth, his mother dreamed \nthat she had brought into the v/orld a whelp, v/hose fierce barkings \nwere heard every where, and that the earth v/as burned bjahe iighted \ntorch which the monster bore in his mouth. The Dominic v/riters \nsay that the torch means,Jhat St. Dominic enlightened the world : \nbut others have found in the torch an emblem of the incredible Dum- \nber of victims who v/ere consumed by the fire and fagots of the inqui- \nsition. There can be little - doubt, however^ that the whole of this \ndream was invented long after the birth of St. Dominic ; and its uni- \nversal reception shows, veiy strikirigly, the general opinion that was \nentertained of the founder of the institution, both o\xc2\xa3 which are %u - \nrativeiy described by the whelp and torch. This ridiculous story is the \nmore important, as it afterwards became the staRdard of the inquisi- \ntioa at Go^ in the East Indies. \n\nBut to proceed with the marvels related of this v?icked rn^an, which \nare only worthy of attentions as they demonstrate the depravity of \nthe age, and the character of the writerSy as well as^ ol their subjects. \nEarthquakes and meteorsj they declare, announced his nativity to the \nearth and the air ; and two or three suns arxd niooTiS w^re hung ov.t \n/or an illyjninatioii in the heSiVens. Tb\xc2\xab virdn recwred him In her \nS9 \n\n\n\n30e HIS T R Y QF \n\narms when he was born. When a sucking babe he observed fast \ndays regularly. His manhood was as portentious as his infancy. He \nfed multitudes miraculously. He used to be red-hot with divine \' \nlove \xe2\x80\x94 sometimes blazing like a sun \xe2\x80\x94 sometimes glowing hke a fur- \nnace. At times it blanched his garments, and imbued them with a \nglory resembling that of the transfiguration. Once it spouted out in \nsix wings like a seraph\'s, and once the fervor of his piety made him \nsweat blood. His thousand other miracles, and more especially those \nrelating to the rosary and the Tirgin Mary, are, many of them too \nshocking for repetition. Such is the reputed character of the man^ \nwho was the destined instrument, in the hands of others, for the intro- \nduction, of the most appalling scourge that ever afflicted mankind. \n\nThe wickedness and abuses of the church, keeping pace with its us- \nurpations of power, had mounted to a height of iniquity, that is scarce- \nly conceivable. To oppose this growing crime and desolation, nu- \nmerous individuals, from time to time, had lifted up their voices in vain. \nIn the twelfth century arose Arnold of Brescia, who preached boldly \nand successfully the necessity of reformation. This reformer became \nan object of hatred to the whole church, whose power was immedi- \nately prepared to crush him ; and though he had gained many follow- \ners and protectors, he finally became a victim and was burnt ! From \nthe blood of this martyr sprung the celebrated sects of the Albigenses \nand Waldenses, the former so called from the city of Albi, where the \nopinions of Arnold were first promulgated, and the latter called from \nthe Pays de Yaud, whither the reformer\'s followers went after his cru- \nel martyrdom. According to many writers, it was to extirpate this \nremnant which had escaped the sword, that the inquisition was first \nset in motion. These sects, of course, early attracted the rage of \nRome, and accordingly they were hunted down like wild beasts at \nthe instigation of the popes ; and their whole history is a series of the \nsufferings they endured at the hands of their barbarous persecutors. \nIn proportion as the church became more corrupt, those who differ- \ned from her increased , and as heretics multiphed, persecution be- \ncame a vital principle of catholic religion, gradually assumed a settled \ncharacter, and was reduced to a sanguinary diabolical system. The \nvarious religious orders became the instruments of a remorseless hier- \narchy. Among these, the Franciscans and Dominicans soon render- \ned themselves conspicuous for their unsparing zeal against heretics. \nInvested by the pope with almost unlimited power over all those who \nwandered from the faith of the church of Rome, they exercised that \n\n\n\nt \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N . 20t \n\n-Mwer with a dreadful rigor. St. Francis and liis followers were com- \nmissioned to extirprte heresies from.Italy, while St. Dominic and his \ndisciples were sent to ravage certain parts of France, w^here numerous \nheretics as they were called, disgusted with tlie corruptions of Rome, \nsought out an asylum, and practised a purer faith and better worship* \nThe creed of the Albigenses and Waldenses, as far as it is possible to \nascertain it, appears to have been as harmless as their conduct was \npure and peaceable. In the inofFensiveness of their manners they re- \nsemble the Quakers : mild in their principles, they were strangers to \nwar, and lived in the constant practice of virtue and true religion. \nSuch is the character of the people who w^ere the earliest objects of \nRomish cruelty, and whose extermination was the infant essay and \ndarling aim of that corrupt court. Pope Innocent III. whose reign \nwas fatal to the happiness of mankind, as it gave birth\' to the two or- \nders already mentioned, the Dominican and the Franciscan, determin- \ned to\'tear up this heresy by the roots, and a crusade was proclaimed \nagainst it. The principal person employed on this errand w^as St, \nDominic. The instructions which he received were, to inquire out, \nor make inquisition concerning, and to punish all offenders against the \nfaith. Hence the titles of inquisitGr and inquisition. It is also said, \nthat, on his arriving at the theatre of his future exploits, he took up his \nabode in the house of a certain nobleman of Toulouse, whom he \nfound sadly infected with heresy ; and after bringing him back to the \ntrue faith, the noble convert immediately devoted himself and his \nwhole dwelling to St. Dominic- and his order ; and this is pointed out \nas the first building in which the holy office was regularly lodged. \n\nThe fanaticism of the age was worked upon by the gloomy elo- \nquence of St. Dominic. He labored and preached night and day. \nEvery pulpit soon resounded with anathemas against the devoted Al- \nbigenses, and an immense army, which was impiously called the mili- \ntia of Christ, was soon ready to proceed to their destruction. The \npersons who engaged in the crusade had all their sins forgiven. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThese religious soldiers, like those who joined the crusades for the \nrecovery of the Holy Land, had all manner of indulgences granted \nthem : they wore the sign of the cross upon their armor, and hence \nit was they were also denominated cross-bearers. \' By their means \nit was proposed to cut off with the material sword those heretics who \ncould not be vanquished by the sword of preaching. \n\nRaymond, earl of Toulouse, in France, in whose territory the Al- \nbigenses were chiefly found, having refused, at the mandate of \n\n\n\nSOS H I S T R Y F \n\nthe pope, to destroy his innocent subjects, became a principal \nobject of ra2;e. He was excommunicated by the pope.* The \ncount, however, wss so beloved b}- his subjects, that the anathema \nof the church did not fall upon him with its accustomed destructive- \nness. Recourse was had to stratagem and artifice, and a handle was \nsoon mtide of an unfortunate accident. Pierre de Chataneuf, the \npope\'s legate v/ho pronounced the curse, was drowned, and it was at \nonce proclaimed that he had been murdered by Raymond. The \nfurious churchman was converted into a saint and martyr, and the \nearl was branded as an assassin. Every thing was done to inflame \nthe people, and to hold the earl up to execration. The more effectu- \nally to secure his ruin, the pope promised heaven to all who took arms, \nand the gift of all the estates of the count to those who vrould con- \nquer them. \n\nAlthough Raymond had wished to protect bis innocent subjects, he \nwas compelled at last to yield implicit obedience to the church. \nThis reconciliation, however, which was accompanied by circum- \nstances of great mortification \xe2\x80\x94 for he v/as scourged, naked and in \npublic, till his flesh w^as torn by the stripes \xe2\x80\x94 did not produce the ben- \nefits which v/ere anticipated. The numerous swarms of cross-bear- \ners overspread the country, like another plague of locusts, devouring \nas they went, and leaving nothing but desolation behind. In the year \n\n* The following is a correct translation of one of the forms of excommunication used \nby the church of Rome. Its language, however vindictive and blasphemous it may ap. \npear, is much milder and less disgusting than many others, which were often thundered \nagainst the victims of papal rage, hatred or jealousy. \n\n\'* By authority of God almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and of the holy canons, \nand of the immaculate virgin iMary, the mother and patroness of our Savior, and of all the \ncelestial virtues, angels, archangels, thrones, dominions, powers, cherubim and seraphim ; \nand all the holy patriarchs and prophets ; and of all the apostles and evangelists, and of \nthe holy innocents, who in the sight of the holy lamb are found worthy to sing- the new \nsong; of the holy martyrs and holy confessors; and of the holy virgins and all the saints, \ntogether with all the elect of God, we excommunicate and anathematize this thief, or this \n\nmalefactor N , from the threshholds of the holy church of Almighty God, we seqties- \n\nter him that he may be tormente\'l, disposed, and delivered over to Dathan and Abiram, \nand with those who say unto the Lord God depart from us, for we desire not the knowl- \nedge of thy ways, and as fire is quenched with water, so let his light be put out forever \nunless he repent and make satisfaction. Amen. May God the Father, who made man, \ncurse him. May the holy cross, which Christ for our salvation triumphantly ascended, \ncurse him. May the holy and eternal virgin Mary curse him. May St. Michael,, the ad- \nvocate of holy souls, curse him. May St. John, the chief for\'^runner and baptiser of Christ, \ncurse him. May the holy and wonderful company of martyrs and confessors, who by their \nholy works are found pleasing to God, curse him. May the holy choir of the holy vir- \ngins, who for the honor of Christ have dcspieed the things of this world, curse him. May \n\n\n\nT ^ E I N Q U I S I T I N . SCO \n\ni 309, the city of Biterre v/as captured, and all the inhabitants without \ndistinction of sge or ses^ were inhumanly massacred. It is rekted \nthat the cross-bearers being at a loss how to act, since there were cath- \nolics in the cityj mixed with the heretics, so that they might slaughter \nthe innocent by mistake ; and apprehending at the same time that the \nguilty might feign themselves Catholics to save their lives, their \ndoubts were soon resolved and quieted by one of their spiritual lead- \ners, who exclaimed with a loud voice, \'Siay them all ! Slay them all ! \nfor the Lord knows who are his own.\' Every soul was butchered. \n\nIf it is not easy todeterminethe num.ber of the unfortunate Albigen- \nses who at this period, were butchered or perished in the flames, it is \nnot less possible to be moved with compassion, in reading the histories \nof the times, when millions of persons were condemned, to the most \ncruel torments and death, for the triumph of a religion, on which its \ndivine author has stamped the character of meekness and mercy. \n\nWhilst the war and the mission against the Albigenses were pursu- \ned v\\7ith the greatest fury. Innocent III. convoked, in 1215, a new \ncouncil which was the fourth of Lateran. This pope decreed new \nmeasures against the heretics, much more extensive and severe than \nthose of the council of Verona. The delegated Inquisitors were then \nauthorized to act in concert with the bishops, or even without them as \nthey had formerly done ; but death removed Innocent III., before he \nhad finished giving to the delegated Inquisition, (which was distinct \nfrom that of the bishops,) that firm and permanent foundation which it \ntook under the subsequent popes. \n\n\n\nall the saints who from the beginning of the M\'orld to everlasting ages are found to be the \nbeloved of God, curse him. May the heaven and the earth and all things therein remain- \nino-, curse him. May he be cursed wherever he may be, whether in the house or in the \nfield, in the highway or in the path, in the wood, in the water, or in the church. May he \nbe cursed in living and in dying, in eating, in drinking, in being hungry, in being thristy, \nin fasting, in sleepmg, in slumbering, in waking, in walkins;, in standing, in sitting, in \nlying, in working and in resting. May he be cursed in all the powers of his body. May \nhe be cursed within and without. May he be cursed in the hair of his head, \xe2\x80\x94 may he be \ncursed in his brain, may he be cursed in the crown of his head, in his temples, in his \nforehead, in his ears, in his eyebrows, in his cheeks, in his jawbones, in his nostrils, in \nhis foreteeth, in his grinders, in his lips, in his throat, in his shoulders, in his wrists, in his \narms, in his hands, in his breast, in all the interior parts of the vei-y stomach, in his reins, \nin his groin, in his hips, in his knees, in his legs, in his feet, in his joints and in his nails. \nMay he be cursed in the whole structure of his members. From the crown of his head to \nthe sole of his feet, may there be no soundness ih him. May the Son of ihe living God, \nwith all the glory of his majesty, curse him. And may heaven and all the powers that \nmove therein, rise against him to damn him, unless h\xc2\xab repent and make full satisfaction. \nAmen." \n\n\n\n310 HISTORY OF \n\nBorne months before the death of Innocent, Saint Dominic, whose \nzeal in the pursuit of heretics had made him beloved by that pontiff, \napproached him to obtain authority to found an order, designed to \npreach against heretics. The pope received this proposition, and soon \nafterwards Dominic, organized his order, on which he conferred the \ntitle of St. Augustine. \n\nSaint Dominic was the person who created this militia of Christ, the \nsuccessors of whom became so redoubtable underthe name of familiars \nof the Inquisition. \n\nHonorious III., successor of Innocent, was so well satisfied with \nthe conduct of Saint Dominic and his companions, that he authorized \nthe establishment of this order, in all the states of Christendom, and \nin a short time the Dominicans were settled in Spain and Italy. Noth- \ning in history indicates that the Inquisition was introduced into Spain \nwith the monks of Saint Dominic, as some authors have supposed : it \nappears on the contrary, that it was not established there till about the \nyear 1232, as we shall presently see ; but that from the year 1221, \nthere were symptons of heresy even in the capital of the states of the \nChurch. Honorious was obliged to make a decree againt the here- \ntics of Italy, and to give it the force of the civil law by means of the \nemperor Frederick II. Three years afterwards the Inquisition exis- \nted in all Italy, with the exception of the republic of Venice, and the \nkingdoms of Naples and Sicily. \n\nThe Inquisition took, wherever it was established, the most mena- \ncing attitude ; but it had not yet acquired the form of a permanent \ntribunal, which was the principal end that the popes had in view, after \n\' Gregory IX. came to the pontifical throne. This pope was so much \noccupied with the care of the interests of the Inquisition, that he final- \nly succeeded in erecting it to a tribunal. As he had been the ardent \nprotector of Saint Dominic of Gusman, and the intimate friend of \nSaint Francis de Assises, he granted to the Dominican monks the in- \nquisitorial functions ; but he added to them the Franciscans, and sent \nthem into provinces where there were no recluses attached to the or- \nder of St. Dominic, and associated them in their labors in many other \nprovinces where they were established. \n\nWhile the inquisitors pursued heretics in France and Italy, the del- \negates of the pope assembled councils successively at Toulouse, Me- \nlunand Beziers, where they revived the measures against heretics for- \nmerly decreed at Verona, and at the fourth council of Lateran ; and \n^added also many other rigid means, which the church had put into the \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 311 \n\nhands of the inquisitors. These new measures were in substance as \nfollows : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" That all the inhabitants, from the age of 14 for the men, and 12 \nfor women, should promise with an oath to pursue heretics ; and that \nif they refused, they themselves should be treated as suspected of \nheresy. \n\n" That those who should not present themselves three times a year \nbefore the tribunal of penitence, should be also treated as suspected \nof heresy. \n\n"That every city where heretics should be found, should pay a \nmark of silver for each, to the person who should denounce them and \ncause them to be arrested. \n\n" That all the houses which had served as an asylum for heretics \nshould be razed. \n\n" That all the property of heretics, and of their accomplices, should \nbe seized, without permitting their children to reclaim any part. \n\n" That heretics, voluntary converted, should not continue to dwell \nin the same country. \n\n"That they should be com.pelled to carry upon their dresses two \nyellow crosses, one upon the breast and the other upon the back, in \norder that they might always be distinguished from other Catholics. \n\n" And finally, that no laymen should be permitted to read the Scrip- \ntures in the vulgar tongues." \n\nNot content with having decreed all these severe measures by means \nof his councils, Gregory IX. issued in 1231 a flaming bull against here- \ntics, by which he excommunicated them all, and ordained that they \nshould be delivered to the secular arm, to receive the chastisement due \nto their crime. \n\nAll these measures, executed under the special protection which \nSaint Lewis and the emperor Frederic II. granted to the monkish in- \nquisitors, gave to the Inquisition a form and character which surpass- \ned the hopes of the church, and extended immensely the temporal \npower of the popes. \n\nIt must not be supposed that this cruel tyranny was patiently sub- \nmitted to by all nations. In many places great resistance was made, \nand open violence employed against the inquisitors, whose cruelties \nwere insupportable. The power of the pontiff, however, was not to \nbe resisted. Even the emperor Frederic, who had signalized his \nzeal in the cause of the church against heretics, was, for a slight of- \nfence, at once attacked by the thunder of excommunication. Pope \n\n\n\n^12 HISTORY OF \n\nJohn XXIV. went, so far as to condemn as heretics the Beguins, monks \nof the order of St. Francis, who vowed never to own any propert}^ \nbut to hve by begging, which they denominated evangelical poverty, \nJohn wished to exempt them from this discipline, and dispense- with \nthe strict rule of St. Francis, and authorized them to lay up storehous- \nes of corn, wine, and bread ; v/hich they, deeming it a violation of \ntheir purity, and derogatory to the sublims perfection of their order, \nopposed so strenuously, that the pontiff issued a bloody decree against \nthe obstinate Beguins, Many of them were burnt to death by this \npope, whom they called the Boar of the Forest, which had destroyed \nthe enclosure of the tabernacle, and had done more harm to the \nchurch of God than all former heretics put together. One of them, \nwho was speaking of the pope\'s power to dispense with the rule of St, \nFrancis, inquired, contemptuously, in allusion to the text in Scripture \nwhereby the holy see claims earthly authority, viz. that " v^^hatsoever \nye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven " whether, ^\'^ if the \npope bound the tail of an ass on earth, the tail of an ass vvould b^ \nbound in heaven." \n\nBut in defiance of all opposition, the inquisition vv^as introduced into \nnumerous places, and even found its way into Syria and Palestine ; \nfor about the end of the thirteenth century, the pope sent a bull to the \npatriarch of Jerusalem, commanding him to establish inquisitors in the \ndifferent districts of his legateship, in Judea. It cannot fail to excite \nsingular emotions in the reader\'s mind, to find the inquisition exercis- \ning, in the name of Christianity, its darl^ and appalling office in the \nvery spot where the Savior of mankind had unfolded his holy and \nglad mission for the redemption of a sin-lost world\xe2\x80\x94a melancholy \nchange indeed, to perceive growing on the soil v/bere once sprung the \nrose of Sharon and the lily of the valley, the poisonous and the pesti- \nlent branches of a deadly Upas. \n\nWhatever obstacles may have opposed the planting of the holy of- \nfice in other countriesj it ia very certain that the kingdom of Spain \npresented a genial soil, wherein this pernicioos institution took a deep \nand deadly root. In no country has the inquisition thriven with so \nquick and baleful a growth, or flung such a melancholy shade. It \nwas nurtured under the fostering care of Ferdinand and Isabella. \nThey established it in all their kingdoms with great pomp and magni- \nficence, under a pretence of curing the corruptions which licentious- \nness had engendered, and the promiscuous intercourse of Moors, Jews \nand Christians, who composed the people over whom their dom^iP\'\'->- \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N . 313 \n\nextended. Force and fraud were added to authority. The most ri- \ndiculous impostures were practised. At Guadaloupe the holy office \ndesired a sign from the virgin Mary ; and it is related that miracles \nwere wrought in such numbers, and with such rapidity, that the pious \nfather who undertook the task of penning them, grew weary of the la- \nbor. \n\nIt is extremely difFcult to divine the real motives which could have \nimpelled such sagacious sovereigns to adopt so dangerous a policy. \nIt could scarcely have derived its original only from a blind and bigot- \ned zeal for popery, as has been alleged ; they doubtless expected that \nthey should possess their kingdom in greater peace and security, after \nstifling the Mahometan and Jewish religions ; or, perhaps, as the am- \nbition of Ferdinand and Isabella is said to have aimed at the univer- \nsal empire of Europe, they wished, by signal zeal in the cause of Cath- \nolicism, to enlist the good will and connivance of the all powerful pon- \ntiff. But the true character of Ferdinand, the catholic king, is well \nknown. He was a man who scrupled at no crime which served his \npurpose ; and as the religion in which he was trained taught that \nthe means were sanctified by the end, the extension of that religion \nby force seemed to him a compensation for all his other iniquities. \nThe state of Isabella\'s mind was not dissimilar from his own : by \nplacing herself at the head of a faction, she had obtained a kingdom \nto which her claim at least was doubtful, and she had obtained it \nat the price of the happiness and liberty of another, whose right she \nhad herself acknowledged and sworn to respect. A crown thus pur- \nchased did not sit easy on her head. She was unhappy in her hus- \nband and unfortunate in her children, and she sought in religion an \nanodyne for conscience as well as for affliction. There is reason to \nsuppose that a morbid melancholy temperament, thus generated, or at \nleast thus heightened, was transmitted by her to her posterity \xe2\x80\x94 a sort \nof moral scrofula \xe2\x80\x94 which displayed itself in many members of her \nfamily. She and her husband both supposed that they could wash \ntheir hands clean in blood. In the year 1479, they obtained the priv- \nilege from Pope Sextus IV. of creating inquisitors, and six years af- \nterwards the work of devastation began. \n\nOn the history of Spain in earlier times, and on the progress of \nfanaticism, it is not necessary to dwell. A new world was discover- \ned and it was explored and conquered by her priests and soldiers, \nwhose struggle seemed to be, which should create the wider and \nworse desolation throughout the magnificent domain. The \n40 \n\n\n\n314 HISTORYOF \n\nmonks and inquisitors preached loudly against ^ the idoliatries and \nhuman sacrifices of the Mexicans. What might not these unhappy \nbeings have replied, had they witnessed the tortures and the fires \nwhich the inquisitors of Madrid, of Lisbon, and Goa, were daily kin- \ndling for the tens of thousands of human victims, offered up by them \nin the name of the God of mercy ? \n\nIt was under the malignant influence of Torquemada and Ximenes, \nwhose motives and aims, though as diff\'erent as possible, still called \nupon them to unite in a grand and equal object. Thomas de Torque- \nmada, or Turrecremata, was a Dominican and a fanatic. He aimed \nat the favoi of the pope and spiritual rule. Ximenes was prime min- \nister, imperious and tyrannical. Indeed its hould be observed, that \nmotives of a purely human character had operated in the introduction \nof the inquisition in every place where it had become established ; the \nobject even of the first projector, Pope Innocent III. having been to \nsway the world by means of a great religious engine of irresistable \nforce. \n\nThe inquisition had found its way into this country, however, long \nbefore the period when these individuals flourished, but the time was \nnot ripe ; adverse circumstances had retarded its growth, and it was \nin a very low condition during the fifteenth century, when Torque- \nmada made his appearance. Thi& man ma}^ be regarded as a modern \nincarnation of the bloody Dominic ; and as his whole life, hke that of \nthe latter, is identified with the tribunal which was renewed in Spain \nby his influence, it will be interesting to contemplate his career more \nclosely, and to enter with greater minuteness into the circumstances \nof his life. \n\nA small fortune enabled him to procure a good education, and an \nardent spirit drove him at an early age, to travel through Spain, where \nhe became deeply enamored by a lady of Cordova, who rejected his \nsuit, and became the wife of a Moor. Thus, personal revenge has \nbeen alleged as the real cause of that malignant hatred of the Moor- \nish race, of which they were, at a future day to reap the bitterness. \nSoon after his disappointment, which ever rankled in his breast, he \nformed a strict bond of friendship with Lopez de Cervera, superior \nof the order of St. Dominic ; an order which, it will be remembered \nwas coeval with the inquisition : and it was in the society of this indi- \nvidual that Torquemada, who had become a zealous Dominican, and \nperceiving the unlimited power formerly enjoyed by that order, con- \npeived the ambitious project of reviving the tribunal of the inquisition. \n\n\n\nTHE I N QU I S ITI N.. 316 \n\nTo accomplish \xe2\x80\xa2 this mighty end, it was first necessary that the dif- \nerent kingdoms into which Spain was broken should be united under \none potent empire. The plan was so vast, that it seemed beyond the \nreach of one man\'s strength ; but Torquemada possessed prodigious \nforce of mind ; and stimulated as he was by a thousand motives, \namong which the prospect of extirpating the Moors, whose power \nwas on the decline in Spain, was not the least, his spirit rose with an \nobject he deemed worthy of the ambition that inflamed his bosom. \nTo commence this enterprise he adopted the plan usually resorted to \nin those days by ambitious monks to gain celebrity, and as a preacher \nhe quitted Saragossa and repaired to Toledo, where his eloquence \nwas so successful and his reputation so great, that, in the course of a \nshort time, he was gradually elevated to a post which even he could \nhardly have anticipated. He was appointed confessor to Isabella, \nwho was still a child. Over her mind Torquemada soon attained an \nentire ascendency, and he planted in it the first seeds of ambition, by \nbreathing in her ear, constantly, the possibility of her one day mount- \ning the throne. He accustomed her to the idea that, as soon as this \nevent took place, which he foresaw probable, it would be her interest, \nas hereditary queen of Castille, to unite herself to Ferdinand, the he- \nreditary prince of Arragon, by which union one great object, the \nconsolidation of the empire was to be gained. The ingenuity and \nperseverence by which this monk obtained complete sway over all \nthe thoughts of the young princess, would command admiration \ncould it be for a moment be forgotten that all this industry and perni- \ncious wisdom had for its aim the misery of the human race. \n\nThe next step was to imbue her mind with the necessity and impor- \ntance of re-establishing the inquisition, and to prepare her for it in the \nevent of her obtaining the crown. Torquemada had been accustom- \ned to infuse the poison of his counsels at the season of confession, and \nthe time he now selected was that of receiving the sacrament. It is \nnot necessary to go through all the guile of this serpent, and the wind- \ning paths by which he crawled to his object. He succeeded, and Isa- \nbella at that solemn moment engaged herself, by an oath, to re-estab- \nlish the " holy office" in Spain, in case she should ever be placed up- \non its throne ! \n\nEvery expectation which had been formed was realized ; subse- \nquent events elevated Isabella to the throne, and Torquemada then \ncame forward, and reminded her of the oath she had registered in \nHeaven. He represented to her, that although the conquest of Gre- \n\n\n\n316 H I S T O R Y F \n\nnada had driven out the Moors, yet that they swarmed throughout \nthe land, and that it was her duty to convert them all, as v/ell as the \nJews, or to commit them to the flames, for the repose of the kingdom, \nthe benefit of the faith, and the glory of God. He told her that these \npagans, the enemies of the Holy Catholic religion, would pretend to \nembrace the faith, and that the only remedy was the erection of the \ninquisition, which alone was able to rule the conscience, and penetrate \nthe most secret concerns of the human heart ; that if the faith had \nbeen preserved pure in Italy, it was to be attributed to this institution ; \nand that it would reflect immortal honor on so great a queen to build \nup this bulwark of the true religion, which would be as durable as the \nSpanish monarchy. The successful result of these deadly counsels \nneed not be repeated. Torquemada reached the summit of his hopes. \nHe was appointed grand inquisitor of Spain, and very scon after tri- \nbunals were created throughout the empire. During the fourteen \nyears that he exercised his new and congenial function, he prosecuted \nbefore his tribunal upwards of one hundred thousand individuals, of \nwhom about six thousand were condemned to the flames, and their \ngoods became the prey of the spoiler. \n\nThe system thus began soon spread itself over Spain. The Jews \nwho escaped death or imprisonment were compelled to wear a pecu- \nliar dress, in order that the Christians might avoid them. Their \nchildren and their children\'s children to the last generation were ex- \ncluded from all offices of trust and honor, and prohibited from wear- \ning any thing but the rudest garments. In the single diocese of Se- \nville, above one hundred thousand souls were destroyed, converted or \ndriven into exile, and in the city three thousand houses were left with- \nout inhabitants. The reader must not suppose that this is an exag- \ngerated tale: it is the boast of the inquisitors, and grave and authentic \nhistorians have confirmed what they dared not condemn, even if they \nfelt a horror at such execrable deeds. A third of the confiscated \nproperty went to the inquisitors ; a third to the extraordinary expen- \nses of the faith \xe2\x80\x94 that is, it went the same way ; the remainder wag \nthe government\'s share of the plunder. When these persecuted peo^ \npie found it hopeless to appeal from humanity, justice or even policy, \nthey tried to work on the cupidity of the government, and large sums \nwere offered for general toleration, even for the safety of individuals. \nThey offered an immense sum to Ferdinand to assist him in his wars, \nif he would guaranty to them peace and security from persecution. \nThe monarch would have listened to their prayer, when the fierce \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I O N. 317 \n\nand unsparing" Torquemada had the audacity to enter the presence of \nthe king- and queen with the crucitix in his hand, and exclaim, \'Be- \nhold the image of our crucified Redeemer, whom Judas sold for thir- \nty pieces of silver: you are about to do the same for thirty thousand. \nBehold him, take him, and hasten to sell him, ! As for me I lay \ndown my office. Nothing of this shall be imputed to me. You shall \nrender an account of your bargain to God.\' Then laying down the \ncrucifix, he departed. The result was, the Jews were banished, and \nthe Moors were obliged to fly the realm. These banished Jews car- \nried away with them a quantity of gold concealed in their garments^ \nand even in their intestines ; for they melted the coin, and swallowed \ned it in small pieces. Many were seized in Africa, where the native \nMoors even killed the women for the purpose of procuring the gold \nwhich they expected to find in their bowels. Such were the cruelties \nwhich sprung from the insolent fanaticism of Torquemada, sustained \nby the avarice of Ferdinand, and the thoughtless zeal of Isabella ! \n\nIt is conjectured that about half a million of Jews were expatriated, \nand their immense riches confiscated. If to the whole number be add- \ned that of the Moors exiled, at least two millionsof valuable subjects \nmust have been lost to Spain by the tyrannical bigotry of Ferdinand \nand Isabella. This is the calculation of the historian Mariana. The \nentire expulsion of the Moors took place in 1609, to the number of a \nmillion of souls ; so that, says Llorente, in the space of one hundred \nand thirty nine years the inquisition deprived the kingdom of three \nmillion of inhabitants. \n\nThe Moors of Grenada had before this period attracted the atten^ \ntion of the Romish see. Ximenes, archbishop of Toledo, had been \nsent by the pope to convert them to Christianity. By violence he for- \nced many to submit, and a vast number of Alcorans and other books \ntouching upon the Mahometan religion were destroyed. In conse- \nquence of a dangerous commotion which occurred in the city of \nGrenada about that period, numbers of the Moorish race were con- \ndemned as guilty of high treason. When it was |proposed to trans- \nlate some portions of the service of mass, and of the Gospel, into the \nArabic, for the benefit of the convicts, Ximenes would not permit it, \ndeclaring that \'it was a sin to throw pearls before swine.\' He further \nsaid, that \'the Old and new testaments, in which there were many \nthings that required a learned and attentive reader, and a chaste and \npious mind, should be kept in those three languages only which God, \nnot without the greatest mystery, ordered to be placejd over bis most \n\n\n\n318 HISTORYOF \n\ndear Son\'s head, when he suffered the death of the cross ;\' and that \nthen \'Christianity would suffer the greatest mischief when the bible \nshould be translated into the vulgar tongues.\' \n\nTorquemada died in 1408; and it is a satisfaction to know that this \nwretch did not go without some punishment, even in this world. He \nlived in constant dread, had always a guard of fifty horse and two \nhundred familiars, and drank out of a unicorn\'s horn, (as he believed \nit to be,) from a superstitious notion that it would secure him from \npoison. The persecution of the Jews, related in this chapter, which \nwas conducted by this man, is regarded by that unhappy people as a \ncalamity scarcely less dreadful and extensive than the destruction of \nJerusalem, \n\n\n\n\n\n\nil \n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. \n\nInquisition in Italy. \xe2\x80\x94 Jloneo Paleareo. \xe2\x80\x94 General persecution commenced \nby Pius IV. \xe2\x80\x94 Jlrrest of Galileo. \xe2\x80\x94 Obliged to renounce the truths of \nAstronomy. \xe2\x80\x94 Attempt to establish the Inquisition in England.\xe2\x80\x94 In- \ntroduction into Portugal. \xe2\x80\x94 Extermination of the Jews in that king- \ndom. \xe2\x80\x94 Cruelty of the Inquisitors. \n\nBefore entering upon a history of the Spanish Inquisition which \nstands preeminent for its cruelties and its power, it will be proper to \nturn for a while, to its progress and, operations, in other sections of \nEurope, where its establishment had been effected. The zeal of the \nInquisition against the Jews was stimulated by avarice, but against the \nReformers it was inflamed by fear and hatred. At Rome, the Jews \nhad never been persecuted. But the principles of the Reformation \nhad there made much greater progress than is generally supposed, and \nin many of the Italian cities an immense number of converts to the \nnew doctrine had been obtained, and many of the most pious and \nlearned men of Italy were engaged in their dissemination. Among \nthese, Aoneo, Paleareo, holds a prominent rank. He was a man of \nlearning, had diligently and carefully studied the Scriptures, and read \nthe works of the German Reformers. The liberal sentiments which \nhe had thus imbibed, and the freedom of the language in which he of- \nten indulged surrounded him by spies who sought his ruin. One of the \nmost prominent accusations brought against him, was for laughing at \na rich Priest, who was seen every morning kneeling at the shrine of \na Saint, but who, notwithstanding this exhibition of devotion, never \npaid his just debts. His heretical opinions were farther proven by \nhis answer to the questions. What is the first ground on which men \nshould rest their salvation 1 He replied Christ. Being asked the \nsecond ground he replied Christ. And being again asked what was \nthe third ground. He a third time replied Christ. The crime which \ncost him his life he committed in writing a book entitled " The bene., \nfits of the death of Christ. For this book he was condemned to be \nburnt but escaped and fled to the city of Lucca. Being subsequent^ \nly arrested, he was again condemned, and after an imprisonment of \nthree years, was suspended on a gibbet, and his body given to the \n\n\n\n320 HISTORY O F \n\nflames. Thus at the age of seventy years, the venerable Paleareo, \nwas destroyed by these Inquisatorial tigers, a man eminent, alike for \nhis genius, acquirements and holiness, \xe2\x80\x94 a man both great and good \nand who is justly regarded as the greatest ornament of the Roforma- \ntion in Italy. \n\nA learned and humane Homan Catholic, thus speaks in a letter to \na nobleman, of the outrages and enormities which were constantly \ncommitted, during the persecution, set on foot by Pius Fourth, and \nhis Inquisitorial agents. \n\n" I cannot, my lord, forbear disclosing ray sentiments with respect \nto the persecution now carrying on. I think it cruel and unnecessary, \nI tremble at the manner of putting to death, as it resembles more the \nslaughter of calves and sheep, than the execution of human beings. \nI will relate to your lordship a dreadful scene, of which I was myself \nan eye witness : seventy protestants were cooped up in one filthy dun- \ngeon together ; the executioner went in among them, picked out one \nfrom among the rest, blindfolded him, led him out to an open place \nbefore the prison, and cut his throat with the greatest composure. He \nthen calmly walked into the prison again, bloody as he was, and with \nthe knife in his hand selected another and despatched him in the same \nmanner ; and this, my lord, he repeated till the whole number were \nput to death. I leave it to your lordship\'s feelings to judge of my sen- \nsations upon the occasion ; my tears now wash the paper upon which \nI give you the recital. Another thing I must mention, the patience \nwith v/hich they met death : they seemed all resignation and piety, \nfervantly praying to God, and cheerfully encountering their fate. I \ncannot reflect without shuddering, how the executioner held the bloo- \ndy knife between his teeth ; what a dreadful figure he appeared, all \ncovered with blood, and with what unconcern he executed his barba- \nrous office !" \n\nThe inquisition was not more the irreconcilable enemy of reforma- \ntion in religion, than it was to any advancement in learning and sci- \nence. As the absolute bondage of the human mind was its aim, it \nwas ever raised to arrest the march of intellect, and its foul breath \nalways ready to blast improvement in the blossom. A memorable ex- \nample of this is presented in the fate of the illustrious Galileo, one of \nthe greatest astronomers that ever lived, and the first who applied the \ntelescope to any valuable purpose in the science of the heavens. \n\nThis great m^an having adopted the Copernican system of the uni- \nverse\xe2\x80\x94or, as it is now called, the Newtonian, that is, that the sun is \n\n\n\n1 \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I O N. 321 \n\nthe centre of motion to a number of her planets, and, among others, \nthe earth, which revolve round the sun at different ppriods\xe2\x80\x94 he attract- \ned the attention of the inquisitors, was arraigned before their tribu- \nnal, and in danger of being put to death. Now listen to the pompous \nmanner in which the indictment against the venerable Gahleo was \ndrawn up by these inquisitorial dunces. \n\n"Whereas you, Galileo, of Florence, aged seventy, were informed \nagainst in the year 1615, in this holy office, for maintaining as true a \ncertain false doctrine held by m.any, namely, that the sun is the centre \nof the world, and immovable, and that the earth m.oves round it with \na daily motion : likewise that you have kept up a correspondence with \ncertain Gernian mathematicians concerning the same : likewise that \nyou have published some letters concerning the solar spots, in which \nyou have explained the same doctrine as true, and that you have an- \nswered the objections which in several places were raised against you \nfrom the authority of the holy Scriptures by construing or glossing \nover the said Scriptures according to your own opinions : and finally, \nwhereas the copy of a writing under the form of a letter, reported to \nhave been written by you to one who was formerly your scholar, has \nbeen shown to us, in which you have followed the hypothesis of Co- \npernicus, which contains certain propositions contrary to the true sense \nand authority of the holy Scriptures. \n\n" Now, this holy tribunal being desirous to provide against the in- \nconveniences and dangers which this statement may occasion to the \ndetriment of the holy faith, by the command of the most eminent lords \n&c. &c. of the supreme and universal inquisition, have caused the \ntwo following propositions concerning the immovability of the sun, \nand the motion of the earth to be thus qualified by the divines, viz. \n\n" That the sun is the centre of the world, and immovable, with a \nlocal motion, is an absurd proposition, false in philosophy, and abso- \nlutely heretical, because it is expressly contrary to the Scriptures. \n\n" That the earth is neither the centre of the world, nor immovable^ \nbut that it possesses a daily motion, is likewise an absurd proposition, \nfalse in philosophy, and theologically considered, at least erroneous in \npoint of faith. \n\n"But as it pleased us in the first instance to proceed kindly with \nyou, it was decreed in the said congregation, held before our lord K \nFebruary 35, 1616, that the ntost eminent lord cardinal Bellarmine \nshould command you, that you should entirely depart from the said \nfalse doctrine ; and in case you should refuse to obey him, that you \n\n41 \n\n\n\n322 - H I S T R Y F \n\nshould be commanded by the commissary of the holy office to abail^ \ndon the same ; and that you should neither teach it to others, defend \nitj nor say any thing concerning it ; and that if you should not sub- \nmit to this order, you should be put in jail, &c." \n\nAfter enumerating- all the errors of Galileo\'s writings, and insisting \non his recanting them, the holy inquisitors proceed :\xe2\x80\x94 " Invoking, \ntherefore, the most holy name of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of his \nmost glorious mother Mary, ever a virgin, we do, by this our definite \nsentence, &c. &c. judge and declare, that you the said Galileo havcy \nupon account of those things which are produced in the written pro- \ncess, and which you have confessed as above, subjected yourself to a \nstrong suspicion of heresy in this holy office, by believing, and holding \nto be true, a doctrine which is false and contrary to the sacred and \ndivine Scriptures : viz. that the sun is the centre of the orb of \nthe earth, and does not move from the east to the west ; and that \nthe earth moves, and is not the centre of the world ; and that these \nthings may be considered and defended as probable opinions, although \nthey have been declared and determined to be contrary to the sacred \nScriptures; and, consequently, that you have incurred all the censures \nand penalties appointed and promulgated by the sacred canons^ from \nwhich it is our pleasure that you should be absolved, provided, that \nyou do first, with a sincere heart, and a true faith, abjure, curse, and \ndetest before us, the aforesaid errors and heresies, and every other er- \nror and heresy contrary to the Catholic and Apostolic Roman church, \nin the form which shall be prescribed to you by us," \n\nGalileo v/as accordingly forced, in the most humiliating manner, ta \nenounce those sublime truths which now no one doubts, and which \nhis whole useful life had been employed in placing upon an immova- \nble basis. It is not intended to defend Galileo for denying upon oath \nwhat he knew was truth ; yet he had no alternative between this and \nsuffering death ; but what can be thought of the holy church, and the \nholy inquisition, which, as the enemies of truth and righteousnes as \nwell as science and literature, imposed this dreadful alternative upon \none of the wisest of the sons of men. \n\nMany efforts were made for the introduction of the Inquisition into \nEngland, under the memorable reign of Queen Mary. But these \nprojects were unsuccessful, and were forever suspended on the death \nof the bigot Queen. As the Bishop\'s courts, though extremely arbi- \ntrary, and not confined by any ordinary forms of law, appeared not to \nhe invested with sufficient power, a commission was appointed, by au- \n\n\n\nTH E INQUI SIT I O N. 323 \n\nthority of the queen\'s prerogative, more effectually to extirpate heresy. \nTwenty-one persons were named ; but any three were vested with \nthe powers of the whole. The commission runs in these terms : That \nsince many false rumors were published among the subjects, and many \nheretical opinions also were spread among them, the commissioneis \nwere to inquire into those, either by presentment, by witnesses, or \nany other political way they could devise, and to search after all here- \nsies, the bringers in, the sellers, the readers of all heretical books : they \nwere to examine and punish all misbehaviours or negligences in any \nchurch or chapel ; and to try all priests that did not preach the sacrament \nof the altar; all persons that did not hear mass, or come to their parish \nchurch to service ; that would not go in processions, or did not take \nholy bread or holy water ; and if they found any that did obstinately per- \nsist in such heresies, they were to put them into the hands of their or- \ndinaries, to be punished according to the spiritual laws ; giving the \ncommissioners full power to proceed as their discretions and consciences \nshould direct them, and to use all such means as they should invent \nfor the searching of the premises ; empowering them also to call before \nthem such witnesses as they pleased, and to force them to make oath \nof such things as might discover what they sought after; some civil \npowers were also given the commissioners to punish vagabonds and \nquarrelsome persons. \n\nTo bring the methods of proceeding in England still nearer to the \npractice of the inquisition, letters were written to Lord North, and \nothers, enjoining them, \' To put to the torture such obstinate persons \nas would -not confess, and there to order them at their discretion.\' \nSecret spies also, and informers were employed, according to the \npractice of that iniquitous tribunal. Instructions were given to the \njustices of the peace. \' That they should call secretly before them one \nor two honest persons within their Hmits or more at their discretion, \nand command them by oath or otherwise that they shall secretly learn \nand search out such persons as shall evil behave themselves in the \nchurch, or idly, or shall despise, openly by words, the king\'s or queen\'s \nproceedings, or go about to make any commotion, or tell any seditious \ntales or news. And also that the same persons so to be appointed, \nshall declare to the same justices of the peace, the ill behavior of lewd, \ndisorderly persons, whether it shall be for using unlawful games, or \nsuch other light behavior of. such suspected persons ; and that the \nsame information shall be given secretly to the justices : and the same \njustices shall call such accused persons before them, and examin\xc2\xae \n\n\n\n324 H I S T O R Y O F \n\nthem, without declaring hy whom they were accused. And that the \nsame justices shall, upon their examination punish the offenders, ac- \ncording^, as their offences shall appear, upon the accusement \nand examination, by their discretion, either by open punishment or by \ngood abeariiig.\' \n\nIn some respects this tyrannical edict even exceeded the oppression \nof the inquisition itself. They issued a proclamation against books of \nheresy, treason and sedition ; and declared, * That whosoever had \nany of these books, and did not presently burn them, without reading \nthem or showing them to any other person, should be esteemed rebels, \nand without any further delay, be executed by martial law. \n\nThe establishment of the Inquisition in Portugal, was attended by \nmany curious circumstances, although the subject has been involved \nin unnecessary doubt. The first bloody harvest was over in Spain \nbefore the reapers descended into the fields of Portugal ; for this coun- \ntry had successfully resisted all the attempts of the popes to introduce \nit, A swindler is said to have effected at last what the court of Rome \nhad ceased to attempt. This man\'s name was Juan de Saavedra, \nHaving long lived by his wits, and being especially dextrous in forging \npublic grants, he conceived that it would be a good speculation to act \nas inquisitor in Portugal ; and accordingly he made a journey into \nthat country for the purpose of reconnoitering it, and learning in what \nmanner it would be expedient to proceed. Returning toward Anda- \nlusia, he met with a member of a newly established order coming from \nRome with certain bulls, relating to its establishment : he had not \nbeen named himself to any place of honor or trust in these bulls, and \nthis had soured him. Saavedra offered to forge new ones for him, and \ninsert his name in the manner he desired, which was done according- \nly, and the forger retained the originals for his own purpose. Having \nnow a prototype before him, he drew up such a bull as he wanted, \nand affixed to it the genuine seals. This was done at Tavira in AI- \ngarve. \n\nHis next measure was to return to Ayamonte, where there was a \nprovincial of the Franciscans, who had lately arrived from Rome. \nSaavedra made his appearance in the character of a simple man, say- \ning, that six well dressed men, travelling post, had dropped these \nparchments upon the road, which he had found shortly afterwards; \nand knowing that the provincial understood such things, he had \nbrought them to him, meaning, if they were of any consequence, to \nloose no time in following the persons to whom they must have be- \n\n\n\nT H E IN Q U I S I T I O N . 325 \n\niong-ed. The Franciscan examined the parchment, and was delighted \nto find that it was a bull for the establishment of the holy office. He \ncharged Saavedra, therefore, to lose no time in overtaking the cardinal \nand his party. \n\nThe impostor had two reasons for proceeding in this manner : he \nwished to satisfy himself that the forgery was well executed, and also \nto spread abroad the tidings, which would facilitate his operations. \nThe next business was, by means of his accomplices, one of whom \nacted as his secretary, to establish a household at Seville. They en- \ngaged above sixscore domestics, and the chapel was fitted up for the \ncardinal\'s reception. At a fit time they gave out that they were going \nto Badajoz, to wait for their master there : accordingly all the baggage \nwas packed up, and they departed ; but when they had proceeded, \nSaavedra met them ; they received him with the greatest expressions \nof joy and surprise, and returned to Seville, where he made his en- \ntrance amid the rejoicings of the whole people. Here he was lodged \nin the archbishop\'s palace, and remained twenty days, during which \nhe produced a bond for thirteen thousand ducats due to him from the \nMarquis of Tarija, for money lent at Rome : the date was accurate^ \nthe signature well executed, and he found no difficulty in obtaining \nthem. Having done this, he moved on to Badajoz, and from thence \ndespatched his secretary to the king of Portugal with letters from the \npope and the emperor. The king was astonished, and expressed dis- \npleasure by the manner of his silence : the secretary was alarmed, and \nhastily returning to Saavedra, entreated him to be content with what \nthey had already gained, and to think only of enjoying it in security. \n\nThe dauntless swindler, however, persisted in his project, sent his \naccomplice back to Lisbon, and directed him not to leave the palace \ntill he had received an answer from the king : he told him also not to \nfail to observe that the cardinal was a young man, and would immedi- \nately return to Rome with the answer, be it what it might. Joam, \nconfounded, and perhaps intimidated, required twenty days to delib- \nerate, which Saavedra readily granted, because it was not possible to \ncommunicate with Rome in that time. At the end of those days the \nking sent to conduct the mock cardinal into Portugal. Counsellors \nof course would not be wanting to recommend obedience, and Joam \nwas too timid to risk any thing like a direct opposition to the com- \nmands of the pope. The impostor was lodged three months in the \npalace, established the holy office, and spent three months more in \ntravelling about the country, exercising his inquisitorial power \n\n\n\n326 HISTORYOF \n\nwherever he went, and amasshig money to a degree which seems to \nhave besotted him. \n\nThe trick, however, was discovered in Spain, and the marquis of \nBarca Rota having made a priest at Moura invite the mock cardinal to \na feast, seized him, and sent him prisoner to Madrid. Cardinal Tavi- \nra, who was at that time grand inquisitor and governor of Castile dur- \ning the emperor\'s absence, examined him, and sent an account of the \nwhole proceedings to Rome. Saavedra had speculated well, and the \nvery magnitude of the imposture contributed to save him. He had \ndone that for the Romish church which the pope himself had been un- \nable to effect; and the holy father, concluding that it must be the \nespecial will of heaven to bring about so good a work by such extra- \nordinary means, recommended a merciful sentence^ and hinted that \nhe should like to see the man who had acted so remarkable a part. \nThe royal council demanded setence of death ; but the cardinal fa- \nvored him ; the inquisitor oi Llerena was appointed judge : 300,000 \nducats, which he had extorted from those whom he had seized and \ncondemned, or reconciled to the church, were taken from him, and \nhe escaped with condemnation to the galleys for ten years. Light as \nthis sentence was, it was not carried into effect. Charles V. admiring \nthe audacity of the man, was curious to see him ; and having heard \nhis defence, admitted that so good an end might be pleaded in justifi- \ncation of the means, and rewarded him with a pension. \n\nIf the reader of this strange account of the establishment of the in- \nquisition in the kingdom of Portugal has any doubt upon his mind, \nhe has only to turn to the history of the whole transaction as given by \nLlorente, frorfi the most authentic documents. The statement which \nthis remarkable impostor himself made, contains several misrepresent- \nations ; but the facts themselves are beyond all controversy. The af- \nfair of the false nuncio is familiar to the world, in histories, romances, \nand dramatic pieces. It should be observed, however, that Llorente \ngoes no further than to prove that Saavedra, finding the inquisition \nestablished in Portugal in a manner contrary to his notions, went to \nwork to put it on a different footing, and actually succeeded in chang- \ning it into the form it had in Spain, which was his model. \n\nIn a former chapter an account of the persecutions of the Jews, \nand of their expulsion by the inquisition from Spain, was given. A \ngreat number of this injured people applied to Joam 11. king of Por- \ntugal offering him a large sum for permission to enter his kingdom and \nembark for Africa. Some of the Portuguese counsellors advised the \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 32\'?\' \n\nking to refuse them a passage ; urging, that if they were driven to \ndespair, they would submit to be baptised ; which, however little it \nmight profit the stubborn natures of the old, would prove effectual for \ntheir children. Joam, however, wanted money, and wanted the Jews \nalso, of whom he expected to make use in his African conquests and \ncolonies. He therefore admitted them, upon paying a toll of eight \ncruzados a head, babes at the breast only were exempted ; armorers \nand artificers in brass or iron were to enter at half price, if they chose \nto remain in Portugal. The places by which they were to enter were \nspecified, and toll gatherers stationed to admit them. These persecu- \nted v/retches brought the plague with them ; great numbers died by \nthe road side and in the waste country, for lack of all human charity. \nThe calamities which they subsequently endured in this country and \nin Africa rendered them desperate, and many of them consented to \nbaptism, and returned to Spain, fancying that now they had made the \n. sacrifice, they should be . secure. Little did they foresee the curse \nwhich they thus brought upon themselves and entailed upon their pos- \nterity. The miseries of the New Christians, as they were styled, \nwere greater than those to which either the Jews or the Moors had \nbeen subjected. \n\nThe troubles which the Jews had to encounter after their re-settle- \nment in Portugal and Spain, forced them to adopt every possible- \nmeans of mitigating the fury of their persecutors ; but the greatest ef-. \nfort of the New Christians to obtain relief was in the time of Pedra \nII. They petitioned for an act of oblivion for the past, and required; \nthat the inquisition should act upon the principles of that of Rome. If\' \nthis were granted, they promised that they would, within one year, \nland five thousand troops in India, and contribute twenty thousand cru- \nzados annually towards the military expenses of that remote region ; \nthat they would defray the cost of all the missions and schools, and of \nsending out all the governors and viceroys. That they would con- \ntribute to the support of a minister at Rome, grant large subsidies in \nwar, and form an East India Company, with a large capital, all the \nduties of which should go to the crown ; and that they would do other \nthings of great import to the general weal. But all their exertions \nproved unavailing in procuring any radical and permanent ameliora- \ntion of their condition. \n\nThe New Christians were rich, because the same causes which \nhave always made the Jews flourish wherever they have been left in \npeace, held good with respect to these compulsory converts. Wheii- \n\n\n\nS2g HISTORYOF \n\never a victim was seized, his property was also seized. One witness \nfor any charge, even though he wore a fellow sufferer in the inquisi- \ntion, which was usually the case, was sufficient. The charges were \ngenerally, refusing to eat pork, or hare, or hsh without scales, or put- \nting on a clean shirt on Saturdays, and others of a similar nature; be- \ning always such as it was next to impossible to disprove. Those who \npersisted to the last that they were innocent of Judaism, that they were \nCatholics, and would die in the Catholic faith, were sentenced as con- \nvicted and negative; and this difference was made between them and \nthe real Jewish martyr, that they were strangled at the stake, while \nthe latter were burnt ahve. But by far the greater number of per- \nsons whom the inquisition has put to death as Jews, have died pro- \ntesting themselves Christians, and invoking the name of Jesus with \ntheir expiring breath. At the time these executions were in frequent \nuse, foreign Jews w^ere suffered to frequent Portugal on business, on \ncondition of wearing a distinguishing dress, and being always attended \nby a familiar of the inquisition. \n\nBy the practice of this accursed tribunal, the accused was neither in- \nformed of the precise fact with which he was charged, nor the names \nof his accusers. In most cases it happened that hope and fear, and \nhuman weakness, made him admit that he was guilty \xe2\x80\x94 the great ab- \nject of the inquisition being to obtain this confession, because confisca.. \ntion followed ; and the fairest promises were never spared to bring \nabout this end. But hi;re the unhappy man found himself caught in \na web of iniquity. He must now confess of v/hat he is guillty, and \nwho were the persons whom he suspected of having borne witness \nagainst him. If he failed in this, he suffered as a DiminutOj that is, \nfor not having confessed in full ; and went to execution with the mis- \nerable reflection of having involved all whom he named in the same \ncalamities with himself; for these poor wretches would ransack their \nmemories to save themselves, by the vicarious sacrifice which this \ndevilish tribunal required ; run through the whole of their kin to the \nremotest branches, and put down the bosom friends and most distant \nacquaintances in the fatal list. One instance is upon record, of a man \nwho accused in this manner his own daughter, w^hom at the age of \nfive he had put into a nunnery ; and from her nunnery, in conse- \nquence, she was dragged to the inquisition. A woman who suffered \nas a Dirninuta had accused above six hundred persons, yet failing to \nguess her own accusers, was led out to execution. On the way, her \ndaughter, who appeared in the same auto da fe, called to her aloud to \n\n\n\nTHK INQUISITION. 329 \n\nre mind her of some relations, hoping to enable her to save her life. \n**\' Child," she replied, " I have left no one iinmentioned either in Cas- \ntile or Portugal." They both died protesting- their innocence, and \ndeclaring they confessed themselves guilty, and accused others, in the \nhope of saving their lives. \n\nBut the cases of startling cruelty and injustice which might be cited \nsre inexhaustible. What were the consequences 1 An emigration, \nslow, silent, and continual, followed, unlike that of the Moors from \nSpain,\'\'and the Huguenots from France, but even more pernicious and \nbaleful. Those New Christians who could leave the country, left it ; \nthey whom circumstances rooted, as it were, to the soil, sent their \nproperty abroad, that it might at least be out of the reach of the in- \nquisition. The emigrants carried with them a natural hatred of the \ncountry ; they submitted plans of conquest for the Dutch ; furnished \ninformation and money, and enabled the Dutch to wrest from the \nPortuguese their dominions in the east, and their best possessions in \nAfrica. Long years of a wiser system and a prosperous comnnerce \nhad not obliterated the visible marks of ruin and depopulation, and the \ngovernment must have become bankrupt had not treasures unexpect- \nedly flowed in Irom the mines of Brazil. Before that resource failed, \nthe marquis of Pombal had abolished the distinction between Old and \nNew Christians. He rescued the New Christians, and there were no \nheretics in the peninsula for the same reason there are no Christians \nin Japan \xe2\x80\x94 they had been exterminated ! \n\n42 \n\n\n\nCHAPTERIII. \n\nInquisition in Spain. \xe2\x80\x94 Reign of Philip 11. \xe2\x80\x94 Auto da Fe in Valladolid \nSemion of the Bishop of Z amor a. \xe2\x80\x94 Auio at Seville. \xe2\x80\x94 Victims of thi, \nauto. \xe2\x80\x94 Licentiousness of the Confessors. \xe2\x80\x94 Trial of a Capuchin. \xe2\x80\x94 \nTrivial punishment. \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisition abolished by Bonaparte. \xe2\x80\x94 Restored. \n\nIt was under Philip II. says Llorente, that the Spanish inquisition \ncommitted the greatest cruelties ; and the reign of this prince is the \nmost remarkable period in the history of the holy office. He was \nborn in 1 527. Nursed in the lap of bigotry, he had imbibed in his cra- \ndle those principles of intolerance which distinguished the Romish \necclesiastics who surrounded him. The inquisition was cherished by \nthis fanatic, and, in his hands, it became a firebrand that wrapped his \ndominions in the flames of religious persecution. In Castile and Ar- \nragon, at this period, there were no less than eighteen different inquis- \nitorial courts, whose counsellors were called apostolical. There were \nalso numberless officials belonging to the holy office, and about twen- \nty thousand familiars dispersed through the kingdom, who acted \nthe odious parts of spies and informers, and through whose activity \nand vigilance the dungeons were always crowded, and the fires kin- \ndled. The dreadful influence of the inquisition pervaded every limb \nof the realm, like a poison which was consuming its vitals. Grievous- \nly was Spain tormented with this evil spirit ; and she continued, dur- \ning Philip\'s reign, to writhe under the agonies of demoniac posses- \nsion. \n\nThis institution, says Watson, was no doubt well calculated to pro- \nduce an uniformity of religious profession ; but it had a tendency, \nlikewise, to destroy the sweets of social life, to banish all freedom of \nthought and speech, to disturb mien\'s minds with the most disquieting \napprehensions, and to produce the most intolerable slavery, by redu- \ncing persons of all ranks of hfe to a state of abject\'dependence upon \npriests, v.hose integrit}^, were it even greater than that of other men, \nas in every false religion it is less, must have been corrupted by the un- \ncontrollable authority which they were allowed to exercise. \n\nBy this tribunal a visible change was wrought in the temper of the \npeople, and reserve, and distrust, jealousy became the distinguish- \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N . 831 \n\ning character of a Spaniard. It perpetuated and confirmed the reign \nof ignorance and superstition. It inflamed the rage of bigotry; and \nthe cruel spectacles to which, in the execution of its decrees, it famil- \niarized the people, nourished in them that ferocious spirit which, in the \nNetherlands and America, they manifested by deeds that have fixed \nan everlasting re[}roach upon the Spanish name. \n\nThe emperor Charles V. in his will had charged his successor, in \nthe name of God, and out of the great affection he bore him, to honor \nand sustain the office of the holy inquisition. Philip obeyed the in- \njunction too well; for, instead of protecting his people against the in- \nquisition, and profiting by the dissensions of the court of Rome, to \nthrow off the yoke of the popes, he wished to extend the authority of \nthe Holy Office, and to make those of his subjects who were out of \nthe kingdom of Spain, and who had always made the most vigorous \nresistance to the establishment of this tribunal, maintain its yoke. \n\nPhilip was no sooner on his throne, than he enacted many ordinan- \nces conformably to his religious opinions, and to the system adopted \nby the inquisitor general Yaldez. The first of these was encourage- \nment to informers, by promising them a fourth of the goods of the ac- \ncused if he were condemned ; the second which is dated September \n7th, 1558, decreed the pain of death against the sellers or buyers or \neven readers of prohibited books, the catalogue of which was consid- \nerably augmented every year. It will easily be imagined what the \nresults of these cruel decrees were with a corrupt people, who regar- \nded the auto de fe as a diversion, who believed they were performing a \nmeritorious action before God, in denouncing men whose minds were \nseeking to be enlightened, and who employed with impunity the ba- \nsest means to obtain the condemnation of those of the accused whose \nriches they coveted. The severity evercised against heretics con- \nstantly increased. Pope Paul IV. authorized Valdez the inquisitor \ngeneral, to deliver to the secular arm all Lutherans not relapsed who \nshould be convicted of having preached. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 A second bull of the pope revoked all the permissions granted for \nreading prohibited books, and charged the inquisitor general to pursue \npersons who should use them, or have them in their houses. It \ndirected confessors to make their penitents declare if they knew any \nperson who had them for use, or who had read them or contributed \nto spread them. They were also to impose upon them the obliga- \ntion of giving notice to the Holy Office of all that they knew with \nrespect to this subject, under pain of the great excommunication, re \n\n\n\nS32 KISTORT OF \n\nserved by his Holiness and the inquisitor general of Spain. The con-\' \nfessors who should omit to fulfil the duty imposed upon them, were to \nbe punished as guilty, even in the case when one of their penitents \nwho should have been absolved of this crime should be bishop, arch- \nbishop, patriarch or cardinal- This new measure necessarily made \nnumerous accusations, and caused a great number of persons to be \narrested and put to tria], and multiplied the autos defe. \n\nIn 1559, an auto defe had been solemnised at the city of Vallado- \nlid, in which a large number of inhabitants had been committed to the \nflames. On his arrival at that place from the Netherlands,- Philip was \nchagrinned and mortified at his disappointment in not witnessing a \nsight in which his cruel heart would have taken such delight. He \ntherefore signified to the inquisition his wish, that all who could be \ngot together, and were left from the auto which had been celebrated, \nshould be burnt for his gratification. The dreadful ceremony, says \nWatson, more repugnant to humanity ss well as to the spirit of the \nChristian religion, than the most abominable sacrifices recorded in the \nannals of the pagan world, was Conducted with the greatest solemni- \nty which the inquisition could devise ; and the monarch, attended by \nhis son Don Carlos, by his sister^ and by his courtiers and guards, \nsat within sight of the unhappy victims. The bishop of Zamora then \npreached a sermon, of which the following is an extract, \'And thou, \noh most holy tribunal of the faith 1 for boundless ages mayest thou be \npreserved, so as to keep us firm and pure in the same laith, and pro- \nmote the punishment of the enemies of God. Of thee can I say what \nthe Holy Spirit said of the church \xe2\x80\x94 \'Thou art fair, my love, as the \ntents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon !\' But what parallels, sim- \niles, or comparisons are these? What praise, or what heightened con- \ntrast can that be which compares a delecate beauty to the tents of \nKeder, and the spotted skins of Solomon 1 St. Jerome discovered \nthe mystery, and says, that the people of Keder being fond of the \nchase, therein took great delight ; and for this purpose had always \ntheir tents pitched in the field, on which, in order to prove the valor \nof their arms, they spread the skins of the animals killed in chase, \nand hung up the heads of the wild beasts they had slain. This was \nthe greatest beauty of their tents ; to this the \' Holy Spirit compares \nthe beauty of the church ; and this is also to-day the glory of the \nholy tribunal of the faith. To have killed these horrid wild beasts f \nand enemies of God whom we now behold on this theatre, some by \ntaking life from their errors, reconciling them to our holy faith, and \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. SU \n\ninspiring them with contrition for their faults ; others by condeming \nthem, through their obduracy, to the flames, where losing their cor- \nporeal lives, their obstinate souls will immediately burn in hell. By \nthis means God will be avenged of his greatest enemies, dread will \nfollow these examples, and the holy tribunal will remain triumphant,\' \n&c. &c. \n\nThe sermon being concluded, the emperor rose from his seat, and \nhaving drawn his sword as a signal that he would defend the holy \nfaith, he took an oath administered to him by the inquisitor generaly \nto support the inquisition and its ministers against all heretics and \napostateSj and to compel his subjects every where to yield obedience \nto its decrees. \n\nAmong the protestants condemned, there was a nobleman of the \nname of Don Carlos de Seso, who, when the executioners were con- \nducting him to the stake, called out to the king for mercy, saying, \n\'And canst thou, oh king, witness the torments of thy subjects 1 \nSave us from this cruel death : we do not deserve it.\' \xe2\x80\x94 \'No,\' Philip \nsternly answered. \'I would myself carry wood to burn my own son, \nwere he such a wretch as thou.\' After which, he beheld the horrid \nspectacle that followed, with a composure and tranquility that beto- \nkened the most unfeeling heart. \n\nIn the following year, 1560, an auto was celebrated at Seville, ex- \npressly for Philip. One of the most illustrious martyrs was Don Ju- \nan Ponce de Leon. Montano, says a sensible author who had been \nhis bosom friend, and performed the mournful task of recording his \nmartyrdom, relates that it was Ponce de Leon\'s custom to walk back- \nward and forward upon the place of execution, contemplating it as \nthe theatre upon which so many of his brethren had consummated \ntheir sacrifice, and wheie he must one day expect, in like manner, to \nbear witness to the truth. History presents few finer pictures of the \neffect which certain danger produces upon a mind resolved. \n\nLlorente has given an account of the chief victims of this auto. \nFrom his work a few cases of deep interest will be selected. Dr. Au- \ngustine Cazalla, was a priest and monk of Salamanca, and chaplain \nand preacher of the emperor. He was accused of professing the Lu- \ntheran heresy, of having preached loudly in the Lutheran conventicle \nat Valladohd, and of having kept up a correspondence with that of \nSeville. Cazalla denied all the charges which were brought against \nhim, in declarations which he confirmed by his oath, and in others \nwhich he made when the publication of proofs took place. They de\xc2\xbb \n\n\n\n334 HISTORYOF \n\ncreed the question: the monk of Salamanca was conducted to the \nprison, where he was to undergo it, but they had no need of adopt- \ning this measure ; the accused having promised to make confession. \nHe gave it in writing, and ratified it by avowing that he was a Lu- \ntheran but not a Lutheran preacher, as they had charged him, since \nhe had not taught this doctrine to any one. He avowed the motives \nwhich had prevented him from making this declaration, and promised \nto be in the future a good Catholic, if they would grant him recon- \nciliation ; but the inquisitors judged that they cculd not grant pardon \nfor such a capital crime, because the witness testified that he had \npreached. The accused however continued to give all possi- \nble signs of conversion, until the moment of execution. His repen- \ntance procured for him the favor of being strangled before his body \nwas dehvered to the flames ! \n\nFrancis Cazalla, brother of Augustine, Curate of Flormigos, deni- \ned at first the charges which ^vere brought against him ; but avowed \nall when put to the question ratified his declarations and demand- \ned to be admitted to reconciliation. This favor was refused him, and \nhe was condemned to be delivered to the secular arm, although he \nwas neither relapsed nor a preacher ; but because they chose to con- \nsider his repentance occasioned by the fear of death. Indeed, when \nhe was on the scaffold, observing his brother so penitent and so zeal- \nous for the CathoUc faith, he mocked his exhortations and made a \ncontemptuous jest of it, calling him a coward, and expiring in the \nmidst of the flames very tranquil, without giving any signs of grief or \nrepentance. \n\nA licentiate, Antonio Herrezulo, advocate of the city of Toro, con- \ndemed as a Lutheran, died in the flames, w^ithout showing any signs \nof repentence. When they threatened him with punishment, Doctor \nCazalla addressed to him in particular some exhortations, and redoub- \nled his efforts at the foot of the scaffold but this was useless. Anto- \nnio mocked his discourse, although he was then fastened to the stake, \nin the midst of wood already burning. One of the archers who stood \naround the funeral pile, furious at seeing so much courage, plunged \nhis lance into the body of Herrezulo, and the blood flowed from the \nwound till it was staunched by the fire. He died without uttering a \nw^ord. \n\nDonna Jane Bohorques, a lady of high rank, (whose sister had per- \nished in a former auto, having previously declared in prison that Don- \nna Jane had been familiar with her doctrines and had not opposed \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N . 335 \n\nthem,) was taken to the secret prisons, at the time far advanced in \nher pregnancy. She was delivered in her prison, her child was taken \nfrom her at the end of eight days, in defiance of the most sacred rights \nof nature, and she was imprisoned in one of the common dungeons of \nthe holy office. It fortunately happened, that she had as a compan- \nion in her cell a young girl who was afterwards burnt as a Lutheran, \nand who, pitying her situation, treated her with the utmoss tenderness \nduring her convalescence. She soon required the same care. She \nwas tortured, and all her limbs were bruised and almost dislocated, \nJane Bohorques attended her in this dreadful state. Jane Bohorques \nwas not yet quite recovered when she was tortured in the same man- \nner. The cords with which her still feeble limbs were bound, pene- \ntrated to the bone, and several blood-vessels breaking in her body, \ntorrents of blood flowed from her mouth. She was taken back to \nher dungeon in a dying state, and expired a few days after. The in- \nquisitors thought they expiated this cruel murder by declaring Jane \nBohorques innocent in the auto da fe of this day. Under what an \noverwhelming responsibility, exclaims Llorente, will these monsters \nappear before the tribunal of the Almighty ! \n\nWhilst Philip II. sought, in the homicidal light of the autos de fe \nwhich illumined all Spain, a compensation for the check which the \nInquisition had received at Milan, in Flanders and in Portugal, the \nHoly Office found itself under the necessity of taking prompt and se-. \nvere measures against a great number of Roman Catholic priests, who \nabused their office of confessors to seduce and debauch their peni- \ntents. This scandal had become so great, that the pope addressed a \nbrief to the Inquisitors of Spain, in which he decreed the pursuit of \nall priests and monks whom the public voice accused. \n\nAs it was dangerous at this moment to permit this sort of affairs^, \nbecause the Lutherans v/ould not have failed to draw terrible argu- \nments from it against auricular confession, the Holy Office treated the \nsubject with the greatest circumspection, and the easiest way was not \nto give publicity to the proceeding, as the greatest part of these crimes \nwere committed in the silence of the convents and other rellofious re- \ntreats. The annals of the Inquisition offer on this subject the trial in- \nstituted against a Capuchin, the principal circum.stances of which are \nhere related : \n\nThis Capuchin was the confessor of all the women in a communi- \nty of the city of Carthagena, to the number of seventeen. He had \ninspired them with so great confidence, that they regarded him as a \n\n\n\nS36 HISTORYOF \n\nsaint, and as the oracle of heaven. When this devout personage saw \nthat his reputation was sufficiently established he took advantage of \nhis frequent interviews at confession, to instil his doctrine into the \nminds of the young nuns. The following is the discourse which he \nheld with each one of them : \n\n\'Our Lord Jesus Christ has had the goodness to permit me to see \n3iim in the consecrated host at the moment of elevation, and said to \nme-: Almost all the souls which thou directest in this nunnery are \nagreeable to me, because they have a true love for virtue, and are \nendeavoring to march forward to perfection, but above all (here the \ndirector named the one to whom he spoke) her soul is so perfect, that \nshe has already conquered all her terrestial affections, with the excep^ \ntion of one only \xe2\x80\x94 sensuality, which torments her very much, because \nthe enemy of the flesh is very powerful over her, in consequence \nof her youth, her strength and her natural graces, wliich powerfully \nexcite to pleasure ; and it is for this, in order to recompence her vir- \ntue, and that she may be perfectly united to me in love, and may serve \nme with a tranquility which she does not at present enjo}^, and which \nshe merits by her virtues, I charge thee to grant her in my name the \ndispensation of which she stands in need, for her repose, by saying to \nher, that she may gratify her passion, provided that it will be express- \nly with thee ; and in order to shun all scandal, that she keep on this \npoint the most rigorous secresy with all the world, without speaking \nto any one, not even to another confessor; because she shall not sin af- \nter the dispensation which 1 have granted to her on this condition; for \nthe holy end of causing all iniquietudes to cease, and that she may \npake cons-tantly new progress in the ways of life.\' \n\nOne of these women^ twenty-five years old, having fallen danger* \nously ill, demanded another confessor, and after having made an en- \ntire disclosure of what had passed, she promised to declare all to the \nHoly Office, for fear as she strongly suspected, that the same thing had \nhappened to other women of the same community. Having after-* \nwards recovered her health, she went to avow all to the Inquisition, \nand related, that for three years she had had criminal intercourse with \nher confessor ; that she could never believe in her heart and con- \nscience that the revelation was true but that she had affected to give \nfaith to it, in order that she might without shame indulge her desires. \n\nThe Inquisition ascertained that this intercourse had taken place \nwith twelve other nuns of the same community. The remaining foui \nwere very old or very ugly. \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U 1 S I T I O N. 387 \n\nAH the nuns were immediately dispersed into different conventSj \nbut it was feared ttiat it would be committing\' an imprudence to arrest \nthe confessor, and drag him away into the secret prisons, because the \npeople v/ould not fail to believe that this step was connected with that \nof these devotees, (destined from thence to become nuns in spite of \nthemselves,) without the Inquisition appearing to interfere. \n\nThe council of the Supreme were written to, and permission was \nobtained to send the prisoner to Madrid. Three audiences of admo- \nnition were granted to him : he answered that his conscience reproach- \ned him with no crime as far as it respected the inquisition, and that \nhe was extremely* surprised to see himself their prisoner. \n\nThey made him perceive that it v/as incredible that Jesus Christ \nhad appeared to him in the host, to dispense with one of the negative \nprecepts of the decalogue, which was binding forever. He replied \nthat it was also the same with the fifth, and that God had notwith- \nstanding dispensed with it to Abraham when an angel had command- \ned him to take away the life of his son, and that it might also be said \nof the seventh, since he had permitted the Hebrews to steal the goods \nof the Egyptians. They observed to him, that in these tv\\^o cases he \nused mysteiies favorable to religion ; nnd he replied, that in what bad \npassed between him and his penitents, God had the same design, that \nis, of tranquilizing thirteen virtuous souls, and conducting them to a \nperfect union with his divine essence. One of the interrogaters hav- \ning objected to him that it was very singular that so great virtue should \nbe found in thirteen young and handsome women, and not in the \nthree who were old, and the ugly one. He answered, without being \ndisconcerted, by quoting this passage of scripture : the spirit hloweth \nwhere it listeth. \n\nThere remained to the monk only one more audience before his \ncondemnation ; and at first he persisted in his declarations. Howev- \ner as he expected nothing less than being burned alive, he solicited a \nnew interview with the inquisitors, and declared first that he was guil- \nty of being blinded with respect to the certain appearance of Jesus \nChrist in the Eucharist, which was only an illusion ; but perceiving \nthat the inquisitors were not duped, and that they were disposed to \nsave him by relaxation if he confessed his hypocrisy and his crimes, \nhe avowed all, and submitted to the penance which they imposed on \nhim; \n\nThe inquisitors however gave this affair a favorable turn for the a-c- \ncused, and the Capuchin, who had incurred the pain of death as sac- \n43 \n\n\n\n/ \n\n\n\niU HlSTORYOi^ \n\nreligious, luxurious, as a seducer, and a perjurer, was condemned only \nto make abjuration a levi, and to submit to an imprisonment of five \nyears in a convent of his order. He died at the end of three. \n\nSuch is an abridged history of the Capuchin of Carthagena. Ma- \nny others of the same nature m.ight be added, but it is believed that \nthis will be sufficient to give a just idea of the Spanish manners at the \ntime, when the Inquisition was at the apogee of its rigor and pov/er. \n\nPhilip II. died in 1589, and was succeeded by Philip III. during \nwhose reign persecution drove from Spain one million of Morescoes, \nall useful and industrious citizens, who went to Africa. It would oc- \ncupy too much timg and space to trace the enormities of this institu- \ntion under each successive king. The pusillanimous Charles II. who \nsucceeded in 1665, had implored the inquisition to indulge his barba- \nrous eyes with the spectacle of an auto da fe, and he supplied a fagot \nfor the pile on which his own subjects were to be consumed. The \nsticks of this fagot were gilt ; it v/as adorned by flowers, and tied up \nwith ribands, and it was, on the occasion, the first stick that was pla- \nced upon the pile. \n\nDuring the reign of Philip V. which commenced in 1700, and last- \ned forty six years, an annual auto da fe was celebrated in all the tribu- \nnals of the inquisition. Some held two, and even three had taken \nplace at Seville and Granada. Judaism, of which a partial ac- \ncount has already been given, was nearly extirpated. \n\nIn the reign af Ferdinand VI. literature revived in Spain, for which \nthe way was already paved, and with its revival the fury of this tribu- \nnal began to abate. Freemasonry, an object entirely new, was what \nnow occupied its attention. Charles\' III. ascended the throne in \n1759. There was a remarkable decrease in the number of autos. \nKnowledge made rapid strides, and the laws of the inquisition, though \nthey had not been altered, were administered upon milder principles. \n\nCharles IV. succeeded in 1788. The Jesuits were expelled, learn- \ning made considerable advancement, and the Inquisition continued to \ndecline till the year 1808, when Napoleon conquered Spain, and de- \ncreed the suppression of the inquisition. In 1813, the cortes gener- \nal of the kingdom adopted the measure, and declared the tribunal \nincompatible with the political constitution of the nation. Up-- \non the abdication of Charles, his son Ferdinand VII. was placed \nupon the throne ; but while he was disputing with his father on the \nsubject of the abdication, which Charles declared was compulsory, \nand therefore not binding, Napoleon settled the dispute by elevating \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I O N . 339 \n\nhis brother Joseph to the throne of Spain. "When Joseph was ac- \nknowledged king of Spain," says Llorente, who had been Secretary of \nthe inquisition, " the archives of the supreme council, and of the in- \nquisition of the court, were confided to me, in consequence of an or- \nder from his majesty. With his approbation I burnt all the criminal \nprocesses except those whicii belonged to history, from their impor- \ntance, or the rank of the accused." \n\nWhen Bonaparte, however, restored the crown of Spain to Ferdi- \nnand VII. one of the first measures of his administration was to an- \nnul the acts of the cortes, and to re-estabhsh the holy office in its full \npowers. This was in 1814. \n\ni It is difficult to know exactly the acts of the inquisition since its\'re- \nassumption of power; but the spirit of the tribunal may still be per- \nceived in its various official documents, amongst ^vhich the first is that \nwhich contains the instructions transmitted by the respective tribunals \nof European and American Spain to each of the confessors belonging \nto their several districts. This document was dated from Seville, in \n1815. The other document was issued from Madrid in the same \nyear, and contains a list of prohibited books, which includes almost \nevery book published in Spain during the revolution. In another \nedict from Madrid, which paved the way for one of which mention \nhas just been made, the inquisitors speak of themselves, and of their \nintentions, in language which cannot be listened to without contempt. \n"All," says the edict, " having unanimously agreed, that now as well \nas ever, moderation, sweetness, and charity ought to shine forth as \nforming the character of the holy office." \n\nNo auto da fe has been celebrated in Spain since the period spoken \nof. " I myself," says the reverend I. Blanco White, " saw the pile \non which the last victim was sacrificed to Roman infallibility. It was \nan unhappy woman whom the inquisition of Seville committed to the \nflames under the charge of heresy, in 1785. She perished on a spot \nwhere thousands have met the same fate. I lament from my heart \nthat the structure which supported their melting limbs was destroyed \nduring the late convulsions. It should have been preserved with the \ninfallible and Immutable canon of the council of Trent over it, for the \ndetestation of future ages." It may be proper here to remark, that \nMr. White now a minister of the gospel, was formerly a Catholic \npriest. In the account he gives of himself in his \'\' Practical and In- \nternal Evidences against Catholicism," he says, that " at times \nlight clouds of doubt passed over his mind as to his religion, which at \nUst became so overcast, that he was on the borders of atheism." \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nPortuguese Inquisition. \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisitor\'s palace. \xe2\x80\x94 Geddes"^ account. \xe2\x80\x94 Treat-, \nment of prisoners arraigned on the suspicion of heresy. \xe2\x80\x94 Deception \xe2\x96\xa0 \nand artifice of ths Inquisitors. \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisition at Goa. \xe2\x80\x94 Dellon\'s JSTar- \nrative.- \xe2\x80\x94 Tribunal abolished. \n\nThe inquisition of Portugal is exactly npon a similar plan to that of \nSpain, having- been instituted about the same time, and put under the \nsame regulations, and the proceedings nearly resemble each other. \nThe house, or rather palace, of the inquisition is a noble edifice. It \ncontains four courts, each about forty feet square, round which are \nabout three hundred dungeons: those on the ground floor are for the \nlowest ciass of prisoners, and those on the second floor are for persons \nof superior rank. The galleries are built of free stone, and hid from \nview both within and without by a double wall of fifty feet in height. \nSo extensive is the whole prison, and it contains so many turnings and \nwindings, that none but those well acquainted with it can find the way \nthrough its various avenues. The apartments of the chief inquisitor \nare spacious and elegant ; the entrance is through a large gate, which \nleads into a court yard, round which are several chambers, and some \nlarge saloons for the king, royal family, and the rest of the court to \nstand and observe the executions during an Auto da fe. \n\nDr. Geddes has given an interesting view of the inquisition in Por- \ntugal. Of this writer it has been said, that if he was prejudiced, it \nwas because, having the abomination of popery in its worst form be- \nfore his eyes, his hatred and horror at v/hat he hourly witnessed pre- \nvented him from seeing that any good could possibly co-exist with it. \nSome particulars relating to the proceedings of the holy office in Por- \ntugal will now be drawn and abridged from this interesting author. \n\nIn Portugal, as indeed in all other countries where this tribunal has \nbeen erected, the ofiice of familiars is deemed so honorable, that no- \nblemen and the most eminent persons feel it a distinction to be em- \nployed in this vile ofiice. \n\nAll persons, however infamous or perjured, are admitted by this in- \nquisition as witnesses, and the first question asked the prisoner by his \njudges is, whether he knows why he was arrested. If he answers in \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N. 341 \n\nthe negative, he is then asked whether he knows for what crimes the \ninquisition usually imprisons people. If he replies, "for heresy,\'* he \nis admonished to confess his own heresies, and to discover his teachers \nand accompHces. If he denies ever having held any heresies, or hold- \ning communication with heretics, he is gravely told the inquisition does \nnot imprison rashly, and that he would do well to confess his guilt, as \nthe holy office is merciful to those that confess. He is then remand- \ned to jail, heing previously advised to examine his conscience, that the \nnext time he is sent for, he may come prepared to make a full and \nfree confession. After the lapse of days, months, or years, as the case \nmay be, he is summoned again ; and if he persists in declaring that he \ncannot make the confession they require of him without accusing \nhimself and others falsely, they put a great number of questions to \nhim, and conclude by telling him they have sufficient proof of his be- \ning a heretic. He is sent back to his prison, charged to pray to God \nfor grace to dispose him to make a full confession to the saving of his \nsoul, which is all they seek for. Being now allowed a considerable \ntime to pray and consider, he is brought up a third time ; and if he \npersists in denial as before, he is asked a variety of questions, which \nterminate in their telling him that they have evidence enough to put \nhim to the torture of the rack, to make him confess. \n\nWhile the executioner is preparing that engine of unspeakable cru^ \nelty, and is taking off the prisoner\'s clothes, he exhorts him still to have \nmercy on his own soul and body, and confess. If he persists in re^ \nfusing to accuse himself and others falsely, the inquisitors order the ex- \necutioners to do their duty; upon which small cords are twisted around \nthe prisoner\'s arms, and he is jerked up in the air till his limbs are dis- \nlocated, v*7hen the torment becomes exquisite. The poor victim calls \nfor mercy, and often cries out that he must expire if they do not give \nhim some ease, which the inquisitors do not regard, as they say jail \npersons racked think themselves nearer death than they really are. \nIf this agony is endured without confession, which is rarely the case \neven with the most innocent, the poor wretch is carried to prison, \nwhere a surgeon sets his bones. In all other courts where torture \nwas employed, if the prisoner endured without confession, he was es- \nteemed innocent ; but in the inquisition it was diffi;rent : there indi_ \nviduals were racked a second, and even a third time, though few ever \nlive through the last inffiction. If the prisoner in his acute anguish \nmakes a confession, whether true or false, he is obliged to subscribe \nhis name to it, and thus the want of sufficient evidence is supplied hj \n\n\n\n342 HISTORY OF \n\nthis extortion. But it is a very hard matter for any person to escape \nbeing racked, since neither confessing nor denying exempts the vic- \ntims of the holy office. \n\nAll this time, it must be observed, they maintain the singular and \niniquitous custom of keeping the prisoners ignorant of the crimes of \nwhich they are accused, and of the persons by whom the accusation \nhas been made, so that it is scarce possible to make a defence, even \nif a defence would be of any avail. The prisoner is next furnished \nwith an advocate and proctor for his mock trial, v/ho, far from being \ninstruments of justice , are nothing but tools of the tribunal, more in- \nclined to ensnare the culprit than to render him any benefit. \n\nIf an individual commits suicide, or dies a natural death in the pris- \non of the inquisition, still they do not make their escape from the un- \ntiring and relentless holy office. In the first case it is esteemed a clear \nand undeniable evidence of guilt; and in the second case the trial goes \non as if the person were alive. But the power of this accursed bar \nextends further still ; for forty years after death an individual may be \njried and convicted of having died a heretic, and his property be con- \nfiscated ; and, as to the taking of persons out of their graves, burning \ntheir bones, depriving them of their good name, and rendering their \nmemories odious, there is no limit of time, such is their inextinguisha- \nble malice. \n\nThe next scene in this melancholy tragedy is the auto da fe. This \n"horrid and tremendous spectacle," as an inquisitorial author calls it, \nwhich will be described more fully hereafter, is always represented \non the Sabbath day. All the unhappy beings who figure in this ca- \ntastrophe, have something in their looks ghastly and disconsolate be- \nyond all immagination ; but in the eyes and countenances of those \nwho are to be burnt to death, there is an expression fierce, eager, and \nunnatural ! \n\nThe prisoners who are to be roasted alive, have a Jesuit on each \nside continually preaching to them to abjure their heresies, and if any \none attempts to offer one word in defence of the doctrines for which \nhe is going to suffer death, his mouth is instantly gagged. " This I \nsaw done to a prisoner," says Dr. Geddes, " presently after he came \nout of the gates of the inquisition, upon his having looked up to the \nsun, which he had not seen before for several years, and cried out in \na rapture, * How is it possible for people that behold that glorious \nbody to worship any being but him that created it.\' " \n\nWhen the procession arrives at the place where a large scaffolding \n\n\n\nT H I: I N Q U I S I t I O N. 343 \n\nhas been erected for their reception, prayers are offered up, strange \nto tell, at a throne of mercy, and a sermon preached, consisting of im- \npious praises of the inquisition, and bitter invectives against all here- \ntics ; after which a priest ascends a desk, and recites the final sen- \ntence. This is done in the following v/ords, wherein the reader will \nfind nothing but a shocking mixture of blasphemy, ferociousness and \nhypocrisy. \n\n" We, the inquisitors of heretical pravity, having, with the concur- \nrence of the most illustrious N lord archbishop of Lisbon, or his \n\ndeputy N -, calling on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and of \n\nhis glorious mother, the Virgin Mary, and sitting on our tribunal, and \njudging with the holy gospels lying before us, so that our judgment \nmay be in the sight of God, and our eyes may behold what is just in \nall matters, &c. &c. \n\n" We do therefore, by this our sentence put in writing, define pro- \nnounce, declare, and sentence thee, (the prisoner,) of the city of Lis- \nbon, to be a convicted, confessing, affirmative, and professed heretic ; \nand to be delivered and left by us as such to the secular arm ; and we, \nby this our sentence, do cast thee out of the ecclesiastical court as a \nconvicted, confessing, affirmative, and professed heretic ; and we do \nleave and deliver thee to the secular arm, and to the power of the sec- \nular court, but at the same time do most earnestly beseech that court so \nto moderate its sentence as not to touch thy blood, nor to put thy life in any \nsort of danger.^\'\' \n\nHistory cannot yield a parallel instance of such gross and palpable \nmockery both of God and man, as this request to the civil magistrates \nnot to put the prisoner to death. If the request came from the hearty \nwhy are the victims brought forth from prison, and delivered to those \nmagistrates in coats painted all over with flames ] Why does the in- \nquisition preach and teach that heretics ought to be burnt 1 And \nwhy, with all the power they possess, and which they make fall with \nsuch crushing force on all who really offend them, do they never find \nfault with the magistrates for burning those whom they beseech them \nnot to hurt \'I The fact is, there is an old ecclesiastical order which \nforbids the clergy from having any hand in the blood of any person, \nand by this miserable sophistry they profess to obey the letter of the \norder, while they glut their vengeance by infringing its spirit. \n\nIf the prisoner, on being asked, says that he will die in the Catholic \nfaith, he has the privilege of being strangled first, and then burnt ; but \nif ift the Protestant or any other faith different from the Catholic, he \n\n\n\n344 H I S T O R Y F \n\nmust be roasted alive ; and at parting with him, the ghostly comfort^ \ners, the Jesuits, tell him. " that they leave him to the devil, who is \nstanding at his elbow to receive his soul and carry it to the flames of \nhell, as soon as the spirit leaves his body." \n\nBut as a proof of the etfect which the inquisition has in hardening \nthe heart, and converting human beings into wolves and tigers, Dr. \nGeddes relates, that the people of Lisbon of both sexes, as indeed ev- \nerywhere else, regard these victims expiring slowly in the agonies of \nfire, and screaming continually for mercy in the name of God, with \ntransports of hellish joy, " Who," exclaims the author, " that reads \na description of such spectacles, than which out of hell itself there can \nbe nothing more lamentable, does not feel his heart expand with grat- \nitude to the Almighty for the mighty blessings and happiness we en. \njoy in our country, where the pure and merciful principles of the gos- \npel of Christ are understood and practised, and every human being is \npermitted to worship God under his own vine and fig-tree, and none \nto make him afraid." A congratulation in which every American \nreader can unite with all his heart." \n\nAs the discoveries and conquests of the Spaniards, as well as of the \nPortuguese extended, so did the crimson banner of the inquisition, not \nonly in the new world, but also in Inaia. Pyrard, an early traveler, \nhas given an account of the bloody deeds of this tribunal in Goa, where \nhe declares, nothing could be more cruel or more merciless than their \nconduct ; but to show the avaricious motives by which they were im- \npelled, he affirms that the moment prisoners are taken, all their goods \nare seized ; that ^ew are arrested who have not the misfortune to be \nrich, and that it was the rich alone whom they put to death. \n\nAs a still further illustration of the history of the Portuguese inqui- \nsition at Goa, the narrative of a young gentlemen of the name of Del- \nIon, a native of France, who went to the East Indies for the purpose \nof traveling, and who fell into the hands of the holy office of Goa, \none of the most important settlements of Portugal in the east, will \nnow be given. At the time his troubles commenced, Dellon was \nstaying at the town of Damaun, belonging also to the Portuguese, \nwith a view to rest and recruit himself after the fatigues of the various \njourneys and voyages he had made. The governor of the place had \nconceived a violent dislike to him growing out of a feeling of jealousy, \nand from this animosity, concealed under the mask of friendship \nsprung all his subsequent persecutions, although they were attributed \nto various other pretexts. One of these pretexts arose from a dispute \n\n\n\nT H E r N Q U 1 S I T 1 N. 345 \n\nhe had with ail individual of the order of St. Dominic, on the subject \nof baptism. Dellon quoted the passage in St. John-::-" Kxcept a man \nbe born of vv\'ater and of the spirit, he cannot see the kingdom of \nheavdii.\'^ T\'he priest, offended^ at the quotation which was intended \nto exclude one of the modes of baptism held by the Romish church, \nimmediately and secretly denounced him to the holy office. Another \npretext was, that on several occasions he had omitted to show that idol- \natrous veneration to the painted images of the Virgin Mary which \nwas required b}\' the church, and for impiously asserting that images \nought not to be " worshipped." Another alleged offense was, that on \nbeing told by one of his neighbors that he must put a cover or veil \nover the crucitix in his room whenever he wished to commit any sin, \nhe replied, it was impossible to conceal any thing from God, and that \n" the crucifix was in itself not^iing but a piece of ivory." This neigh- \nbor, knowing he would be punished if he neglected to accuse any per- \nson who spoke or acted contrary to any tenet of the church, felt it a \nduty to carry the information to this hateful court, which makes it a \nduty for friends to betray friends, parents their children, and children \ntheir parents. In a conversation afterwards in company, he express-, \ned an opinion that inquisitors were human, and subject to passions \nlike other judges. Upon being told that he ought not to dare to speak \nin such a manner \xe2\x80\x94 that " the tribunal was infallible because the Ho- \nly Ghost perpetually dictated its decisions," he entered with some. \nAvarmth, to show that it had been guilty of some undeniable instances \nof injustice. Every thing was laid before the inquisition, and ultimate-, \nly brought down the. wrath, of that tribunal upon the unfortunate \nyoung man, \\yhose only fault was indiscretion. \n\nDellon having been apprized that he was in danger, the dread of \nbeing dragged before the holy office by the malice of his cn\xc2\xa7mies imr, \npelled him to go in person, to the commissary, and ingenuously relate. \nall that had occurred, assuring him that he had no bad intention, and- \nthat he was willing to correct or retract any thing improper which h^. \nmight have advanced. Soon after this he was arrested, to his utter \nsurprise, and. conducted to the iriquisitorial prison of I)amau;i.. \n\nA description of the melancholy abode in which he found himself;\' \nwithout being conscious of having committed any crime, would be \nfrightful. It would also be superfluous, as. a general. picture ofinquis--\xe2\x80\x9e \ntorial prisons will be given in another.piacc. It is sufficient to say, \nthat an immense quantity of worms crawled over the floor, and upon, \nthe beds on \\\'/hteh the wretched prisoner.^ in vain sought the blessings. \n\xe2\x96\xa0 44 \xe2\x96\xa0 \n\n\n\nMG H I S T R Y O F \n\nof repose. The friends of Dellon constantly inculcatecl that the best \nand surest way of regaining libert}^, was to make a full confession. \nAccordingly, he wrote to the grand inquisitor at Goa a frank state- \nment of the whole matter, and besought him to believe, that if he had \nerred, it was rather Ironi levity and imprudence, than frora any ill in- \ntentions. To this letter he received no reply, but was left to languish \nin his noisome dungeon. \n\nAn order arrived, some months after to transfer the prisoners to \nGoa, and Dellon, with the rest, all loaded with heavy fetters, was put \non board, and after enduring many miseries on the voyage, they were \nat length immured in the prison of Goa. This was more foul and \nhorrible than any he had yet seen, and perhaps nothing could be more \nnauseous and appalling. It was a sort of cavern, where the day was \nwas but just distinguishable ; and where the subtlest sunbeam scarce \never penetrated. The stench was excessive ; but when night ap- \nproached he could not lie down, for fear of the swarms of vermin and \nfilth which abounded everywhere ; and he was constrained to recline \nagainst the wall. \n\nVery soon after he was summoned before the grand inquisitor of the \nIndies, Francisco Delgado e Matos, before whom he behaved in the \nsame frank manner as on the former occasions ; he besought his judge \n10 hear his whole story, and added tears to his entreaties ; but the judge \nwithout showing the least emotion, ordered him baek to his prison ; \ntelling him that there was no haste, and that he had other business \nmore important to attend to. An inventory of Dellon\'s property was \nthen made, which was all ridiculous, as nothing was ever restored. \n\nHe had several audiences with his cruel judges, in which, though \nhe manifested his penitence, he found no relief, or even hope of par- \ndon ; till at last he abandoned himself to grief. Driven to despair, in \na paroxysm of madness, he attempted to destroy his life, and made a \nvariety of trials to effect his purpose, for which he afterwards humbled \nhimself before Almighty God, and asked forgiveness. \n\nHe had been eighteen months in the inquisition, when he was call- \ned to a fourth audience, which differed from all the former, wherein \nhe had only been his own accuser ; but here informations were for- \nmally laid against him to the holy office, and his own confessions made \na part of the depositions. He assured the court that he had no in- \ntention to controvert the doctrines of the Catholic church on baptism; \nbut that the passage, "except a man be born of water and of the Spir- \nit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God," having struck him as \n\n\n\nT H E t N Q U I S I T I N . 347 \n\nvery particular, he liad demanded an explanation. The grand inquis- \nitor was entirely ignorant of this passage, and on being shown tlie \nvery words in the New Testament, he attempted no explanation, but \nabandoned the subject. Such ignorance was worthy of a man who \npresided over such a nefarious court 1 The result of this audience \nwas, that the prisoner\'s property was confiscated, and that he was \nhimself delivered over to the secular power, to be punished according \nto law ; that is, to be burnt ! \n\nNothing now remained but patiently to wait his fate, although he \nwas compelled to remain in dreadful suspense as to what his punish- \nment would be ultimately. Every effort was made to force him to \nconfess that he had spoken disrespectfully of the pope, and that his \nobject had been to support heresy ; but as these were false imputa- \ntions, the prisoner would not yield to their urgent and wicked zeal to \nforce him to confess a lie before God. In this state of uncertainty \nhe expected the approach of the first Sunday in Advent, thinking that \nthe Auto da fe, which would determine his fate, would then take place; \nbecause in the service of that\'day is read a portion of the gospel which \ndescribes the day of Judgment, and the inquisitors select the day on \nthat account. \n\nSeveral little events occurred which led him to believe that the mo- \nnjent of the awful ceremony was not far distant. It was impossible \nnot to feel some sentiment of pleasure at the idea of being raised from \nthe tomb in which he had been buried for yeais ; but the dreadful de- \nnunciation of the court filled him with anxiety and melancholy. Over- \ncome at last by vexation and deathly images, he dropped into a sleep, \nfrom which he was awakened by the noise of the guards drawing \nb9,ck the bolts of his cell. He was seized with such a trepidation \nthat it was a long time before he could summon resolution to put \non the garments which had been left by his visiters. \n\nIn the auto da fe which followed, Dellon marched in the ranks \nwith the other prisoners, with his head and feet bare, through the \nstreets of Goa, for more than an hour, the sharp flint stones which \ncovered the streets causing his feet to stream with blood \xe2\x80\x94 an object \nof pity to the immense crowd which had come fiom all parts of India \nto witness the ceremony. \n\nWhen they arrived at the church, a priest of the Augustine order \nascended the pulpit, and preached for a long time. Among other \nthings, he drew a comparison between the inquisition and Noah\'s ark, \nin which, however, he noted this distinction, that the creatures which \n\n\n\nentered the ark, left it on the cessation of the deluge with tlielr origin- \nal natures ; whereas the inquisition had this singular characteristic, \nthat those who come within its walls cruel as wolves and fierce as li- \nons, v/ent forth gentle as lamhs. \n\nThe sermon being finished, the different victims were called up sep- \narately to receive their respective sentences. The sentence of Dellon \nwas excommunication, forfeiture of all his goods to the king, banish- \nment from the Indies, and condemnation to serve in thegallies of Por- \ntugal for five years, v/itb such other penances as the inquisitors might \nthink proper to add. Besides all these, he was obliged to bind him^ \nself, by the most sacred oaths, to observe a profound and inviolable. \nsecrecy as to ever}" thing which had come to his knowledge during \nhis long detention, a practice universal in the inquisition to conceal \ntheir atrocities, and which they enforce with all the terrors of their \npower. \n\nIn pursuance of the sentence, he was conveyed in irons on board a \nvessel bound for Portugal, and after the fatigues and privations of the \nvoyage, he arrived at Lisbon about the close of the year 1670, where \nhe was immediately placed in the prison called the Galley, to which, \nas the Portuguese do not use galleys in their marine, those who are \nsentenced to them by the holy office are sent. He was chained by \nthe leg to a man who had escaped the night before from being burnt \nby making a confession. In this situation five long years more of suf- \nfering still remained ; but Dellon obtained the privilege of writing to \nhis relations in France, and acquainting them with his deplorable con- \ndition. Through the zeal of an individual high in the favor of the \nqueen of Portugal, the intercession of friends, and the application of \nmany persons of rank, he at length experienced the unspeakable de- \nlight of being set at liberty upon condition of his leaving the country at \nonce. It is unnecessary to say with how much eagerness he embra- \nced the conditions, happy to escape, and grateful to Heaven for hav- \ning preserved him through so many years of peril and suffering. For \nyears afterwards he was unwilling, from conscientious scruples, to re - \nveal what had happened to him ; till, at last being convinced in heart \nthat it was a duty which he owed both to God and man to discharge \nthe oath which had been extorted by dares?, he published hie interest- \ning narrative to\'the world. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER V . \n\nOfficers of the Inquisition \xe2\x80\x94 Their qualifications and poicers. \xe2\x80\x94 Exemption \nfrom the restraints of law. \xe2\x80\x94 Authority of the inquisition paramount to \nthat of the Government. \xe2\x80\x94 Hermandad and Cruciafa. \xe2\x80\x94 Pnsons of the \nInquisition. \xe2\x80\x94 Confiscation of the property of prisoners. \xe2\x80\x94 Manner of \nconducting examinations. \xe2\x80\x94 Iniquitous and barbarous treatment of in- \ndividuals under arrest. \n\nThe ministers or officers of the inquisition are numerous. The in- \nquisitors, who are called apostolical, are judges delegated by the pope, \nwho is the supreme judge of every thing touching the holy faith. The \nusual age at which one was capable of exercising this office was forty \nyears; but by a papal decree, a person of thirty might become apos- \ntolic inquisitor in Spain and Portugal. The\\^ are wholly the creatures \nof the pope ; so that, if any inquisitor should unjustly persecute any \none for heresy, there is no appeal or redress but from Rome, which \nis always difficult and often impossible. The most extravagant respect \nis shown to these officers, and even in cases where it has been found \nnecessary to punish an inquisitor, they take care not to lessen men\'s \nopinion of the dignity and authority of the holy office by his condemna- \ntion. \n\nTo entei into a minute account of all the subordinate officers and as? \nsistants belonging to the extensive and complicated institution, woul4 \nprove a labor as insipid to the reader as it would be incompatible with \nthe limits of this work. A description, therefore, will be omitte4 \nof the vicars, the assessors and counsellors, the promoters fiscal, the \nnotaries, the judges, and receivers of confiscated goods, the execu- \ntors, the officials, the familiars, the cross-bearers, the visiters, and vari- \nous others who are necessary to carry on the immense operations of \nthis gigantic system of ecclesiastical tyranny ; but it will be proper to \ndwell for a iew moments on the inquisitors themselves, the chief of all \nand who are, generally, like Milton\'s Satan, " by merit raised to that \nbad eminence." \n\nThe power of the inquisitors has already been fearfully great, it hav- \ning ever been the interest of the popes to shower privileges upon them \nwith a munificent hand, and to these immense " wages of sin" is to be \n\n\n\n350 HISTORYOF \n\nattributed their cheerful and unwearied zeal in the persecution of her- \netics. Thus, by a bull it is decreed, that no inquisitor shall be liable to \nthe penalty of excommunication except by the special command of \nthe apostolic see, to which tribunal alone Jthey were amenable. The \nconsequence of this immunity by restraint was, that the inquisitors sel- \ndom or never were punished ; for if they only had ingenuity enough \nto avoid infringing the temporal power of the popes, their crimes, how- \never flagitious, were regarded with an indulgent eye by the pontiff. \n\nAgain, when inquisitors wish to inflict punishment, and are appre- \nhensive that too much delay will be occasioned by sending to the in- \nquisitorial court, which has the proper authority, they are permitted to \nhave recourse to temporal courts of justice, and to require temporal \nlords to assist them, even though such lords may be under sentence of \nexcommunication at the time. No mattter how wicked and unjust \nsuch lord maybe, \xe2\x80\x94 No matter how incompetent he may have been \npronounced to perform any other duty of life, \xe2\x80\x94 still, if by command of \nan inquisitor, he did any thing against heretics, the act immediately be- \ncame valid. These, and a thousand other privileges and exemptions \nattached to inquisitors, of a nature at once iniquitous and tyrannical, \nnot to say unchristian, are usually said to be bestowed and allov/ed \n" in favor oi^ the faith," as if Christianit}^ stood in need of such nefa- \nrious measures for its support ; measures which of themselves are an \nample demonstration of the ungodly character of the cause. \n\nBut the inquisitors claimed and extended their power not only over \ntheir own fellow subjects, but also over those of foreign states resi- \nding within their dominions. It was of little consequence to the holv \noffice what treaties existed on the subject, expressly exempting for- \neigners from liability to the inquisition for matters of faith ; they al- \nways managed to evade such provisions, so that strangers were always \nat their mercy : nor could any safety be procured, except from the im- \nmediate frown of the government whose subject was so outraged, and \ngovernment backed too by sufficient power to make its interference \nrespected. Of this there was a remarkable case in the time of Oliver \nCromwell. \n\nThomas Maynard, who was the English consul at Lisbon, had been \nthrown into the prison of the inquisition, under pretence of having \nsaid or done something against the Romish faith. Cromwell was at \nonce advised of it, and immediately sent an express to the English \ncharge d\' affaires, who, upon receiving it, went forthwith to the king \nof Portugal, and in the name of Cromwell demanded the libertv of \n\n\n\nTHE IN QUISITIO N. 351 \n\nconsul JNIaynard. The kinj^ replied that it was not in his power ; that \nthe consul was in the hands of the inquisition, over which he had no \nsort of authority. As soon as Cromwell received this answer, he sent \nnew instructions to his minister, who demanded another audience, in \nwhich he told the king, that since his majesty had no power over the \ninquisition, he was commanded by Cromwell to declare war against \nthe inquisition. The monarch as well as the inquisitors, were greatly \nterrified at this unexpected energy, and immediately opened the gates \nof the prison ; but the consul, like father Ephraim refused to accept \na private dismission, and in order to repair the sullied honor of himself \nand the English people whom he represented, demanded to bebronght \nforth publicly by the inquisition. Such instances, however were ex- \nceedingly rare, and form a striking contrast with the general history \nand irresistable po^ver of this institution, before which the greatest mon- \narchs were made to bow with submission. \n\nIn Spain and Portugal the supreme council of the inquisition possess- \ned a more tyrannic sway over the inferior tribunals of those countries^ \nthan the pope, who was at the head of the holy office in Italy, did over \nthose of that country. The supreme council consisted of a grand in- \nquisitor (who was appointed by the king, although it is said the pope \nhad the power of a veto upon the appointment) and five members. \nThe inferior inquisitions, subordinate and dependent on the supreme \ncourt, were established at Grenada, Seville, Cordova, Toledo, Cuen- \nza, Valladolid, Mureia, Llerena, San Jago, Logrogno, Saragossa, Va- \nlencia, Barcelona, Majorica, Sardinia, Palermo, Mexico, Carthagena^, \nand Lima. Each of these had three inquisitorial judges. \n\nBesides the multitude of inferior officers, there were two classes \xe2\x82\xac>f \nindividuals in Spain, who were devoted to the holy office,, by which \nthey were employed, like two powerful arms, to seize their victim? \neverywhere. From their clutches it was next to impossible for any \none to escape. These were the Hermandad and the Cruciata. The \nHermandad was an immense body of constables or spies, who were \nspread, not only through the cities, but even through the towns and \nvillages. The smallest hamlet teemed with these vermin, creatures \ngenerated by want and idleness. They carried their art to perfection. \nWhen once their eyes were fixed upon a victim, his doom was sealed. \nIf they could not use force, they resorted to stratagem. They as- \nsumed all characters. They continued their arts for months, nay years, \nwith untiring perseverance, till at length they drew the devoted per- \nson into some imprudent step, and then they pounced upon him and \n\n\n\n352 H I S T O R t F \n\ndelh^ered him to the inquisition, where he was lost forever. The Cru- \nciata consisted of different materials, though equally infamous : their \ninfluence was brought to bear more particularly upon the higher ranks \nof society. The Cruciata consisted of the nobie and the rich, the \ngrandees and the bishops, and they were united for the purpose of \nwatching over the manners of the catholics, and reporting to the in- \nquisition the least failure in the discharge of his duty or profession. \nNothing could be better calculated to promote national hypocrisy \nthan such an establishment, since the perpetual fear of these inform- \ners would necessarily become a stronger motive to incite them to re- \nligious observances, than the fear of God. \n\nAs soon as the poor victim was seized and carried before the in- \n-quisition, the next step was to cast him into prison. The use of jails, \njt has always been understood, was to keep suspected or criminal \npersons in custody ; but the inquisition, refining upon and perverting \nevery institution, converted them into abodes of punishment, in which, \nto use the words of Simancas, an inquisitorial author, *they may inflict \nthe penalty of perpetual imprisonment for more heinous otiences, \n\xe2\x96\xa0which is indeed very grievous, and equal to death :\' an honest con- \nfession ! for who can think without horror of such a punishment, in- \nflicted sometimes on those who merely believed in the doctrines or \nopinions of heretics: human beings perpetually imprisoned for iree- \n^dom of thought, in dreadful receptacles ; there to do what the inqui- \n\'sition called \'wholesome penance, with the bread of grief and the wa- \nter of affliction.\' \n\n\' The inquisitorial prisons are generally noiesome and pestilent dun- \nl^cons, and every way worthy of the establishment of which they form \n\xe2\x96\xa0a portion. To add mockery to cruelty, they arc called, in Spain and \nPortugal, as was before remarked, santas casas, or holy houses; and \nreally one might almost be tempted to suppose that these names, as \nwell as that of holy office belonging to the inquisition itself had been \nimposed, not seriously, but by way of irony and derisiop, Though \nthese mansions and cells of wretchedness are very much alike in all \ncountries where the tribunal of the inquisition has gained a footing, \nyet in Spain and Portugal they seemed to wear a blacker gloom j so \nthat Constantino Ponce, who was called \'the great philosopher, the \nprofound theologian, and the most eloquent and celebrated preacher\'- \nof the time of Charles Y., ere yet he had been made to taste of actual \ntortures, in speaking of the barbarity of his confinement, exclaimed^ \nOh, my God ! were there no Scythians in the world, no cannibal?. \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T i N. 353 \n\nmore fierce and cruel than Scythians, into whose hands thou couldst \ncarry me, so that I might escape the hands of these monsters\'?\' \n\nOf the miseries of the Portuguese prisons, an illustration is given \nby an author whose name is Reginald Gonsalvius. An English ship \nhad put in at the port of Cadiz, and the familiars of the inquisition of \nthat place immediately searched her, as was their custom, to see what \nthere was onboard to affect religion, as they pretended, before \nthey could suffer a soul to go on shore. They seized several En- \nglish persons in whom they discovered symptoms of true evan- \ngelical piety, and confined them in jail. In the ship there was a child \nten or twelve years of age, the son of a very rich English merchant, \nto whom the ship belonged. This child was seized also, under pre- \ntence that a copy of David\'s Psalms in English, was found in his \nhands ; but the true reasen was, their avarice and cursed arts, \nby which they hoped to extort money from the wealthy parent. \nThe ship was confiscated, and the child was carried, with the \nrest of the company, to the prison of the inquisition, at Seville, \nwhere he lay about eight months. In consequence of the strict \nconfinement, dampness of the place, and badness of the food al- \nlowed, the child fell very ill for he had been brought up delicately and \ntenderly at home. When the inquisitors heard this, they had the \nboy removed, for recovery of his health, to the hospital of the inqui- \nsition, which ic almost as bad a place as the prison itself. In this \nplace the unhappy boy, from barbarous treatment, lost the use of both \nhis legs, nor was it ever known what became of him afterwards, \nthough it is probable that he died of the usage of these monsters. \nDuring his confinement the poor boy had given striking proofs how \nfirmly the pious instructions he had received at home were fixed in \nhis mind. Morning and evening he was seen on his knees at prayer \nto that God who, his parents had taught him, was to be looked up to \nin the hour of trouble ; and his inhuman keepers always taunted him \non these occasions by calling him their \'little heretic\' \n\nThe first thing a prisoner of the inquisition is compelled to do when \nthrown into jail, is to give an exact account of all his wealth and pos- \nsessions. The inquisitors pretend always that they do this with a \nview to keep faithfully their property, that it may be safely restored, \nif they should be found innocent ; and such confidence had the delu\xc2\xbb \nded people in the sanctity and sincerity of the tribunal, that they al- \nways most willingly discovered the most concealed things they had. \nBut these people were deluded ; for when a person fell into the hands \n45 \n\n\n\n354 HISTORYOF \n\nof the inquisstion, he was stripped and despoiled of all. If the prison- \ner denied his crime, and was convicted by false witnesses employed \nfor the purpose, all his goods were confiscated. If, to escape the hor- \nrors of imprisonment, he confessed the crime, he became guilty by his \nown acknowledgment, and as a matter of course was robbed of every \nthing. Even when the prssoner was dismissed as a convert and peni- \ntent, he did not dare to defend himself, under a terror of being reim- \nprisoned for life or burnt to death. \n\nWhen summoned before his judges, the prisoner appears, conduct- \ned by his keeper, with his head, arms and feet naked. At one end of \nthe audience room is a large crucifix, and in the middle is placed a ta- \nble with seats around it. At the table are seated the notary of the \ninquisition and the judges and at one end the wretched prisoner him- \nBelf upon a bench. On the table is the missal or mass-book, on which \nthe prisoner lays his hand when he takes the oath to tell the whole \ntruth, and to keep every thing a profound secret. When the audi- \nence is over, and the interrogatories done, the inquisitors ring a bell^ \nand the keeper re-conducts the prisoner to his cell. \n\nIn these jails the most profound silence is kept. None dare mut- \nter a word or make the least noise. If an individual in his agony be- \nwails his fate, or sings a psalm, the keeper immediately enters and \nadmonishes, him to be silent. If he does not obey he is again admon- \nished, and if it is done a third time the keeper beats the prisoner se- \nverely. This is done not only to punish the offender but to intimidate \nthe other prisoners ; who, from the nearness of their cells and the \ntomb-Uke stillness of the place, can easily hear the sound of the blows \nand the cries of the sufferers. It is related, that on one occasion \nwhen^a prisoner coughed, the jailers came to him and admonished him \nto forbear. He answered, it was not in his power. They admonish- \ned him a second time, and because he did not cease, they stripped \nhim naked and cruelly beat him. This made his cough worse, and \ninstead of being softened, they continued beating him till the poor \nwretch expired. \n\nOne reason why they insist so severely upon profound silence, is to \nprevent the prisoners from recognizing each other by whistling, sing- \ning or other signals. So that it often happens friends, even parents \nand children, are not aware that they are pining in the same jail, and \nperhaps in adjoining cells, until they meet at the awful ceremony of an \nauto da fe. The great aim of this solitary confinement is, that its ex- \ntreme irksomeness may force the victims to make any confessions \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 355 \n\nwhich may best suit the wicked purposes and wishes of the inquisitors. \nThe arts of the inquisitors to draw confessions are detailed by nu- \nmerous writers. They even procure persons, who are chosen for their \nbeing agreeable to the prisoners, and having influence, to go and con- \nverse with them, and even to feign to belong to their sect, and only to \nhave abjured through fear. They will thus insidiously persecute the \nprisoner by every hypocritical wile, till at last, after a lapse of days, \nweeks, or even months, they succeed in driving out some confession. \nIt may well excite wonder how men can be of such a devilish temper \nas voluntarily to hire themselves for such offices, \xe2\x80\x94 men who consen^ \nto be shut up in dungeons with the prisoners for whole months, pre_ \ntending sometimes to be friends, sometimes fellow prisoners, in order \nto force out something by which to condemn the prisoner, \xe2\x80\x94 who put \nup with every thing, stench, hunger, thirst, and what is still more \nstrange, will go in this way from one cell to another, and pass all their \ntime in an occupation which has no parallel in history, \xe2\x80\x94 a business \nfoul, nefarious, and diabolical ! These creatures are eddied flies by \nthe inquisition. \n\nBut the prisoners are exposed to cruelties from a thousand other \nsources. Reginald Gonsalvius, relates of one Gaspar Bennavidius \nwho was a keeper of a jail, and whom he describes as \'- a man of mon- \nstrous covetousness and cruelty," that he used actually to defraud the \npoor languishing prisoners of the scanty allowances made by the in- \nquisitors ; and that if any of them murmured, he was accustomed to \npunish them by forcing them into a vile place called Mazmorra, a deep \ncistern without water in it, though so damp that the very provisions \nbecame rotten in it, and fitter to destroy than to support life. This \nman it is true, was punished as soon as it became known to the inquis- \nitors, but not so much on account of his barbarity as for violating the \nregulations of the establishment. To prove that no merciful motives \nhad any share in his punishment, this very man had, at the time, a ser- \nvant maid, who, witnessing the intolerable sufferings of her master\'s \nvictims, through pity used to succor and relieve them, and also to take \nfrom the wicked thief, her master, the very provisions he stole from \nthem, to give them back to the prisoners by stealth. \' And,\' says the \nauthor, * that we may the more wonder at the providence of God, who \nso orders it that the worst parents shall not always have bad children, \na little daughter of the keeper himself used to assist the maid in these \npious thefts.\' At length the matter was discovered, and the human- \nity of this good woman was visited by the Lord\'s inquisitors with rig;- \norous punishment. \n\n\n\n356 HISTORYOF \n\nIn short, the ingenuity of cruelty employed to work upon the pris- \noner\'s minds, and extort confession, is almost beyond belief ; and, at \nlast, if the accused did not confess his guilt, they had recourse to a \nfinal experiment which proved a fatal snare to many. They deliver- \ned to the prisoner an accusation in writing, and in this pretended ac- \ncusation they blended several crimes perfectly false, and of an enor- \nmous nature, with the charges they wanted to get at. By this trap \nthey succeeded ; the prisoner did not fail to cry out against the horri- \nble imputations, and thereupon the inquisitors condemned him as \nguilty of those other allegations against which they remonstrated with \nleast violence. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nChamber of Torment. \xe2\x80\x94 Different modes of Torture. \xe2\x80\x94 Sufferings of John \nCoustos. \xe2\x80\x94 Of Isaac Martin at Malaga. \xe2\x80\x94 Licentiousness of the In- \nquisitors. \xe2\x80\x94 Developements at Saragossa. \xe2\x80\x94 Abduction of a Spanish \nlady. \xe2\x80\x94 Torture of Juan Van Halen in 1817. \xe2\x80\x94 Death by the pendu- \nlum. \xe2\x80\x94 Inquisition thrown open at Madrid in 1820. \n\nAmong the punishments which the inquisitors made their victims \nundergo, first in rank were those which they suffered during their im- \nprisonment. The prisons of the holy office were, in the greatest part \nof the places, contracted rooms of twelve feet in length, and ten in \nwidth, and received only a feeble ray by a small window pierced im- \nmediately above, so that the prisoners could scarcely distinguish ob- \njects. Half of the rooms contained alcoves in which they slept ; but \nas there was scarcely room enough for three persons, and as double \nthat number were often shut up in each chamber, the most robust \nwere obliged to sleep on the ground, where they had scarcely as much \nroom as is usually appropriated to the dead in their graves. The \nchambers were so damp, that the mats which were granted to these \nunfortunate beings, in a short time decayed. The other moveables \nin the dungeons consisted of a few earthen vessels, which were re- \nmoved only once a week, a circumstance which obliged them to live \nin an atmosphere so unhealthy that the greatest part died, and those \nwho went out were so disfigured that they were taken for walking \ncorpses. But it was not enough to put men in places so close and in? \nfected : they even prohibited them books, and every thing else which \ncould for an instant make them forget their unhappy situation. Com-, \nplaint was even interdicted ; and when an unfortunate prisoner utter- \ned any groans, they punished him by gagging him for a number of \ndays, and by scourging him cruelly the whole length of the corridor, \nif the first measure was not sufficient to force him to silence. The \nSame punishment of whipping was inflicted on those who made a noise \nin their chambers, or who disputed among themselves : in the latter \ncase, they considered the whole company as guilty, and scourged them \n^^^\' This punishment was inflicted on all, without distinction of age \n\n\n\n358 H I S T R Y O F \n\nor sex ; so that j^oung ladies, nuns, and ladies of distinction, were dis- \nrobed and beaten unmercifully. \n\nSuch was the state of the prisons of the Holj Office, and the treat- \nment which the prisoners suffered, towards the end of the fifteenth \ncentury. Since then some meliorations have successively taken place \nin the interior of the prisons ; but the fate of the prisoners has been \nalmost always the same, and many of these unfortunate persons have \nvoluntarily given themselves up to death to put an end to their suffer- \nings. Others more worthy of pity were taken from their prisons to \nbe conducted into the chamber of torment : there they found the in- \nquisitors and the executioners. There every person accused, who \nhad refused to declare himself guilty, received trial. \n\nA subterranean vault, to which they descended by an infinity of \nwindings, was the place appointed for the application of the tortue. \nThe profound silence which reigned in this chamber of torment, and \nthe terrible appearance of the instruments of punishment, feebly seen \nby the vacciliating light of two flambeaux, must necessarily have filled \nthe mind of the victim with a mortal terror. Scarcely had he arrived, \nbefore the inquisitors and executioners, who were clothed with long- \nrobes of sack-cloth, and their heads with a hood of the same stuff \npierced with holes for the eyes, mouth and nose, seized and stripped \nhim even to his shirt. Then the inquisitors, joining hypocrisy to cruel- \nty, exhorted the victim to confess his crime ; and if he persisted in \ndenying it, they ordered that the torture should be applied in the man- \nner, and for a length of time, which they deemed proper. The in, \nquisitors never failed, in case of injury, death, or fracture of limbs, to \nprotest that the act was to be imputed to the accused alone. \n\nThere were three principal modes of making trial : the cord, fire, \nand water. \n\nIn the first case^ they tied the hands behind the back of the patient, \nby means of a cord passed through a pully attached to the roof, and \nthe executioners raised him as high a possible. After having left him \nsome time thus suspended, they loosened the cord, so that the unfor- \ntunate prisoner fell suddenly within a half a foot of the ground. This \nterrible jar dislocated all the joints ; and the cord cut the wrists and \nentered often into the flesh, even to the very sinews. This punish- \nment, which was renewed every hour, left the patient without power \nand without movement ; but it was not until after the physician of the \nInquisition had declared that the sufferer could no longer support the \ntorture without dying, that the inquisitors remanded him to prison. \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 3^9 \n\nThere they left him, a prey to his sufTerings and to^ despair, till the \nmoment that the holy office had prepared for him a torture still more \nhorrible. \n\nThis second trial was made by means of water. The executioners \nstretched their victims in a wooden instrument of torture, in the form \nof a spout, fitted to receive the body of a man, without any other bot- \ntom than a stick which traversed it, and on which the body, falling \nbackwards, was bent by the effect of the machinery, and took such a \nposition that the feet were higher than the head. It resulted from this \nsituation that respiration became very painful, and that the patient suf- \nfered the most dreadful agonies in all his limbs, in consequence of the \npressure of the knots which penetrated into the flesh, and caused \nthe blood to flow, even before they had employed the bands. It was \nin this cruel position that the executioners introduced at the bottom \nof the throat of the victim a piece of fine linen, wet, a part of which \ncovered the nostrils. They afterwards turned the water into the \nmouth and nose, and then left it to filter so slowly that one hour, at \nleast, was exhausted, before the sufferer had swallowed a drop, al- \nthough it trickled without interruption. Thus the patient found na \ninterval for respiration. At every instant he made an effort to swal- \nlow, hoping to give passage to a little air ; but as the wet linen was \nso placed as to prevent this, and to cause the water, at the same time^ \nto enter by the nostrils, it will be perceived that this new combination \nmust necessarily place great difficulty in the way of the most impor- \ntant function of life. Thus it often happened that when the torture \nwas tinishedj they drew the fine linen from the throat all stained witl^ \nthe blood of some of the vessels which had been ruptured by the strug- \ngles of the unfortunate victim. It ought to be added, that every in- \nstant a powerful arm turned the fatal lever, and at each turn the cords \nwhich surrounded the arm and the legs, penetrated even to the bones. \n\nIn the torture by fire, the prisoner was placed upon his legs, naked, \nin the stocks; the soles of his feet were then well greased with lard, \nand a blazing chafing-dish applied to them, by the heat of which they \nbecame perfectly fried. When his complaints of the pain was the loud- \nest, a board was placed between his feet and the fire, and he was again \ncommanded to confess ; but it was taken away if he was obstinate. \nThis species of torture was deemed the most cruel of all; but this, \nas well as the others, were without distinction, applied to persons of \nboth sexes, at the will of the judges, according to the circumstances \nof the Grime and the strength of the dehnquent. \n\n\n\n360 HISTORYOF \n\nLesser tortures "were used with persons unable to withstand thosd \nalready described. Such were, those of the dice, of the canes, and of \nthe rods. For the first, the prisoner was extended on the ground, \nand two pieces of iron, shaped like a die, but concave on one side \nwere placed on the heel of his rigrht foot, then bound fast with a rope \nwhich was pulled tight with a screw. That of the canes was perform- \ned by a hard piece being put between the finger, bound, and then \nscrewed as above. That of rods was inflicted on boys under nine \nyears of age, by binding them to a post and then flogging them with \nrods. \n\nThe time allowed for torture, by a bull of Paul III., could not ex- \nceed an hour and a quarter, and an hour and a half. The sufferer \noften became senseless, in which case a physician was ever in atten- \ndance, to inform the court whether the paroxysm was real or feigned, \nand to declare how much human nature could endure. When the \nvictim remained firm, or refused to ratify a confession within twenty- \nfour hours afterwards, he has been forced to undergo as far as three \ntortures, with one days interval between each. Thus, while his im- \nmagination was still filled with the dreadful idea of his past sufierings, \nbis limbs stiff" and sore and his strength debilitated, he was called up- \non to give fresh froofs of his constancy, and again endure the horrid \nspectacle and the excruciating pangs, tending to rend his whole frame \nto pieces. \n\nThe persons charged to inflict these cruel operations were general- \nly the servants of the jailer : as the institution, however, was formerly \nunder the charge of the Dominicans, and of late years also in Italy, \nit is probable that the lay brethren were selected to inflict the torture ; \nparticularly as the inquisition was usually contiguous to their convent, \nwith which they communicated by a secret door and passage ; and by \nthese services, the brethren, far from being dishonored, considered \nthey were doing acts acceptable with God. \n\nWhen neither persuasions, threats, or artifices forced the culprit \ntruly or falsely to confess, the inquisitors then recurred to the torture, \nmixing even this deception with severity ; for besides threatening the \nprisoner to make his pangs last for an indefinite period of time, \nthey made him believe, after he had borne them for the stated time, \nthat they only suspended their continuation because it was late, or for \nsome other similar reason ; they protesting, at the same time, that \nhe was not sufficiently tortured. By this protest they avoided giving \na second sentence when they returned to inflict the torture afresh, \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 361 \n\nconsidering it as a continuation of the preceding one; by which means \nthey were able to torment the victim as often as they thought proper, \nwithout formally coming to the second torture. \n\nWhilst the unfortunate victim, melted in tears at the sight of the \nhorrors by which he is surrounded, bewails his miserable fate, or fren- \nzied with the force of fury, in vain calls all nature to his aid, and in- \nvokes the name of God ; whilst his passions are alternately irritated \nand then depressed into a desponding calm; at one time protesting his \ninnocence and next calling down curses on his tormentor\'s heads ; in \nshort, while his body is shaken by the most violent convulsions, and \nhis soul racked, his inexhorable judges, unmoved by such a scene, \nwith the coldest cruelty mix their orders with his cries and lamenta- \ntions ; at one time addressing themselves to him to exhort him to re- \nveal, and next to their officers to remind them of their duty. In the \nmean time in the same eerenity, the secretary pens down every sigh, \ngroan, and execration which the force of the torment obliges the \nwretched and frantic victim to utter. \n\nThe legislators who originally authorised this mode of trial, at least \nhad the equity to pronounce all inferences of guilt as thereby wiped \naway, and dismissed the sufferer who persevered in his denial ; but the \ninquisition condemned him to perpetual im.prisonment, or sent him to \nthe galleys. Consequently, the unfortunate culprit, perhaps wholly \ninnocent, often entirely disabled by the writhings of his muscles and \nthe dislocation of his bones, caused by the shocks of the pulley, crip- \npled by the compression of the rack, or maimed by the contraction of \nhis nerves through the operation of fire, was, after all this, obliged to \nendure the infamy of being mixed and confounded with the vilest \nwretches. \n\nFor a more definite illustration of the brutal enormities practised by \nthe inquisition, in the name of the Prince of peace, we have selected \nthe narratives of a few, among the many unfortunate individuals of \nboth sexes, who have at difierent times been subjects of its suspicion^ \ncruelty and licentiousness, J^ohn Coustos, a native of Switzerland, who \nresided in Lisbon, about the middle of the last century, was arrested \non several false accusations and brought before the tribunal. Being \ninterrogated as to his imputed crimes, and having\' refused to sign a \nconfession of guilt, which was presented, he thus relates his subsequent \ntreatment: " I hereupon was instantly conveyed to the torture-room, \nbuilt in the form of a square tower, where only a faint light appear- \ned, and to prevent the cries, shrieks and groans of the unhappy vic- \n46 \n\n\n\n362 H I S T R Y F \n\ntims from reaching the ears of the other victims, the doors are lined \nwith a sort of quilt. \n\n"The reader will naturally suppose that I must have been seized \nwith horror, when, entering this infernal place, I saw myself, on a \nsudden, surrounded by six wretches, who, after preparing the tortures, \nstripped me nearly naked, and then laying me on my back, they be- \ngan to lay hold of every part of my body. First, they put round my \nneck an iron collar, which they fastened to the scaffold ; then fixing \na ring to each foot ; they stretched my limbs with all their strength. \nThey next wound two ropes round each arm, and two round each \nthigh, which ropes passed under the scaffold, through holes made for \nthat purpose, and were all drawn tight at the same time, by four men \nupon a signal made for that purpose. \n\n"The reader will believe that my pains must have been intolerable\' \nwhen I solemnly declare, that these ropes, which were of the size of \none\'s little finger, pierced thiough my flesh quite to the bone ; making \nthe blood gush out at eight different places that were thus bound. As \nI persisted in refusing to perjure myself, the ropes were thus drawn \ntogether four different times. At my side stood a physician and a \nsurgeon, who often felt my temples, to judge oi the danger I might be \nin ; at the suggestion of whom my tortures were suspended, at inter- \nvals, that I might have an opportunity of recovering myself a little. \n\n"Whilst I was thussuftering they told me, that were I to die under \nthe torture, I should be guilty, by my obstinacy, of self-murder. In \nfine, the last time the ropes were drawn tight, I grew so exceedingly \nweak, occasioned by the blood\'s circulation being stopped, and the \npains I endured, that I fainted away, and was carried to my dungeon \nin a state of insensibility. \n\n"These barbarians finding that the tortures above described could not \nextort any further discovery from me ; but that the more they made \nme suffer, the more fervent I addressed my supplications, for patience, \nto heaven : they were so inhuman, after an interval of six weeks, as \nto expose me to another kind of torture, more grievous, if possible^ \nthan the former. They made me stretch my arms in such a manner, \nthat the palms of my hands were turned outward ; when by the help \nof a rope that fastened them together at the wrist, and which they \nturned by an engine ; they drew them gently nearer to each other be- \nhind, in such a manner that the back of each hand touched, and \nstood exactly parallel one to the other ; whereby both my shoulders \nwere dislocated, and a considerable quantity of blood issued from my \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N . 363 \n\nmouth. This torture was repeated thrice ; after which I was again \ntaken to my dungeon, and put into the hands of physicians and sur- \ngeons, who in setting my bones, put me to the most indescribable ag- \nony. \n\n"Two months after, being a little recovered, I was again conveyed to \nthe torture room ; and there made to undergo another kind of punish- \nment twice. The reader may judge of its horror, from the following \ndescription. \n\n"The torturers turned twice round my body a thick iron chain, \nwhich crossing upon my stomach, terminated afterwards at my wrists. \nThey next set ray back against a thick board, at each extremity \nof which was a pulley, through which there run a rope, that joined \nthe ends of the chains at my wrists. They then stretched these ropes \nby means of a roller, that pressed or bruised my stomach, in propor- \ntion as the ropes were drawn tighter. They tortured me on this oc- \ncasion to such a degree, that my wrists and shoulders were put out of \njoint. \n\n"The surgeons however, set them presently after ; but the barbari- \nans not having yet satiated their cruelty, made me undergo this torture \na second time, which I bore with equal constancy and resolution. I \nwas then remanded back to my dungeon, attended by the surgeons \nwho dressed my bruises ; and here I continued till their auto da fe, or \njail delivery." \n\nIn the year 1714, Mr. Isaac Martin, an English protestant mer- \nchant resident at Malaga, was arrested by order of the inquisition, on \ncharge of being a Jew. The grounds of this charge were, that his \nown name was Isaac, and he had a son named Abraham. This charge \nhe answered, hj assuring the papists that he was an Englishman. \nMoreover, he told them that Abraham and Isaac were not Jews, but \npatriarchs who lived long before the term Jew was ever used. But \nthe inquisitors would believe neither one nor the other plea. Perceiv- \ning himself beset, he came to the conclusion to leave the place with \nhis family. This became known, and one night about 9 o\'clock, he \nheard a loud knocking at his door. He inquired who was there, when \nentrance was demanded, which he refused, desiring the persons with- \nout, to come next day. But the doors were immediately broken open \nand about fifteen persons entered attended by a commisssioner of the \nholy office. Mr. Martin spoke of going to the English consul, but \nthey told him the consul had nothing to do with the business. He \nwas now arrested on the charge of being a heretic. His books and \n\n\n\n364 HISTORYOF \n\npapers were seized, his watch, money and other things taken from \nhim, and he carried to the bishop\'s prison, and a pair of heavy fetters \nput on him. His family, in the deepest distress, was turned out of \ndoors, until the house was stripped. About four^days after his con- \nfinement he was told that he must go to Grenada to be tried. He ear- \nnestly begged to see liis wife and children before he went, but this \nwas denied. Being doubly fettered he was mounted on a mule and \nsent forward to Grenada. By the way, the mule threw him upon a \nrocky part of the road and nearly broke his back. On his arrival at \nGrenada, after a journey of three days, he was detained at an inn till \nit was dark, for they never bring- any one into the inquisition during \ndaylight. At night he was taken to the prison, and led along a range \nof galleries till he, arrived at a dungeon. The gaoler nailed up his \nbooks which had been brought from Malaga, saying they must re- \nmain in that state till the lords of the inquisition chose to inspect them, \nfor prisoners are never allowed to read books. He then said to Mr, \nMartin, \' you must observe, as great silence here as though jou \nwere dead ; you must not speak, nor whistle, nor sing, nor make \nany noise that may be heard. And if you hear any body cry or make \na noise, you must be still and say nothing upon pain of 200 lashes.\' \nMr. Martin asked * if he might walk about the room ;\' the reply v/as, \ne jjg might but must do it verj softly.\' In about a week he was brought \nto audience. He followed the gaoler, and coming to a large room? \nhe saw a man sitting between two crucifixes, and another with a pen \njn his hand, who, he afterwards learned was a secretary. The chief \nlord inquisitor was the man between the crucifixes, and appeared to \nbe about sixty years of age. He ordered Mr. Martin to sit down up- \non a little stool that fronted him. A frivolous examination then took \nplace. The questions related to his family, their religion and to his \nown faith. He admitted that he was a protestant, told the inquisitor \nthat the religion of Christ admitted of no persecution, and concluded \nby saying that he hoped to remain in that religion. He underwent \nfive examinations without anything serious being alleged against him. \nIn a few days he was called to his sixth audience, when after a few \nunimportant questions, the chief inquisitor told him that the charges \nagainst him should be read, and he must give an immediate answer to \neach respective charge. The accusations against him were read, \nand were twenty-six in number, though .principally of the most tri- \nvial nature, and the greater part wholly false, or if they had any ref- \nerence ta facts, they were so distorted and perverted as to bear little \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U i S I T I O N. 365 \n\nMr. Martin replied to them firmly and discreet- \nly, exposing- their weakness and detecting their falsehood. At length \ntwo of the lords of the inquisition visited him and asked many trifling \nquestions, concluding with their usual declaration, "We will do you \nall the service wc can." Mr. Martin complained of their breach of \npromise in not allowing him counsel to plead his cause, or such coun- \nsel as was of no use to him. To which one of the inquisitors gravely \nanswered, \' Lawyers are not allowed to speak here.\' About a month \nafterwards he had a rope put round his neck, and was led by it to the \naltar of the great church. Here his sentence was pronounced, which \nwas that for the crimes he stood convicted, the lords of the holy of- \nfice had ordered him to be banished out of the dominions of Spain, up- \non penalty of 200 lashes and being sent five years to the gallies. And \nthat he should receive 200 lashes through the streets of Grenada. Mr. \nMartin was sent again to his dungeon that night. The next morning \nthe executioner came, stripped him, tied his hands together, put a \nrope around his neck and led him out of the prison. He was then \nmounted on an ass, and received his two hundred lashes amidst the \nshoutings and peUings of the people. He remained a fortnight after \nin prison, and was then sent to Malaga. Here he was put in gaol fop \nsome days, until he could be put on board an English ship. His wife \nand children then came to him, and they escaped barely with their \nlives, all their effects being seized by the inquisition. All this, be it \nremembered, was inflicted for the sole charge of being a heretic, ii\\ \nother words of differing from them in his belief For all their twenty \nsix accusations amounted to this only. It is supposed however, thai \nMr, Martin was guilty of the heresy of being rich, and that his mon-. \ney was the principal object of these proceedings. The most lawless, \nbanditti would not have treated a fellow creature more barbarously, \n\n\' The grand Turk,\' says McGavin, * has not a more splendid se- \nraglio within the walls of his palace, than these holy fathers have been \nknown to have kept within the walls of the inquisition ; and these \nvery fathers would without scruple have sent any man of their own or- \nder to the flames, if he had presumed to commit the heresy of marry- \ning and living honestly with one woman.\' This, though not strictly \npersecution for truth\'s sake, yet, is such a monstrous abuse of power \nand so illustrates the savage character of popery, that one example on \nthis point will not be deemed inadmissible. It is taken from McGa- \nVm\'s Protestant, vol. ii. p. 146. \n\n\' About the beginning of the last century, there happened to be a \n\n\n\n366 H I S T R Y F \n\nsort of civil war in Spain,\\in which the troops of the king of France \nwere actively engaged on one side. In their victorious career, they \ncame into possession of the city of Saragossa, in Arragon, in which \nwere a number of convents, particularly one of Dominicans. The \nFrench commander, M. Legal, found it necessary to levy a pretty \nheavy contribution upon the inhabitants, not excepting the convents. \nThe Dominicans, all whose friars were familiars of the holy inquisition, \nexcused themselves in a civil manner, saying that they had no money \nand if M. de Legal should insist on the demand of a thousand pistoles, \nwhich fell to their share, they could not pay him in any other way than \nby sending him the silver bodies of the saints. The friars imagined \nthat the French commander would not have the heart to demand such \na sacrifice ; and they thought, that if he should insist upon it, they \nwould, b)^ raising the cry of heresy against him, raise the mass of the \npeople to take their part. The Frenchman, however, felt no qualms \nof conscience about the matter. He signified that the silver saints \nwould be very welcome visitors. The friars, seeing that they could \nnot mend the matter, carried their gods to the governor in solemn \nprocession, and with lighted candles. The governor, having heard \nthat it v/as their intention to make a procession, and raise a mob if \nthey could, ordered out four companies of grenadiers, well armed, to \nreceive the saints in the most respectful manner, so that the design of \nriiising the people entirely failed. The saints were forthwith sent to \nthe mint, and the holy fathers applied to the inquisition, to interpose \nits supreme power in order to save them from the furnace. This \npower was readily exercised in the way of excommunicating M. Le- \ngal. An instrument to this effect having been drawn up and signed, \nthe secretary of the holy office was commanded to go and read it to \nthe governor. Having performed his duty, the excommunicated gov- \nernor, instead of expressing displeasure, with a mild countenance took \nthe paper from the secretary and said, * pray tell your masters the in- \nquisitors, that I will answer them to-morrow morning.\' The gover- \nnor then ordered his secretary to draw a copy of the excommunication \nwith the simple alteration of inserting the names of the holy inquisi- \ntors instead of his own name ; and the next morning he ordered four \nregiments to be sent along with his secretary to the inquisition, with \ncommand to read the excommunication to the inquisitors themselves, \nand if they made the least noise, to turn them out, open all the pris- \nons, and quarter two regiments there. The orders were obeyed, and \nthe holy fathers were amazed deeply, and confounded to find them- \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. S6t \n\nselves excommunicateci by a man who had no authority for it ; and \nthey began a hue and cry against the governor as a heretic, and as \nhaving publicly insulted the Catholic faith. \xe2\x80\x94 \' Holy inquisitors,\' said \nthe secretary, \' the king weints this house to quarter his troops in, so \nwalk out immediately.\' And having no alternative they were compel- \nled to obey. The doors of the prisons were thrown open, and then \nthe wickedness of the inquisitors was exposed to the world. \nFour hundred prisoners got liberty that day, and among them sixty \nwell dressed young women, who were found to be the private proper- \nty of the three inquisitors, and of which they had robbed the families \nof the city and neighborhood. The Archbishop, seriously concerned \nfor the honor of the holy tribunal, desired M. Legal to send these wo- \nmen to his palace, promising that he would take care of them, and in \nthe mean time he published an ecclesiastical censure against all who \nshould defame by groundless reports, the holy office of the inquisition ; \nthat is, all that should mention the fact thus brought to light. The \ngovernor professed his willingness to comply with his grace\'s request? \nbut as to the young women, that was not in his power, they being res- \ncued and taken away by the French officers. In fact they were \nchiefly 3^ouDg ladies beautiful and accomplished, who had been forcibly \ncarried away at the pleasure of the holy fathers, from the most opulent \nfamilies in the city ; and who probably would never have been seen \nwithout the walls of the sacred building, but for such a deliverance as \nthat which Avas effected by the French soldiers. Some of them were \nafterwards married to their deliverers, one of whom furnished Mr. \nGavin, from whom this statement is abridged, with a narrative of her \nown case, which most doubtless will be interesting to readers. The \nsubstance of it will be given, without adhering strictly to the author\'s \nphraseology. Mr. Gavin had been a popish priest. \n\nTraveling in France some time after the event above referred to, \nand after he had renounced his situation as Popish priest, he met one \nof the ladies at Rochfort, at an inn where he happened to lodge. \nShe was then the wife of the innkeeper\'s son, who had been a lieu- \ntenant in the French service in Spain. Though she did not know \nMr. Gavin in his secular habit, yet he recognized her as the daughter \nof counsellor Belabriga, in Saragossa, with whose family he had been \n\xe2\x80\xa2 acquainted. Her father, it seems had died of grief after having lost \nher without the comfort of revealing the cause of his trouble even to \nhis confessor, so great was his dread of the inquisition. From this Ia\xc2\xbb \n\n\n\n368 H I S T R Y F \n\ndjMr. Gavin received a full account of the manner of her abduction, \nand of the treatment she received in the holy office. \n\n*\xe2\x96\xa0 I went one day,\' said she, \' with my mother to visit the countess of \nAttarass, and I met there Don Francisco Torrejon, her confes- \nsor and second inquisitor. After we had drank chocolate, he asked \nme my age, my confessor\'s name, anv1 so many intricate questions \nabout religion that I could not answer him. His serious countenance \nfrightened me ; and perceiving my fear, he desired the countess to tell \nme that he was not so severe as I supposed after which he caressed \nme, very kindly. He gave me his hand which I kissed with great re- \nspect and modesty, and when he went away he told me, \' my dear \nchild I shall remember you till the next time.\' I did not know what \nhe meant, being quite inexperienced and only fifteen years old. In- \ndeed he did remember me, for that ver\\ night, when in bed, hearing a \nhard knocking at the door, the maid who lay in the room with me went \nto the window, and asking who was there, I heard the reply, * the ho- \nly inquisition.\' I could not forbear crying out, father I am ruined \nforever. My dear father got up, and inquiring what the matter was \nI answered him with tears, * the inquisition.\' He, for fear the maid \nwould not open the door so quickly as the case required, went him- \nself to open the door, and like another Abraham, to offer his child to \nthe fire ; and as I did not cease to cry, my dear father, all in tears \nstopped my mouth to show his obedience to the holy office ; for he \nsupposed I had committed some crime against religion. The officers \ngave me time only to put on a petticoat and a mantle, they took me \ninto the coach, and without allowing me the satisfaction of embracing \nmy father and mother, they carried me into the inquisition. \n\n" I expected to die that night ; but when they carried me into a no- \nble room well furnished, I was quite surprised. The officers left me \nthere, and immediately a maid came in with a salver of sweetmeat, \nand cinnamon water, desiring me to take some refreshment before I \nwent to bed. I told her I could not, but that I should be obliged to \nher if she could tell me whether I was to die that night or not. \n* Die !\' said she, \' you do not come here to die, but to live like a prin- \ncess, and you shall want for nothing but the liberty of going out ; so \nbe not afraid, but go to bed and sleep easy, for to-morrow you shall \nsee wonders in this house ; and as I am chosen to be your waiting-maid \nI hope you will be kind to me." I was going to ask some questions, \nbut she told me that she had not leave to tell me any thing more till \nthe next day, \' only nobody shall come to disturb you ;\' so she left me \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N. 369 \n\nfor a quarter of an hour. The great amazement I was in took away \nthe exercise of my senses to such a degree, that 1 could neither think \nof my parents nor my own dangerous situation. In this suspension \nof thought, the maid returned, and locked the chamber door after \nher. * Madam,\' said she, \' let us go to bed, and be pleased to tell me \nat what time in the morning you will have the chocolate ready.\' I ask- \ned her name, and she told me it was Mary. * Mary,\' said I, \xc2\xab for \nGod\'s sake tell me whether I come to die or not.\' \'I have told you,\' \nsaid she, *that you come to be one of the happiest ladies in the world.\' \nI went to bed, but the fear of death prevented my shutting my eyes, so \nthat I arose at the break of day, Mary lay till six o\'clock, and was \nsurprised to find me up. She said but little, but in half an hour she \nbrought me, on a silver plate, two cups of chocolate and biscuits. I \ndrank one cup, and desired her to drink the other which she did. \n* Well, Mary,\' said I, * can you give me any account of the reasons \nof my being here V \' Not yet, madam,\' said she ; \' have a little pa- \ntience.\' With this answer she left me, and an hour after came again, \nwith a fine Holland shift, a Holland under petticoat, finely laced round, \ntwo silk petticoats, and a little Spanish waistcoat, fringed all over \nwith gold, and combs and ribbands, and ever}^ thing suitable to a lady \nof higher quality than I ; but my greatest surprise was to ^ee a gold \nsQuff-box, with the picture of Don Francisco Torrejon in it. Then I \nunderstood the meaning of my confinement. I considered with my- \nself that to refuse the present would be the occasion of my immediate \ndeath, and to accept it was to give him too great encouragement \nagainst my honor. But I found, as I thought, a medium in the case. \nSo I said to Mary, *Pray give my service to Don Francisco Torrejon, \nand tell him, that as I could not bring my clothes with me last night \nhonesty permits me to receive what is necessary to keep^ me decent ; \nbut since I do not take snuff, I beg his lordship to excuse me if I do \nnot accept this box. Mary went to him with this answer, and came \nagain with a picture nicely set in gold, with four diamonds at the four \ncorners of it, and told me that his lordship had mistaken, and that he \ndesired me to accept that picture. While I was musing what to do, \nMary said, * Pray, madam, take my poor advice, accept the picture \nand every thing he sends you ; for consider, if you do not comply \nwith every thing he has a mind for, you will soon be put to death, and \nnobody can defend you ; but if you are obliging to him, he is a. -^^i-y \ncomplaisant gentleman, and will be a charming lov**rj and you will \nlive here like a queen. He will give you another apartment with fine \n47 / \n\n\n\n370 HISTORYOF \n\ngardens, and many young ladies will cdme to visit you ; so I advise \nyou to send a civil answer, and desire a visit from him, or you will \nsoon repent it.\' \'O dear!" must I then, abandon my honor without \nremedy ] And if I oppose his desire, he will by force obtain it.\' So, \nfull of confusion, I bid Mary give him what answer she pleased. She \nwas very glad of my humble submission, and went to give Don Fran- \ncisco an account of it. In a few minutes she returned with great joy \nto tell me that his lordship would honor me with his company to sup- \nper. In the miean time he desired me to mind nothing but how to di- \nvert myself, and to give Mary my measure for some new clothes, and \norder her to bring me every thing I wished for. Mary added, * mad- \nam, I may now call you my mistress, and must now tell you that I \nhave been in this holy office these fourteen years, and know the cus- \ntoms of it well ; but as silence is imposed on me under pain of death, \nI cannot tell you any thing but what concerns your person ; so in the \nfirst place, do not oppose the holy father\'s will ; secondly, if you see \nsome young ladies here, never ask them any questions, neither will \nthey ask you, and take care you never tell them any thing. You may \ncome and divert yourself among them at such hours as are appointed. \nYou shall have music and all sorts of recreations. Three days hence \nyou shall dine with them ; they are all ladies of quality, young and \nmerry. You will live so happily here, that you will not wish to go \nabroad ; and when your time is expired, the holy fathers will send you \nout of this country, and marry you to some nobleman. Never men- \ntion your name, nor Don Francisco\'s to any. If you see here some \nyoung ladies you have formerly been acquainted with, no notice must \nbe taken, and nothing must be talked of but indifferent matters.\' All \nthis made me astonished, or rather stupefied, and the whole seemed to \nme a piece of enchantment. With this lesson she left me, saying she \nwas going to order my dinner. Every time she went out, she locked \nmy door. There were but two windows in my room, and they were \nso high that I could see nothing through them ; but hunting about, I \nfound a closet, with all sorts of historical and profane books ; so I \nspent my time till dinner in reading, which was some satisfaction to \nme. In about two hours she brought my dinner, at which was every \nthins that could satisfy the most nice appetite. When dinner was \nover she left me alone, and told me if I wanted any thing to ring the \nbell ; so I went to the closet again, and spent three hours in reading. \nI think I was really under some enchantment, for I was in perfect \nsuspension of thought, so as to remember neither father nor mother- \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N . 371 \n\nMary came and told me Don Francisco was come home, and she \nthought he would come and see me very soon, and begged me to re- \nceive him with kindness. \n\n" At seven in the evening Don Francisco came, in his nightgown \nand cap ; not with the gravity of an inquisitor, but with the gayety of \nan officer. He saluted me with great respect, and told me that his \ncoming to see me was only to show the value he had for my family, \nand to tell me that some of my lovers had procured my ruin, having \naccused me in matters of religion ; that the informations were taken, \nand the sentence pronounced against me, to be burnt alive in a dry \npan with a slow fire ; but that he, out of pity and love to my family, \nhad stopped the execution of it. Every word was a mortal stroke to \nmy heart. I threw myself at his feet and said, \' Ah ! Seignor, have \nyou stopped the execution forever V \' It only belongs to you to stop \nit, or not,\' said he, and with this he bade me good night. As soon as \nhe went out I fell a crying, but Mary came and asked me what made \nme cry so bitterly 1 \' Ah ! good Mary,\' said I, \' tell me what is the \nmeaning of the dry pan with the gradual fire, for I expect to die by it.\' \n\' O ! madam,\' said she, \' never fear. You shall, ere long, see the dry \npan and the gradual fire ; but they are made for those who oppose the \nholy father\'s will, not for you who are so obliging as to obey it. But \npray, was not Don Francisco very obliging\'?\' \' I do not know,\' said \nI, \' for his discourse has put me out of my wits. He saluted rrie with \ngreat civility, but he left me abruptly.\' \' Well,\' said Mary, \' you do \nnot yet know his temper ; he is very kind to people that are obedient \nto him ; but if they are not, he is as unmerciful as Nero : so, for your \nown sake, take care to oblige him in all respects.\' She bade me be \neasy and go to supper ; but the thoughts of the dry pan so troubled \nme, that I could neither eat nor sleep any that night. Early in the \nmorning Mary got up, and told me that nothing was yet stirring in the \nhouse ; and that if I would promise secresy, she would show me the \ndry pan and the gradual fire. So, taking me down stairs, she brought \nme into a large room with a thick iron door, and within it was an oven \nburning, with a large brass upon it, with a cover of the same, with a \nlock to it. In the next room was a great wheel, covered on both sides \nwith thick boards, and opening a little window in the centre of it, she \ndesired me to look with a candle on the inside of it. There I saw \nthat all the circumference of the wheel was set with sharp razors. \xe2\x80\x94 \nAfter that, she showed me a pit full of serpents and toads. \' Now, \nmy good mistress,\' said she, \' I will tell you the use of these three \n\n\n\n372 H I S T O R Y F \n\nthings. The dry pan is for heretics, and those who oppose the ho- \nly father\'s will and pleasure. They are put naked alive into the pan, \nand the cover of it being locked up, the executioner begins to put a \nsmall fire into the oven, and by degrees he increases it till the body is \nreduced to ashes. The second is designed for those that speak against \nthe pope and the holy fathers, for they are put within the wheel, and \nthe little door being locked, the executioner turns the wheel till the \nperson is dead. And the third is for those who contemn the images, \nand refuse to give due respect and veneration to ecclesiastical persons ; \nfor they are thrown into the pit, and become the food of serpents and \ntoads.\' Then Mar)\' said to me that another day she would show me \nthe torments for public sinners ; but I was in so great agony at what I \nhad seen that I desired her to show me no more places ; so we went \nto my room, and she again charged me to be very obedient to all the \ncommands of Don Francisco, for I might be assured if I was not, that \nI must undergo the torments of the dry pan. I conceived such a hor- \nror of the gradual fire, that I was not mistress of my senses, so I prom- \nised Mary to follow her advice. \'^ If you are in that disposition,\' said \nshe, \' leave off all fear, and expect nothing but pleasure and satisfac- \ntion.\' \n\n*About ten o\'clock, (in the morning,) Mary came and dressed "me. \nWe left Don Francisco in bed, and she carried me into another \nchamber, very delightful and better furnished than the first, for the \nwindows were lower and I had the pleasure of seeing the river and \ngardens. Mary then told me that the young ladies would come and \npay me their respects, before dinner, "and would take me to dine with \nthem, and begged me to remember her advice. She had scarcely finish- \ned, when I saw a troop of young beautiful ladies, finely dressed, who \ncanie one after another to embrace me, and to wish^me joy. My sur- \nprise was so great that 1 was unable to answer their compliments. \nBut one of them seeing me_ silent, said, \'Madam the solitude of this \nplace will affect you in the beginning, but when you feel the pleasures \nwe enjoy, you will quit your pensive thoughts. Now we beg of you \nthe honor, to come and dine with us to-day, and henceforth three \ndays in the week.\' I returned them thanks, so we went to dinner. \nThat day we had all sorts of exquisite meats, delicate fruits and sweet- \nmeats. The room was long, with two tables on each side, and an- \nother at the front of it, and I reckoned in it that day fifty-two young \nladies, the eldest not exceeding twenty four years. After dinner, we \nwent up to a long gallery, where some of us played on instruments of \n\n\n\nTH I^ IN QUISI TIO N. ^73 \n\nmusic, others at cards, and some walked about three or four hours \ntogether.? At last Mary came up ringing a small bell, which was, \nas I was told, the signal for us to go to our own rooms. But Mary- \nsaid to the whole company, \'ladies to day is a day of recreation, so you \nmay go into what rooms you please till eight o\'clock.\' They all de* \nsired to go into my apartment with me. We found in my antecham- \nber, a table with all sorts of sweetmeats upon it ; cinnamon, almond- \nmilk, and the like. Every one ate and drank, but no body spake a \nword about the sumptuousness of the table, or the inquisition, or the \nholy fathers. They retired to their respective apartments at^eight \no\'clock, when Mary came to conduct me to Don Francisco, with \nwhom I was to sup and spend the night. In the morning when I re- \nturned to my own chamber, I found ready two suits of clothes of rich \nbrocade, and every thing else suitable to a lad}^ of high rank. I put on \none, and when I was quite dressed, the ladies came to wish me joy, \nall dressed in different clothes much richer than before. We spent \nthe second and the third day in the same sort of recreation; Don \nFrancisco continuing in the same manner with me. But on the fourth \nmorning after drinking chocolate, which it was the custom to do in \nbed. Mary told me that a lady was waiting for me in her own room, \nand desired me to get up. I thought this was to give me some new \ncomfort, but in this I was much mistaken ; for Mary conveyed me in-^ \nto a lady\'s room not eight feet long which was a perfect prison, and \ntold me this was my room, and this young lady my bed-fellow and \ncompanion, and without saying any thing more she left me there. \n\'What is this, dear lady,\' said I, \'is it an enchanted place, or hell up- \non earth. I have lost father and mother, and what is worse I have \nlost my honor and my soul forever.\' My new companion, seeing my \nagitation, took me by the hands and said, \'dear sister forbear to cry \nand grieve; for such extravagant behaviour will only draw upon you a \ncruel death. Your misfortunes and ours are exactly of a piece. You \nsuffer nothing that we have not suffered before you, but we dare not \nshow our grief for fear of greater evils.\' She advised me to show no \nuneasiness before Mary, who was the only instrument of their tor^ \nments or comfort. I was in a most desperate condition, but my new \nsister Leonora prevailed so much upon me that I overcame my vexa- \ntion, before Mary came in to bring our dinner, which was very different \nfrom what we had had for three days before. After dinner another \nmaid came to take away the plate and knife, for we had but one be- \ntween us both, and after she had gone out and locked the door, lie\'s \n\n\n\n374 H I S T O R Y F \n\n6nora told me that we should not be disturbed again till eight o\' clock \nand that if I would promise to keep secret what she would tell me \nwhile I remained in that house, she would reveal all that she knew; \nI promised all that she desired, upon which she began as follows : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\'My dear sister you think your case is very hard, but I assure you \nall the ladies in the house have gone through the same; in time you \nwill know all their stories, as they hope to know yours. I suppose \nMary has been the chief instrument of your fright, as she has been of \nours, and I warrant she has shown you some horrible places, though \nnot all, and at the mere thought of them you were so much troubled in \nyour mind that you have chosen the same way we have to redeem your- \nself from death. By what has happened to us we know that Don \nFrancisco has been your Nero, for the three colors of our clothes are \nthe distinguishing tokens of the three holy fathers. The red silk be- \nlongs to Don Francisco, the blue to Guerrero, and the green to Ali- \naga. We are strictly commanded to make all demonstrations of joy, \nand to be very merry for three days when a lady first comes here, as \nwe did with you, and as you must do with others ; but afterwards we \nlive like prisoners, without seeing a single soul, but the six maids, and \nMary who is the housekeeper. We dine all of us in the hall three \ndays in a week. When any of the holy fathers has a mind for any \none of his slaves, Mary comes at nine o\'clock and conducts her to his \napartment. Some nights Mary leaves the door of our rooms open, \nand that is a sign that one of the fathers has a mind to visit us, but we \njdo not know whether it is our patron or not. We have at present \n\xc2\xa3fty-two young ladies, and we loose every year six or eight, but where \n-they are sent we do not know. We always get new ones in their \nplaces, and I have seen here seventy-three ladies at once. Our con- \ntinued torment is to think that when the holy fathers are tired of us, \n:lhey will put us to death, for they never will run the hazard of being \ndiscovered in their villany. So, though we cannot oppose their com- \ninands, yet we continually pray to God to pardon those ills, which we \nare forced to commit, and to deliver us out of their hands. So my \ndear sister arm yourself with patience, for there is no other remedy.\' \nBy this discourse of Leonora the young captive was prevailed on to \nmake the best of her condition. She found every thing to be as had \nbeen told her. She continued in durance eighteen months, in which \ntime the company lost eleven ladies and gained nineteen new ones* i \nWhen the French soldiers threw open the doors of their prison, M. \nFaulcant,\' says she, \'happily for me, opened the door of my room and \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 375 \n\nfrom the moment he saw me shewed great civility. He took Leono- \nra and me to his own lodgings, and hearing our stories, for fear things \nwould turn to our disadvantage, he dressed us in men\'s clothes, and \nsent us to his father\'s. So we came to this house where I was kept \ntwo years as the old man\'s daughter, till M. Faulcant\'s regiment being \nbroken up, he came home and two months after married me. Leo- \nnora was mariied to another officer and went to live at Orleans." \n\n*From the above it appears,\' says Mr. G^vin, *that about once a \nmonth upon an average, a family in Saragossa was robbed of a daugh- \nter to recruit the seraglio of the holy fathers of the inquisition. This \nnarrative does not refer to the dark ages of popery, the thing took \nplace but about a hundred years ago, and who can tell the misery \nthat was thus inflicted on many a family ? \xe2\x80\x94 In fact there could be no \nsuch thing as domestic comfort in any country where the inquisition \nwas established. It was not enough that every young lady was kept at \nhome, that she did not so much as show her face at a window, this would \ncertainly have made her a victim to any member of the holy office \nwhose spies might have been passing. Every exposure of this kind \ntherefore was most carefully avoided. But this did not serve the pur- \npose of concealing such as might be desirable inmates of the inquisi- \ntion. For every lady was required to make confession to a priest \ntwice, or at least once every year; the priests were all dependants of \nthe holy office, they were in short the panders of lewdness to the \nlords, the inquisitors, and becoming, by means of confession, acquain- \nted with the name and circumstances of every individual in every fam- \nily, it was easy for them to inform their superiors, where they might \nobtain a victim to be sacrificed at the shrine of their lusts.\' \n\nWilliam Lithgrow a Scotchman, who was for some time a resident \nat Malaga, took passage on board a French vessel bound for Alexan- \ndria. As he was returning to his quarters through bye streets, with a \nview to carry all his things on board the ship, he was seized by nine \ncatchpoles, or officers, who took him before the governor, to whom \nhe complained of the violence which had been done him. The gov- \nernor answered only by a nod ; and bid certain persons, with the \ntown secretary, to go and examine him. This was to be transact- \ned with all possible secrecy, to prevent the English merchants, resi- \nding in Malaga, from hearing of his arrest. \n\nThe council assembling, he was examined ; and being suspected to \nbe an English spy, they did all in their power to make some discovery \nto that purpose, but in vain. They afterwards asked the names of the \n\n\n\n\xc2\xa776 H i S T R i\' F \n\ncaptains of the fleet ; whether Lithgow, before his leaving England, \ndid not know of its fitting out ] Why he refused the ofl\'er which the \nEnglish admiral made of taking him on board his ship 1 In a word, \nthey affirmed that he was a spy; and that he had been nine months \nin Malaga, with no other view than to give intelligence to the English \nfcourt, of the time when the Spanish fleet was expected from India. \nThey then observed, that his intimacy with the officers, and a great \nmany more of his countrymen on board this fleet, who shewed him \nthe highest civilities, were strong indications of his guilt. \n\nAs Lithgow found it impossible to erase these bad impressions he \nuntreated them to send for a bag containing his letters and other pa- \npers ; the perusal of which, he declared, would prove his innocence- \nThe bag being accordingly brought, and the contents of it being ex- \namined, they were found to consist chiefly of passports, and testimo- \nnials, from several persons of quality ; a circumstance which, instead \nof lessening their suspicions, served only to heighten them. Present- \nly a subaltern officer came into the room to search him and, took \neleven ducats out of his pocket. Stripping him afterwards to his shirt \nthey found in the waistband of his breeches, the value of 548 ducats, \nin gold. Lithgow putting on his clothes again, was conducted to a se- \ncure place, and from thence removed to an horrid dungeon, where he \nwas allowed neither bed nor bedding ; and only an ounce and a half \nof musty bread, and a pint of water daily. \n\nAs he would confess nothing, he was put to the torture three days \nafter. The wretches had the inhumanity to make him undergo, in \nthe space of five hours, fifty diflerent sorts of torture ; after which he \nwas remanded back to prison, where two eggs were given him, and \na little hot wine, sufficient to keep him alive. \n\nOn this occasion he received from a Turk, favors which he could \nnot have hoped from persons who style themselves christians. This \nTurk administered to him all the consolation possible, and wept to see \nthe cruelties exercised on Lithgow. He then informed him, that \ncertain Eng lish priests belonging to a seminary, together with a Scotch \ncooper, had been some time employed by the governor\'s order, \nin translating into Spanish, all his books, and the observa- \ntions made by him in his travels. The Turk added, that it was pub- \nlicly reported, that he was a most notorious heretic. It was then \nLithgow naturally supposed that every engine would be set at work, \nto ruin him. \n\nTwo days after, the governor with the inquisitor and two Jesuits, \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I O N. 377 \n\ncame to Lithgow in prison ; when after asking him several questions \nand strongly urging him to change his religion, they declared, that, \nhaving first seized him as a spy, they had discovered, by the transla- \ntion of his papers, that he ridiculed the blessed lady of Loretto ; and \nspake very irrevelently of his holiness, Christ\'s vicegerent upon earth- \nthat informations had been lodged against him before the inquisitors ; \nthat he should be allowed eight days to return to the pale of the \nchurch ; during which the inquisitor himself, and other priests, would \ngive him all the instructions necessary, to extricate him from his mis- \nerable state. \n\nThey visited him again several times, but without success. In fine, \nthe eighth day being come, he was sentenced to undergo eleven dif- \nferent tortures ; when, in case he survived them, he was to be carried \nto Grenada, and burnt there, after caster holidays. The same even- \ning he was put to the torture, and bore it with great resolution, though \nthe utmost cruelty was practiced on this occasion. He was then re- \nmanded back to his dungeon, where some Turkish slaves brought \nhim, secretly, refreshments, which he was too weak to take. One of \nthese slaves, though educated in the Mahomedan religion from his \ninfancy, was so strongly affected with the deplorable condition to \nwhich Lithgow was reduced, that he fell sick for several days. How- \never, a Moorish female slave amply compensated for the kind Turk\'s \nabsence ; she being allowed more liberty in the prison. This female \nslave brought Lithgow, daily, provisions, with a little wine ; and this \ncourtesy continued six weeks. \n\nTo conclude, at a time when Lithgow expected, every instant, to \ndie in the most cruel torments, he was released by a very unexpected \naccident. A Spaniard of distinction being at supper with the govei- \nnor, the latter informed him of every thing that had happened to Lith- \ngow, since his imprisonment. As he had described, minutely, the va- \nrious tortures he underwent, a young Flemish servant, who used to \nwait on the Spanish gentleman at table, moved to compassion at the \nsad relation of the barbarity exercised on Lithgow, went unknown to \nany one, to an English factor ; and informed him of the conversation \nwhich had passed between the Governor and his master. The ser- \nvant being gone, the Englishman sent for the other six factors, his \ncountrymen, residing in Malaga; when, consulting together, they \nresolved to write to Madrid, to the English embassador ; who present- \nmg a memorial to the Spanish king and council, Lithgow was releas- \ned and put on board Sir Robert Mansel\'s fleet, then lying at anchor \n48 \n\n\n\n378 H I S T R Y O F \n\nbefore Malaga. The poor victim was so weak, that they were forced \nto carry him upon blankets. The admiral afterwards demanded Lith- \ngow\'s books, papers, money, &c. but no other answer was returned \nhim than mere compliments. \n\nEven as late as the year 1817, at the time when Spain was afflicted \nby many political troubles, Don Juan Van Halen, an officer in the \narmy, was arrested by the inquisition, and thrown successively into its \ndungeons at Murcia and at Madrid. He gives an account of an indi- \nvidual confined at the same time, whom he heard apostrophising (per- \nhaps under derangement from his sufferings) the gnats, whom he call- \ned devils of priests transformed into gnats, by whom he said he was \nincessantly tormented, as if they were in the pay of the inquisitors. \nThe holy office was at this time employed as an engine of political ty- \nranny, and Van Halen was seized on account of the part which he \ntook in pohtical affairs. The inquisitors long strove in vain to induce \nhim to betray such of his friends and associates as they wished to crim- \ninate. At last, one of the inquisitors, Zorrilla, wearied with the de- \nlay, and infuriated by the contumacy of the prisoner, sudden- \nly addressed him in mingled tones of impiety and rage \xe2\x80\x94 \'This holy \ntribunal has at last recourse to rigor. It will extort from you truths \nwhich neither the duty of a religious oath, demanded without violence, \nnor the mild admonitions which have been so often resorted to, in or- \nder to induce you to make the desired declarations, have been able to \nobtain. We judge the cause of our divine Redeemer, and of our \nCatholic king, &c. &c. The most rigorous torments will be employ- \ned to obtain from you these truths, or you shall expire in the midst of \nthem, &c. Justice, God, and the king require that it should be so. \nThis holy tribunal will fulfil its duties. Yes !\'^ \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\'The agitation of the moment permitted me to utter only a few \nwords, which, however, were not listened to, and I was hurried away \nto the farther end of the room, the jailer and his assistants exerting \nall their strength to secure me. Having succeeded in raising me from \nthe ground, they placed under my arm-pits two high crutches, from \nwhich I remained suspended ; after which my right arm was tied to \nthe corresponding crutch, while my left being kept in a horizontal po- \nsition, they encased my hand open in a wooden glove extending \nto the wrist, which shut very tightly, and from which two large iron \nbars ran as far as the shoulders, keeping the whole in the same posi- \ntion in which it was placed. My waist and legs were similarly bound \nto the crutches by which I was supported ; so that I shortly remain- \n\n\n\nTHE INQUIS ITI N. 379 \n\ned without any other action than that of breathing, though with \ndifficulty. ^ \n\n\'Having remained a short time in this painful position, that unmer- \nciful tribunal returned to their former charges. Zorrilla, with a trem- \nulous voice that seemed to evince his thirst for blood and vengeance, \nrepeated the first of those charges which he had just read, namely, \nwhether I did not belong to a society whose object was to overthrow \nour holy religion, and the august throne of our Catholic sovereign? \nI repUed that it was impossible I should plead guilty to an accusation \nof that nature. \xe2\x80\x94 \'Without any subterfuge, say whether it is so,\' he \nadded in an angry tone. \xe2\x80\x94 \'It is not sir,\' I replied. The glove which \nguided my arm, and which seemed to be resting on a wheel, began \nnow to turn, and with its movements I felt, by degrees, an acute pain, \nespecially from the elbow to the shoulder; a cold sweat overspread \nmy face. The interrogatory continued, but Zorrilla\'s question of \'Is \nit sol Is it so?\' were the only words that struck my ear amidst the ex- \ncruciating pain I endured, which became so intense that I fainted away, \nand heard no more the voices of those cannibals. \n\n\'When I recovered my senses, I found myself stretched on the floor \nof my dungeon, my hands and feet secured with heavy fetters and \nmanacles, fastened by a thick chain, the nails of which my tormentors \nwere still riveting. It was with much difficulty that I dragged myself \nto my bed. It seemed to me that the noise of my chains would awa- \nken my jailers, whose presence was to me the most fatal of my tor- \nments. I spent the whole of this night struggUng with the intense \npains which were the effect of the torture, and with the workings of \nmy excited mind. This state of mental agitation, and the burning fe- \nver, which was every moment increasing, soon threw me into a deliri- \num, during which I scarcely noticed the operation performed by \nmy jailers of opening the seams of my coat to examine the state of my \narm.\' \n\nAfter languishing a long time, and enduring great sufferings, he suc- \nceeded in effecting his escape in the beginning of 1818, took refuge \nin the Russian dominions, visited England and France, and returned \nto Spain in 1821. \n\nIn the year 1820, when the inquisition was thrown open by the \ncortes of Madrid, upwards of a score of prisoners were found in it, not \none of whom knew the name of the city in which he was, nor was \nany one of them perfectly aware of the crime laid to his charge. One \nof these prisoners, says Llorente, had been condemned, and was to \n\n\n\n380 \n\n\n\nHISTORY OF \n\n\n\nhave suffered on the following day. His punishment was to be death \nby the pendulum. The method of thus destroying the victim is as fol- \nlows : \xe2\x80\x94 The condemned is fastened in a groove upon a table, on his \nback ; suspended above him is a pendulum, the edge of which is \nsharp, and it is so constructed as to become longer v/ith every move- \nment. The wretch sees this implement of destruction swinging to \nand fro above him, and every moment the keen edge approaching \nnearer: at length it cuts the skin of his nose, and gradually cuts on, \nuntil life is extinct. It may be doubted if the holy office, in it its mer- \ncy, ever invented a more humane and rapid method of exterminating \nheresy, or insuring confiscation ! This, let it be remembered, was \na punishment of the secret tribunal, A. D. 1820 I \n\n\n\nC H A P T E R V I \n\nThe Auto da Fe \xe2\x80\x94 manner of its celebration. \xe2\x80\x94 Garb of the victims. \xe2\x80\x94 \nProclamation for an Auto in 1650. \xe2\x80\x94 Extraordinary preparations for \nthe same. \xe2\x80\x94 Attended by the king and court and an immense concourse \nof people. \xe2\x80\x94 The final tragedy. \xe2\x80\x94 Recapitulation of the victims of \nthe inquisition in Spain. \xe2\x80\x94 Conclusion. \n\nThe last and most appalling scene, which closes the awful drama \nof the inquisition, was the auto da fe, to which allusion has often been \nmade in the course of this volume, and of which a very brief and im- \nperlect description is all which can now be promised to the reader. \nThe auto da fe was a spectacle as august and splendid as it was cru- \nel and terrible, uniting in its sublime conception, as it is affirmed, two \nof the grandest ideas that the human mind can entertain, namely, a \nRpman triumph, and the day of judgment. \n\nThere were two kinds of autos da fe, the particular and the gener- \nal. The former were called autillos, or little autos, and were celebra- \nted in some small church or hall with closed doors, and before onlj \nselect persons. The general autos were solemnized in the principal \nsquare of the city, or some capacious church. In the first, the cul-. \nprits were few, in the second, numerous. In the grander exhibitioij, \ngreat care is taken to include persons who have committed different \ncrimes, so as to give an imposing variety to the spectacle ; and, at the \nsame time, some relapsed persons, whom even repentence cannot \nsave from the flames ; for if all could be pardoned by abjuring their- \nerrors, the exhibition might be spoiled at the last moment | \n\nThe victims who walk in the procession, wear certain insignia ; \nthese are, the san benito, the coroza, the rope round the neck, and \nthe yellow wax candle. The san benito is a penitential garment or \ntunic of yellow cloth reaching down to the knees and on it is painted \nthe picture of the person who wears it, burning in the flames, with \nfigures of dragons and devils in the act of fanning the flames. This \ncostume indicates that the wearer is to be destroyed as an impedi- \nment. If the person is only to do penance, then the san benito has \non it a cross, and no paintings or flames. If an impenitent is conver- \nted just before being led out, then the san benito is painted with the \n\n\n\n382 HISTORYOF \n\nflames downward ; this is called \'fuego repolto,\' and it indicates that \nthe wearer has escaped the terrible element. Formerl}^ these gar- \nments were hung up in the churches as eternal monuments of dis- \ngrace to their wearers, and as the trophies of the inquisition. The \ncoroza is a pasteboard cap, three feet high, and ending in a point. \nOn it are likewise painted crosses, flames, and devils. In Spanish \nAmerica it was customary to add long twisted tails to the corozas. \nSome^of the victims have gags in their mouths, of which a number are \nkept in reserve in case the victims, as they march along in public, \nshould become outrageous, insult the tribunal, or attempt to revea \nany secrets. \n\nThere was a remarkable custom which prevailed particularly in the \ninquisition of Spain. On the day before an auto da fe, they carried \na bush to the place at which the condemned were to be burnt. This \nhas its mysteries ; for the burning and not consuming bush, signifies \nthe inconsumable splendor which burns without perishing. It means \nalso mercy to the penitent, and rigor to the obdurate. Again, it is \nintended to represent how the inquisitors defend the vineyard of \nthe church, wounding with the thorns of the bush, and \nburning with fire, all who bring heresies into the harvest of \nthe Lord\'s field. Finally, it points out the forwardness of \nheretics, who are therefore to be broken like a rugged and contu- \nmacious shrub ; because, as its thorns tear the garments of the pass- \ners by, so do the heretics, whom it resembles, rend the seamless coat \npf Christ. \n\nThe most memorable auto da fe on record, was celebrated at Mad- \nrid, in the year of our Lord 1680, before Charles II. and his queen. \nIt was noised all over the world, and travelers and historians have se- \nlected it as the rarest specimen of which the inquisition could boast. \nA painting of it was made by Francisco Rizzi, and a full description \nhas been given by Jose de Olmo, an eyewitness and a familiar, and \nwho in that capacity had no small share in the tiansaction. The \nname of the inquisitor general was Don Diego Sarmiento de Vallada- \nres, who had been a member of the council of government during the \nminority of the king, and who thought it a good opportunity of secur- \ning the good will of his master, by exhibiting to him an auto on a \nsplendid scale. \n\nOrders had been sent to the various tribunals to hasten their trials \nthat the number of criminals might be as large as possible ; and that \nthe concourse ot people should be the greater, it was solemnly pro- \n\n\n\nTHE INQUISITION. 383 \n\nclaimed, a month before the time, that on Sunday the thirtieth of June, \nthis great triumph of the catholic faith,\' as Olmo calls it, would take, \nplace. The public notification ran thus \xe2\x80\x94 \'Be it known to all the in- \nhabitants and dwellers in the city of Madrid, the court of his Majesty \npresent and residing therein, that the holy office of the inquisition \ncelebrates a public auto da fe, in the large square of this said city, on \nSunday 30th of June of this present year; and that those graces and \nindulgences will be granted which the popes have enacted, for all who \nmay accompany and aid in the said auto da fe. This same is order- \ned to be proclaimed for the information of every one.\' \n\nThe reader naturally pauses upon the selection of the Sabbath-day \n\xe2\x80\x94 the day set apart for rest and religious joy \xe2\x80\x94 the day on which all \nwork is suspended, and all public punishments suppressed : and yet \nthis day, revered by so many nations, was the day on which this arro- \ngant tribunal called upon the civil magistrate to dye his hands in hu- \nman blood, and to profane the solemn season of religious festivity. \n\nOrders were issued for a vast stage or platform to be erected in the \nprincipal square, and two hundred and fifty artizans enlisted into the \nservice of the inquisition, under the title of \'Soldiers of the Faith,\' to \nguard the criminals ; eighty-five persons, among whom were gran- \ndees and the highest nobility, having solicited and obtained for the \noccasion the places of familiars to the holy office. \n\nAs the day approached, the whole country was alive. On the \ntwenty-eighth of June, a preparatory auto, by way of rehearsal, took \nplace, in which the \'soldiers of fahh,\' marched in a kind of procession, \nbearing fagots to the burning-place. They passed the palace, where \nthe monarch receiving an ornamented fagot from the captain, showed \nit to the queen, and ordered that it should, in his name, be the first \ncast into the flames ; thus imitating Ferdinand, who, on a similar oc- \ncasion, carried the wood on his own shoulders. On the following \nafternoon the procession of the two crosses was performed with all \nsolemnity; and, afterwards, the prisoners were all collected togeth- \ner in the secret prisons of the inquisition. \n\nAt length came the awful day, so impatiently expected by the mul- \ntitude, who have ever been found to exult in sanguinary spectacles. \nAt three in the morning the clothes, san benitos, and breakfasts were \nserved out to the culprits. At seven the procession moved ; and first \ncame the \'soldiers of the faith,\' who, as pioneers, cleared the way. \nNext followed the cross of St. Martin, covered with black ; then came \nthe prisoners^ one hundred and twenty in number \xe2\x80\x94 seventy-two wo- \n\n\n\n384 H I S T O R Y O F \n\nmen and forty-eight men, of whom some were in effigy. The effigies \nof those condemned persons who had died or escaped, followed. \nThese effigies have inscriptions, and are sometimes borne on long poles. \nThen came those who were to do penance, and those v/ho were recon- \nciled ; and finally appeared twenty-one miserable beings condemned \nto burn, each with his coroza and san benito, and most of them with \ngags in their mouths, attended by numerous familiars and friars, under \nthe pretence of comforting and exhorting them. Behind the effigy of \neach culprit was also conveyed boxes containing their books, when \nany had been seized with them, for the purpose of also being cast in- \nto the flames. The courts of the inquisition followed immediately af- \nter, with the secretaries, commissaries, and familiars, and among them \nthe two stewards, who carried the sentences of the criminals enclo- \nsed in two precious caskets. \n\nNext, on horseback, paraded the sheriffs and other officers of the \ncity, and a long train of familiars on richly caparisoned horses, with in- \nquisitors\' habits over their dresses. Then a vast multitude of ecclesi- \nastical ministers, all bearing suitable insignia, and mounted on mules \nwith black trappings. Behind came the mayor and corporation of \nMadrid, and the fiscal proctor of Toledo, who carried the standard of \nthe faith. Next the inquisitors of Toledo and Madrid : and lastly, the \ninquisitor general, on a superb steed magnificently clothed, twelve \nservants in livery, and an\'escort of fifty halberdiers commanded by the \nmarquis de Pobar, whose hvery was still more gorgeous. The whole \nwas closed by the sedan chair and coach of the inquisitor general, and \na suite of carriages filled with his pages and chaplains. \' This trium- \nphant procession,\' says Olmo, \' was performed with wonderful silence ; \nand though all the houses, squares and streets were crowded by an \nimmense concourse of people, drawn together from motives of pious \ncuriosity, scarcely one voice was heard louder than another.\' \n\nThe stage, which had been erected on the side of the great square \nfacing the east, was one hundred and ninety feet long, one hundred \nbroad, and thirteen high, forming a parallelogram with a surface of \nnineteen thousand square feet, at the two ends of which flights of steps \nas wide as the stage itself, were elevated to the second story of the \nhouses. \n\nThe whole court was present ; the king, queen, embassadors and \ncourtiers, with the numberless multitude. The Inquisitor\'s chair was \nplaced in a kind of tribunal, far above that of the king. The un- \nhappy victims were executed so near to the place where the king \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N. 38^ \n\nstood, that he could distinctly hear their groans ; the scaffold on which \nthey stood touching his balcony. The nobles of Spain acted here \nthe same part as the sheriff\'s officers in England. Those noblemen \nled such prisoners as were to be burnt ; and held them when they were \nfast bound with thick cords ; the rest of the criminals being conduct- \ned by the familiarsj or common servants of the Inquisition. Several \nfriars, both learned and ignorant, argued with great vehemence to con. \nvince these unhappy creatures of the truth of the christian religion, as \npractised by them. Some of the Jewish criminals were perfectly well \nskilled in their religion ; and made the most surprising defense, and \nthat ^vithout the least emotion. Among them was a maiden of ex- \nquisite beauty, and but seventeen years of age ; who being on the \nsame side with the queen, addressed her in hopes of obtaining her par- \ndon, as follows : \' Great queen ! will not your royal presence be of \nsome service to me in my miserable condition \'? have regard to my \nyouth ; and consider that I profess a religion which I imbibed from toy \ninfancy.\' The queen turned away her eyes, and though she seemed \ngreatly to pity her distress, yet she did not dare to speak a word in her \nbehalf. \n\nNow mass began, in\'the midst of which the priest came from the al- \ntar, and seated himself in a chair prepared for that purpose. The \nchief Inquisitor descended from the amphitheatre, dressed in his cope, \nhaving a mitre on his head ; after bowing to the altar, he advanced to \nwards the king\'s balcony ; went up to it by the stairs, at the end of \nthe scaffold, attended by some officers of the Inquisition, carrying \nthe cross and the gospels ; with a book containing the oath by which \nthe kings of Spain oblige themselves to protect the catholic faith, to \nextirpate heretics, and to support, with all their power, the prosecu- \ntions of the inquisition. \n\nThe king standing up, bareheaded, having on one side, the consta. \n"ble of Castile, who held the royal sword lifted, swore to maintain the \noath, which was read by the counsellor of the royal council. His ma- \njesty continued his posture till the Inquisitor returned to bis place ; \nwhen a secretary of the Inquisition mounted a sort of pulpit, and read \nthe like oath, administering it to the counsellors and the whole assem- \nbly. \n\nA vast awning was thrown over the crowd, which occupied \n\nall the balconies and houses on the four sides of the great square. \n\nThis grand piece of machinery was finished in about five days, upon \n\nwhich the historian Olmo says, \' It appeared that God moved the \n\n49 \n\n\n\n\xc2\xa786 HISTORYOF \n\nhearts of the workmen ; a circumstance,\' he continues, * strongly in- \ndicated by sixteen master builders, with their workmen, tools and ma- \nterials coming in, unsolicited, to offer their services, and persevered \nwith such zeal and constancy, that without reserving to themselves the \ncustomary hours for rest, and taking only the necessary time for food, \nthey returned to their labor with such joy and delight, that, explaining \nthe cause of their ardor, they exclaimed, \' Long Hve the faith of Jesus \nChrist ! All shall be ready at the time prescribed ; and if timber \nshould be wanting, we would gladly take our houses to pieces for a \npurpose so holy as this.\' \' \n\nAs soon as the prisoners, the tribunals, and the individuals invited, \nwere settled, the inquisitor general, arrayed in his pontifical robes, \ntook his throne, from which he presently descended, and approach- \ning in the most solemn manner, his majesty administered to him the \nusual oath, by which he swears to sustain the holy office of the inqui- \nsition. Grand mass was then celebrated, and the sermon, which was \nspoken of and quoted in a former chapter, was delivered. \n\nWhen the sermon was ended, the reading of the trials and senten- \nces commenced, and lasted for a tedious length of time. Those con- \ndemned to death were handed over to the civil authorities, and pro- \nceeded to the place of execution. The mass lasted till nine o\'clock \nat night. The patience with which Charles II. endured the fatigue \nwas amazing, for he never quitted his balcony to partake even of re- \nfreshment ; and when all was over, he even asked, in a tone of disap- \npointment, if any thing yet remained to be performed.\' \n\nThe burning place was sixty feet square, and seven feet high, and \nupon it were twenty stakes with corresponding rings. Some of the \nvictims were previously strangled, and others at once thrown into the \nfire. The latter, however in some instances denied the executioners \ntheir helUsh pleasure, by throwing themselves of their own accord in- \nto the flames. The bodies of those who were hanged, and the effigies \nand bones of the deceased, were cast in, and more fuel added, till \nall was converted into ashes, which was about nine o\'clock in the \nmorning. \n\nSuch is a description, though greatly abridged, of this celebrated \nauto da fe, the largest and most splendid ever known in regard to the \nnumber of prisoners, the variety of punishments, and the fact of its \nhaving been presided over by three inquisitorial tribunals, one of \nwhich was the supreme council, together with the inquisitorial gener- \nal, and attended by all the king\'s court and grandees. \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T I N. 387 \n\nThe learned Doctor Geddes, thus describes an Auto da Fe in Lis- \nbon, of which himself was a spectator. \'The prisoners are no soon- \ner in the hands of the civil magistrate, than they are loaded with \nchains, before the eyes of the inquisitors ; and being carried first to \nthe secular gaol, are, within an hour or two, brought from thence \nbefore the Lord Chief Justice, who, without knowing any thing ol \ntheir particular crimes, or of the evidence that was given in against \nthem, asks them, one by one, in what religion they intend to die 1 \nIf they answer that they will die in the communion of the church of \nRome, they are condemned by him, to be carried forthwith to the \nplace of execution, and there to be first strangled and afterwards burnt \nto ashes : but if they say they will die in the protestant, or in any \nother faith that is contrary to the Romish, they then are sentenced to \nbe carried forthwith to the place of execution, and there to be burnt \nalive. \n\n\'At the place of execution, which at Lisbon is the Ribera, there are \nas many stakes set up, as there are prisoners to be burnt, with a \xc2\xab-ood \nquantity of dry furze about them. The stakes of the professed as \nthe inquisitors call them, may be about four yards high ; and have a \nsmall board, whereon the prisoner is to be seated, within half a yard \nof the top. The negative and relapsed being first strangled and burnt- \nthe professed go up a ladder, betwixt the two Jesuits, who attended \nthem all day ; and, when they are come even with the forementioned \nboard, they turn about to the people, and the Jesuits spend near a \nquarter of an hour in exhorting the professed to be reconciled to the \nchurch of Rome ; which, if they refuse to be, the Jesuits come down \nand the executioner ascends ; and having turned the professed off the \nladder upon the seat, and chained their bodies close to the stake he \nleaves them ; and the Jesuits go up to them a second time, to renew \ntheir exhortation to them ; and at parting tell them that they leave \nthem to the devil, who is standing at their elbow to receive their souls \nand carry them with him into the flames of hell-fire, so soon as they \nare out of their bodies. Upon this a great shout is raised ; and as \nsoon as the Jesuits are off the ladder, the cry is, let the dogs beards \nbe made; which is done by thrusting flaming furze, fastened to a \nlong pole against their faces. And this inhumanity is commonly con- \ntinued until their faces are burnt to a coal ; and is always accompani- \ned with such loud acclamations of joy, as are not to be heard upon \nany other occasion ; a bull feast or a farce being dull entertainments, \nto the using a professed heretic thus inhumanly. \n\n\n\n388 HISTORYOF \n\n*The professed beards being thus made, or trimmed, as they call it \nin jollit}^, fire is set to the furze, which is at the bottom of the stake, \nand above which the professed are chained so high, that the top of the \nflame seldom reaches higher than the seat they sit on ; and if there \nhappens to be a wind, to which that place is much exposed it seldom \nreaches so high as their knees. So that if there is a calm the profess- \ned are commonly dead in about half an hour after the furze is set on \nfire ; but if the weather is windy, they are not, after that, dead in an \nhour and a half, or two hours; and so are really roasted, and not burnt \nto death. But though out of hell, there cannot possibly be a more \nlamentable spectacle than this, being joined with the sufferers (so long \nas they are able to speak) cries, Miserecordia por amor de Dios, \n*Mercy for the love of God;\' yet it is beheld by people of both sexes, \nand all ages, which such transports of joy and satisfaction, as are not \non any other occasion to be met with.\' Doctor Geddes, further ob- \nserves, \'That this inhuman joy is not the effect of natural cruelty, but \narises from the spirit of their religion; a proof of which is, that all pub- \nlic malefactors, except heretics, are no more tenderly lamented than \nby the Portuguese ; and even when there is nothing in the manner of \ntheir deaths that appear inhuman or cruel.\' \n\nThe horrid scenes which the autos da fe have created all over the \nearth, almost stagger belief. In reflecting, says Puigblanch, on the \ncruelty of these autos, it seems as if I beheld the triumph of the sava- \nges of Canada over some of their prisoner enemies. On one of the \nlatter they brutally satiate their rage ; bound to a pole, they raise him \nup on high, tear down his flesh by mouthfuls, cut away his members \none by one, and in the mean time the victim, without expressing pain, \nthough foaming with rage, breathing defiance, and presenting the \nspectacle of all the furious passions of the human soul, provokes and \nmocks his executioners with irritating reproaches, urging them to the \ntorture, while he glories in the triumph of having overcome them in \nferocity. Cases of a similar character have really and frequently been \nwitnessed in the autos of the inquisition. To show that there is no \nexaggeration in the picture, read the following description from Ga- \nrau, of what he beheld at an auto where he officiated as a minister^ \nIt was at an auto in Majorca, in 1691. Thirty-four culprits were de. \nlivered to the flames after being hanged, and three were burnt alive as \nimpenitent Jews. Their names were Raphael Tails, Raphael Teron- \ngi, and Catherine Terongi. \' On seeing the flames near them,\' \nsays the Jesuit Garau, \' they began to show the greatest fury, strug-. \n\n\n\nli \n\n\n\nT H E I N Q U I S I T 1 N. 38^ \n\ngling to free themselves from the ring to which they were bound, \nwhich Terongi at length effected, although he could no longer hold \nhimself upright, and he fell side-long on the fire. Catherine, as soon \nas the flames began to encircle her, screamed out repeatedly for them \nto withdraw her from thence, although uniformly persisting not to in- \nvoke the name of Jesus. On the flames touching Vails, he covered \nhimself, resisted and struggled as long as he was able ; being fat, he \ntook fire in his inside in such a manner that before the flames had en- \ntwined around him, his flesh burnt like a coal, and, bursting in the \nmiddle, his entrails fell out.\' \n\nThe number of victims sacrificed by the inquisition in Spain almost \nexceeds credibility, yet it has been shown by Llorente, who carefully \nexamined the records of the tribunal, and whose statements are drawn \nfrom the most authentic sources, that 105,285 fell under the inquisi- \ntor-general Torquemada; 51,167 under Cisneros, and 34,952 un- \nder Diego Perez. It is reckoned that 31,912 have been burnt alive! \n15,659 have suffered the punishment of the statute, and 291,450 that \nof the penitentiaries ; 500,000 families have been destroyed by the in^ \nquisition, and it has cost Spain two millions of children. \n\nIt is time that this account of the inquisition were drawn to a \nclose. It would, perhaps be as unprofitable, as it is revolting to the \ncommon feelings of human nature, to introduce a longer catalogue of \nthe enormities, and acts of soulless barbarity, with which the annals \nof the inquisition abound. The facts which have been presented, al- \nthough from their nature liable to repetition, are but few of the nunx^* \nber, and not the most aggravated in character, which have been pub-\xc2\xbb \nlished to the world. Many of the scenes enacted by this tribunal \nand which have been abundantly authenticated, are too shocking, and \nobscene in their character, for recital. From the time of the first es- \ntablishment of the Inquisition, up to its abolition it constantly main^ \ntained the same character, and was ever conducted under the gui- \ndance and approbation of the Pope, by whom it was justly considered \nas one of the strongest auxiliaries of papal power. \n\nThe object however, of its institution was not fully accomplished^ \nThe height to which papal insolence and tyranny had arisen in the \nsixteenth century, engendered a spirit of inquiry, followed by opposi- \ntion, which was not to be resisted. It was in vain that the rack and \nthe dungeon brought all the terrors and refinements of cruelty which \nhuman ingenuity, aided as it might seem by the councils of the \ninfernal spirits, to the aid of popery. This opposition was destined \n\n\n\n390 HISTORY OF \n\nto go forward, and thanks be to Almighty God, a triumph awaited it. \nMany of the European nations, and particularly those v/hich stood \nforemost in the rank ^of civilization, threw off the trammels with \nwhich tyranny and superstition had long bound them in passive sub- \nmission ; and despite of all the efforts of Rome, exerted through its \ninquisitorial and monastic myrmidons, reasserted the liberties and re- \nstored the purity of the church of Christ. This result, as has alrea- \ndy been shown was not every where effected. Unfortunately for \nSpain and ^^Portugal, the cause ^of reform had made no permanent \nadvances, previous to the establishment of the inquisition, and accor- \ndingly we have found in the history of this tribunal, that its principal \noperations, were confined to those realms. Italy, France, and many \nother European nations, which have acknowledged fealty to Rome, \nhave not escaped its withermg touch, yet the peninsula has been \nthe principal theatre of its bloody triumphs. It was there alone that \nthis tribunal bore absolute sway, not only subjecting the government \nitself to its power, but causing it to become the humble and passive ex- \necutioner of its merciless decrees. The colonies of these nations did \nnot escape the ravrges which desolated their mother country \xe2\x80\x94 the \nIndies and America were admitted to a full participation in all their \nsuflferings. The fires of the auto have been kindled on our own con- \ntinent and the aboriginies of Mexico have expiated the crime of here- \nsy towards the religion of the Prince of Peace, of which they could \nknow nothing, by the most excruciating tortures, and death by the \nilames. \n\nWherever the tribunal has been established, gloom, desolation and \n4eath have ever been its \'meagre, pale attendants.\' The foundations \nof society have been shaken, all confidence between man and man \ndestroyed, \xe2\x80\x94 and even the dearest ties of kindred and affection, ruth- \nlessly torn assunder. The claims of religion, of honor, and the \ncommon sympathies of our nature have been violated, and every \nmotive, every effort,\'and every action, throughout all ranks of societ}^, \nwere made to bend in subservience to the interests of Rome\'s spiritu- \nal despot. The desolating influences which have been exerted where \nthe tribunal has exercised jurisdiction are incalculable, and forbid any \nestimate of their magnitude or importance. Spain and Portugal now \nbear witness, to its demoralizing and pestiferous tendency, having fall- \nen far in the rear of their sister nations, in every attribute which ele- \nvates and ennobles the condition of man ; for although the tribunal \nhas been abolished, and its dungeons thrown open, yet the moral \n\n\n\nTHE INQL\' I SI TIO N. 391 \n\nand political blight, which had been thrown over the land, is still eve- \nry where distinguished, and every where felt. Surrounded by na. \ntions that have long been making gigantic strides in literature, in sci- \nence and in the arts, the inquisition threw around them a barrier of \ndarkness, which the light of knowledge was unable to penetrate or \ndispel. \n\nThe scenes of the Roman amphitheatre \xe2\x80\x94 its gladiatorial com- \nbats and brutal contests, sink into the most innocent pastimes, com- \npared with the secret horrors of the torture room, and the public sol- \nemnization of the auto da fe. The darkest passions of man were call- \ned into action, and steeled against every generous impulse, the direst \nacts of cruelty were perpetrated without compunction and without \nrestraint. So far had this morbid spirit transfused itself through the \nnation, that the celebration of an auto, when many of the worthiest and \nnoblest of mankind, guilty of no crime against their country or their \nGod, were to be committed to the flames, was looked forward to with \nthe deepest interest. Thousands and thousands from the remotest \nparts of the nation flocked to behold the spectacle, and gazed with in, \ntense eagerness and gratification at the agonizing contortions, and ex- \npiring struggles of the burning victims. No wonder that science turn\xc2\xab \ned away digusted from such a people \xe2\x80\x94 no wonder that literature, sought \nmore congenial climes for its abiding place. \n\nProfessedly an institution for the defense and preservation of Chris- \ntianity, in its primeval estate, it immediately became the pander of \nMoloch, and has impiously sacrificed more victims in the name of \nHim who left an example of meekness and mercy, than were ever im- \nmolated on the shrine of pagan idol. Such, briefly, was the character of \nthe Inquisition, whose very name has become associated with every \nthing infamous and diabolical. Such was the tribunal which \n\nWhen she saw \n\nNew tortures on her laboring fancy born, \nShe leaped for joy, and made great haste to try \nTheir force \xe2\x80\x94 well pleased to hear a deeper groan. \nThe supplicating hand of innocence, \nThat made the tiger mild, and in its wrath \nThe lion pause, the groans of suffering \nMost severe, were naught to her ,\xe2\x80\xa2 she laughed at groans, \nNo music pleased her more ; and no repast \nSo sweet to her, as blood of men redeemed \nBy blood of Christ." \n\n\n\nHISTORY \n\n\n\nOP \n\n\n\nMONACHISM \n\n\n\nCHAPTER I \n\n\n\n"Origin of Monachism \xe2\x80\x94 ^^nthony of Thebais-^ Spread of Monastic In" \nstituticns among the Oriental nations \xe2\x80\x94 First monasteries in Gaul \xe2\x80\x94 \nDifferent monastic orders \xe2\x80\x94 Cenobites and Eremites \xe2\x80\x94 St. Benedict \xe2\x80\x94 \nRides of the Bensdlctines \xe2\x80\x94 Veneration of the monastics \xe2\x80\x94 Influence of \nthe monks \xe2\x80\x94 Degeneracy of the different orders \xe2\x80\x94 Benedict of Jlnaine \xe2\x80\x94 \nJMonks of Clugni \xe2\x80\x94 Clstertians and Carthusians, \n\nThe origin of Monachism cannot be traced higher than the middle \nof the third century, of the Christian era, though Roman Catholic \nwriters have erroneously and unsuccessfully endeavored to prove tha* \nthe Ascetics, who were not uncommon, long before this period were \nmonks. The first monk whose name has reached us, is St. Paul^ \nusually called the hermit. He retired into Upper Egypt, A. D. 250, \nand lived to the extraordinary age of 1 13 years. About the same pe- \nriod Anthon}^ a young man of very moderate attainments in literature \nbut evidently possessed of a strong understanding, who was born in \nthe lower parts of Thebais, and possessed a small tract of very \nfertile land in that part of Egypt, sold his property, distributed it \namong his relations, and leaving his home, retired at first among the \ntombs, afterwards to a lonely, but shady and well watered spot in the \ndesert, and ultimately fixed his residence, on a hill in the vicinity of \nthe Red Sea. Perhaps he may more properly than Paul, be regarded \nas the first monk, since he first collected this class of people into a \nregular body, engaged them to live in a society with each other, and \n50 \n\n\n\n394 HISTORYOF \n\npresented fixed rules for the government of their conduct. He also \nlived to the very advanced age of 105. The regulations which An- \nthony had instituted in Egypt, were soon after introduced into Pales- \ntine and Syria, by one of his disciples. About the same time EugeniuS \nestablished the monastic order in Mesopotamia, and the adjacent coun- \ntries, and their example was followed with such rapid success, that \nin a short time the v/hole east was filled with indolent fanatics, who, \nabandoning all human connections, pleasures and advantages, lead \nout a languishing and miserable life, amidst privation and every spe- \ncies of suffering, in order to arrive at a more close and rapturous com- \nmunion with God and angels. \n\nFrom the east this gloomy institution passed into the western na- \ntions of Europe, and first into Italy and the neighboring islands, \nthough it is uncertain who transplanted it thither. St. Martin, the \ncelebrated bishop of Tours, erected the first monasteries in Gaul, and \nreconmiended this religious solitude with such power and efficacy, \nboth by his instructions and example, that his funeral is said to have \nbeen attended by no less than two thousand monks. From thence, \nthe monastic discipline gradually extended its progress through the \nother provinces and countries of Europe. \n\nIt is, however, proper to observe that there was a great difference \nin point of austerity, between the western and oriental monks ; the \nformer of whom could never be brought to submit to all the regula- \ntions which the latter voluntarily observed. The reason for this dif- \nference, may perhaps be partly found in the nature of the respective \nclimates in which they dwelt. European countries do not abound so \nthickly with dehrious fanatics, and persons of a morose and austere \ncomplexion, as those arid regions which lie towards the burning \nSouth ; nor are their bodies capable of supporting that rigorous and \nabstemious method of living which is easy and familiar to those who \nare placed under a glowing firm.ament, and breathe in a sultry atmos- \nphere. It was, therefore, rather the name only, than the thing itself, \nwhich was transported into the countries of Europe, though this name \nwas accompanied with a certain resemblance or distant imitation of \nthe monastic life, instituted by Anthony and others in the east. \n\nThe monastic order was divided into several classes. Originally \nthere were but two distinct orders, of which one received the denom- \nination of Cenobites, the other that of Eremites. The former lived \ntogether in a fixed habitation, and made one large community, under \na chief whom they called father, or abbot, which signifies the same \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M. 396 \n\nthing in the Egyptian language. The latter drew out a wretched \nlife in perfect solitude, and were scattered in caves, deserts and the \nhollow of rocks ; sheltered from the elements, and defended from wild \nbeasts only by the cover of a miserable cottage in which each one liv- \ned sequestered from the rest of his species. \n\nThe Anacorites were yet more excessive in the austerity of their \nliving than the Eremites. They frequented the wildest parts without \neither tents or cottages, nourished themselves wilh the roots and herbs \nwhich grew spontaneously out of the uncultivated ground, wandering \nabout without any fixed abode, and reposing wherever the approach \nof night happened to find them. \n\nThe last order of monks that come nov/ under consideration, were \nthose wandari.ig impoitors, calbJ by ths Egyptians, Sarabites, who \ninstead of procuring subsistence by honest industry, traveled through \nvarious cities and provinces, and gained a maintenance by fictitious \nmiracles, by the sale of relics to the multitude, and by other frauds of \na kindred nature. Many of the Cenobites were chargeable with the \nmost vicious practices. This order was not, however, so universally- \ncorrupt as that of the Sarabites, who were universally a class of aban, \ndoned profligates. As to the Eremites ihey seem to have deserved no \nother reproach than that of extreme fanaticism. All these orders \nwere hitherto composed of the laieiy, and were subject to the inspec- \ntion and jurisdiction of the bishops. But many of them were after- \nwards adopted by the clergy, and that even by the commands of the \nemperors. Nay, the fame of monastic piety and sanctity became so \nuniversal, that bishops were frequently chosen out of that fanatical or-^ \nder. \n\nIn the sixth century a new order of monks arose which reached a \ngreater degree of influence and celebrity than any that had preceded \nit. St. Benedict an Italian monk was its founder. His religious rules \nwere at first framed and intended for the regulation of a convent at \nMount Cassino, between Rome and Naples, over which he presided. \nBut they were afterwards either adopted by or forced upon a \xe2\x80\xa2^reat \nnumber of monasteries. His great object seems to have been to ren- \nder the discipline of the monks milder, their establishment more sub- \nstantial, and their manners more regular than those in the other mo- \nnastic establishments. The whole time of the monks of the order, he \ndirected to be divided between prayer, reading, the education of youth \nHnd other pious and learned labors. Ail who entered his order were \n\n\n\n896 HISTORYOF \n\nobliged to promise, when they were received as noviciates, and to re- \npeat their promise when they were admitted as full members of the \nsociety, that they would in no respect and on no account attempt to \nchange or add to the rules which he had instituted. As he was ex- \ntremely solicitous about the stability of his institution, this particular \nregtdation was wise and prudent, since before his time, the monks \nscrupled not to alter the rules and laws of the founder* of the order, \nas often as fancy or their own interests, reemed to dictate. \n\nBenedict admitted the learned and unlearned into his order. It was \nthe duty of the first to assist at the choir ; of the latter to attend to the \nhousehold economy, and temporal concerns of the monastery. At \nthis period, it may he observed, that the recitation of the\' divine citice \n^t the choir, (^as it is called by the Catholics) was confined to the \nmonks, afterwards it was established as the duty of all priests, deacons- \nand sub-deacons. \n\nThe Benedictines first admitted none into their order who were \nnot well instructed how to perform it, but it was not necessary that \nthey should be priests, or even in holy orders. Afterwards many \nwere admitted who were ignorant of the duty of the chnir. These \nwere employed in menial duties. Hence the introduction of Lay \nBrothers, into the Benedictine older. When first introduced they \nwere not considered as a portion of the monastic establishment, but \nas merely attached and subordinate to it, but in the course of time, \nboth the order and the church acknowledged them to be, in the strict* \nest sense of the word, professed religious. \n\nThe rules instituted by St. Benedict were embraced by all the \nmonks of the west. In Gaul its interests were promoted by Maurus,. \nin Sicily and Sardinia, by Placidus, in England by Augustin and Mel- \nlitus, in Italy and other countries by Gregory the Great, who is re-^ \nported to have been for some time a member of this society. This \nsudden and amazing progress of the new order, was ascribed by the \nBenedictines to the wisdom and sanctity of their discipline, and to \nthe nMracle which was wrought by its founder and his followers. But \na more attentive view of things will convince the impartial observer, \nthat the protection of the Roman pontiffs, to the advancement of \nwhose glory and authority the Benedictines were most servilely devo- \nted, contributed much more to the lustre and influence of their or- \nder, than any other circumstance, na}^, than all other considerations \nftinited together. But however universal their credit ujay have been^ \nthey did not reign alone. Other orders subsisted in several places? \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 397 \n\nuntil the ninth century, when the Benedictine ahsorbcd all other \nsocieties, and held unrivalled the reign of monastic empire. \n\nIn this century the monastic hfe was held in the highest esteem, \nand nothing could equal the veneration that was paid to such as devo- \nted themselves to the indolence and sacred g\'loom of a convent. The \nGreeks and orientals hail lonjj been accustomed to regard the monas- \ntic ord^r wi.h thegieatest admiration, but it was only since the begin- \nning of the last century, that the holy passion was indulged among ihe \nLatins, to such an extravagant degree. \n\nIn the present age kings and rulers, forgetting their own true dig- \nnity and glory, atFectCvl the highest contempt for the world and its \ngrandeur. They abandoned their thrones, their honors and their \ntreasures, and shut themselves upin monasteries, wiihaview of devo- \nting themselves exclusively to God Several examples of this exu- \nberance of fanaticism were exhibited in Italy, France and Spain, both \nin this and the preceding century. And if the allurem.ents of world- \nly pleasures and honors, had too much power over the minds of many \nto permit their separation from human society, during their Hves, such \nendeavored to make amends for this in their last hours ; for when they \nperceived death approaching, they demanded the monastic habit and \nactually put k on before their departure, that they might he regarded \nas of the fraternity, and be of consequence entitled to the fervent \nprayers, and other spiritual aid of their ghostly brethren. \n\nAnother exhibition of the extreme reverence paid to the monastic) \norder, is to be found in the elevation of great numbers of monks and \nabbots to the highest stations of pontifical preferment. The transae-; \ntion was indeed unnatural and violent fi-om the obscurity of a convent^ \nand the study of a liturgy to high public trusts and the guidance of \nnational interests. But sach was often the case ; and pious princesi \nalledged, as a reason for this singular choice, that the government o^ \na state could nowhere be better placed than in the hands of such holy \nmen, who had vanquished every irregular appetite and passion, and \nwho were consequently incapable of any unworthy designs, any low \nor mercenary ideas. \n\nThe morals, however, of the monks, were far from being so pure \nas to justify the reasons alledged above for their promotion\xe2\x80\x9e Their \npatrons and protectors were sensible of the irregular and licentious \nlives that many of them led, and used their utmost endeavors to cor- \nrect their vices and reform their manners. Lewis the monk, distin- \nguished himself in this noble design, and to render it the niore effectu- \n\n\n\n398 HISTORYOF \n\nal, he employed the pious labors of Benedict, Abbot of Aiu \naine, in reforming the monasteries throughout the whole kingdom \nof France, and in restoring by new and salutary laws, the monastic \ndiscipline, which was generally neglected and fallen into decay. This \nworthy ecclesiastic presided in the year 817, in the council of Aix \nla Chapelle, when several wise measures were determined upon, for \nremoving the disorders that reigned in the cloisters ; and in conse- \nquence of the unlimited authority he had received from the emperor, \nhe subjected all the monks without exception to the rule of the fa- \nmous Benedict abbot of Mount Cassino, who annulled a great variety of \nrites and customs that had obtained observance in the different mon- \nasteries., prescribed to them all one uniform method of living, and \nthus united as it were in one general body, the various orders, which \nhad hitherto been connected by no common bond. This admirable \ndiscipline which acquired to Benedict of Anaine, the highest reputa- \ntion, and elevated him to the rank of second father of the western \nmonks, flourished for a while, but afterwards declined, through vari- \nous causes, until the conclusion of this century, when under the ca- \nlamities that oppressed both the church and the empire, it almost en- \ntirely disappeared. \n\nIn the tenth century nothing happened among the eastern monks \nworthy of being consigned to the records of history ; while those of \nthe west were concerned immediately in transactions of great conse- \nquence, and which deserve the attention of the curious reader. The \nwestern monks were remarkable for their attachment to the Roman \npontiff. This connection had long been formed, and originally arose \nfrom the violence and avarice of both bishops and princes, who, under \nvarious pretexts, were constantly encroaching upon the possessions of \nthe monks, and thus obhged them to seek for security against these in- \nvasions on their property and their rights, in papal protection. This \nprotection was readily granted by the pontiff, who seized every occa- \nsion of enlarging his authority ; and the monks in return, engaged \nthemselves to pay an annual tribute to their spiritual patrons. In \nthis century the usurpations of the Roman see were extended mucl^ \nfarther by obtaining the entire jurisdiction over the monks, at the ex-- \npense of the Episcopal order. Hence it happened that from the time \nof Gregory, the number of monasteries that had received immunities^ \nboth from the temporal authorities of the sovereign, and the spiritual \njurisdiction of the bishops, were multiplied beyond measure, through- \nout all Europe, and the rights of princes, together with the interest! \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M . 899 \n\nand privileges of the Episcopates, were trampled upon, or rather en- \ngrossed by the unsated ambition of the Roman prelate. \n\nThe monks of Clugni, in France, surpassed all other religious or- \nders, in the renown they had acquired, from a prevailing opinion of \ntheir eminent sanctity and virtue. Hence their order was univer* \nsally respected, and hence, also, their opinions were adopted by the \nfounders of new monasteries, and the reformers of those that were in \na state of decline. These famous monks arose by degrees to the very \nhighest summit of worldly prosperity ; and their power and credit grew \nwith their opulence to such a height, that tov/ards the conclusion of \nthis century they were formed into a separate society, which still sub- \nsists under the title of the Order of Clugni. No sooner were they \nthus established than they extended their spiritual jurisdiction on every \nside ; subjecting all the monasteries which they had reformed by their \ncounsels, and engaged to adopt their religious discipline. The monks \nof Clugni, however, soon degenerated from their primitive sanctity, \nand in a short space of time, were distinguished by nothing but the pe- \nculiarities of their discipline from the rest of the monastic orders. \n\nThe examples of these monks excited several pious men to erect \nparticular monastic fraternities, or congregations, like that of the \nClugni, the consequence of which was that the Benedictine order \nwhich had hitherto been one great, consolidated body, was now divided \ninto separate societies, which, though they were subject to one gene^ \nral rule, yet different from each other in various circumstances, both in \ntheir discipline and manner of living, and this division was rendered \nstill more palpable by reciprocal exertions of animosity and hatred. \xe2\x80\x94 - \n\nRobert, abbot of Moleme, in Burgundy, having employed in vain \nhis most zealous efforts, to raise the decaying piety and discipline of \nhis convent, retired with about twenty monks, who had not been in- \nfected with the dissolute habits of their brethren, to a place called Ci- \ntearux in the diocess of Chalons. In this retreat, then a miserable \ndesert, covered on all sides with thorns and brambles, Robert laid \nthe foundation of the famous order of Cistertians, which like that of \nClugni, made a most astonishing progress, was propagated through the \ngreater part of Europe, in the following century, and was not only \nenriched by the most liberal and splendid donations, but also acquired \nthe form and privileges of a spiritual republic, and exercised a kind of \ndominion over all the monastic orders. The great and fundamental \nlaw of this new fraternity was the rule of St. Benedict, which was to \nbe solemnly and rigorously observed, and to this were added several \n\n\n\n40D H I S T O R Y O F \n\nether institutions and injunctions which were designed to maintain \nthe authority of this rule, to ensure its observance, and to defc;nd it \nagainst the dangerous effects of opulence, and the restless efforts of hu- \nman corruption, to render the best estabUshments imperfect. These \ninjunctions were expressly austere, grievous to nature, but pious and \nlaudable in the esteem of a superstitious age. They did not, howev- \ner, secure the sanctity of this holy congregation, since the seducing \ncharms of opulence, which corrupted the monks of Clugni, much soon- \ner than was expected, produced the same effect among the Cister- \ntians. Their zeal began gradually to diminish, and in process of time \ngrew as negligent and despotic as the rest of the Benedictines. \n\nIn the year 1084, the famous order of Carthusians v/as instituted, \nso called from Chai\'treux a dismal and wild spot of ground, near \nGrenoble, in Dauphine, suirounded with barren mountains and crag- \ngy rocks. The founder of this monastic society which surpassed all \nothers in their austerity and discipline, was Bruno, a native of Cologne, \nand canon of the cathedral of Rheims in France. This zealous eccle- \nsiastic who had neither power to reform, nor patience to bear the dis- \nsolute manners of his archbishop; retired from his church with six of \nhis companions, and fixed his residence in the glccmy desert already \nmentioned. At first he adopted the rule of St. Benedict, to which \nwere added many rigorous precepts. His successors, however, went \nstill further, and imposed upon the Carthusians new laws which re- \nquired the highest degree of austerity that the most gloomy imagina- \ntion could invent. Notwithstanding all this, it is remarkable that no \nmonastic society degenerated so little f^^om the severity of their primi- \ntive institution as this of the Carthusians. The progress of their or- \nder was indeed less rapid, and their influence less extensive, than that \nof other institutions, subjected to less rigorous laws. It was a long \ntime before the tender sex could be engaged to submit to its barba- \nrous requisitions ; nor had the Carthusian order ever reason to boast \nof the numbers of its female members ; it was too forbidding to capti- \nvate a sex, which though susceptible of the seductions of enthusiasm, \nis of a frame too delicate to support the severities of a rigorous self- \ndenial. \n\nToward the conclusion of this century, the order of St. Anthony, \nof Vienne, in Dauphine, was instituted for the relief and support of \nsuch as were seized with grievous disorders, and particularly the dis- \nease called St. Anthony\'s fire. All who were afflicted with that dis- \ntemper repaired to a cell built near Vienne, in which the body of St \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 401 \n\nAnthony was said to repose, that by the prayers and intercessions of \nthis eminent saint, they might be miraculously healed. Gaston, an \nopulent nobleman of Vienne, and his son Guerin. pretended to have ex- \nperienced in their complete recovery, the mafYelous effects of St. An- \nthony\'s intercession, and accordingly devoted themselves and their \npossessions, from a principle of pious gratitude, to his service, and to \nthe performance of generous and charitable offices towards all such as \nwere afflicted with the miseries of poverty and sickness. Their ex- \nample was at \'-.rst followed only by eight persons, afterwards gradual- \nly augmented. They were not bound by any particular vows, but \nwere consecrated in general to the service of God, and bred under \nthe jurisdiction of the monks of Grammont. Growing opulent by the \nmuhltude of donations subsequently received, they withdrew from the \ndominions of the Benedictines, propagated their order in various coun- \ntries, and at length, in the year 1297, obtained the privileges of an \nindependent congregation under the rule of St. Augustine. \n51 \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nRise of the Mendicants \xe2\x80\x94 Franciscans and Dominicans \xe2\x80\x94 First Monas- \nteries in England \xe2\x80\x94 Carmelite Order\xe2\x80\x94 Its pretended origin \xe2\x80\x94 Hermits \nof St. Augustine \xe2\x80\x94 Prophecies of Joachim \xe2\x80\x94 Fanaticism of Wilhelmi- \nna, a woman of Bohemia \xe2\x80\x94 Rise of the Military Orders \xe2\x80\x94 Order of St. \nJohn of Jerusalem \xe2\x80\x94 Knight Templars \xe2\x80\x94 Teutonic Order. \n\nTill the thirteenth century, these were the only distinguished monas- \ntic orders. At that period the Medicants arose. These were the \nFranciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites, and the Hermits of St. Augus- \ntine. The establishment of the Mendicants seems to have been ne- \ncessary, as the other monks had greatly degenerated ; they were rich \nand indolent, and consequently unfit for the objects for which they \nwere originally instituted. Innocent III. was the first Pope who per- \nceived the necessity of creating a new order, which by the austerity of \ntheir manners, their contempt of riches, and the external gravity and \nsanctity of their conduct;\' might rescue the church from the odium \nwhich monasticism had entailed upon it. \n\nThe Franciscans were founded by St. Francis. He was the son \nof a merchant, and the early part of his life was wasted in debauchery \nand profligacy. Upon his recovery from a severe sickness occasioned \nby his licentious conduct, he abandoned his former practices, aiid fell \ninto an extravagant kind of devotion trat appeared less like religion \nthan alienation of mind. Some time after this he happened to be in a \nchurch, when he heard that passage of scriptures lepeated, in which \nChrist addressed his apostles in the following manner : \' Provide nei- \nther gold nor silver, nor brass in your purses, nor scrip for your jour- \nney, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves, for the workman \nis worthy of his meat.\' This made a strong impression upon his mind, \nand he was led to consider a voluntary and absolute poverty as the \nvery essence of the gospel, and the soul of religion ; and he according- \nly prescribed this poverty as a sacred rule, both to himself and to the \nfew tliat followed him. Such was the commencement of the famous \nFranciscan order, whose founder and chief was undoubtedly a pious \nand vvell meaning man, though grossly ignorant, and maniiestly weak- \nened in intellect by the disorder from which he had recovered. The \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 403 \n\nbrethren of this order were called friars^ minors, or the little brethren. \nThey were chiefly engaged in the more laborious parts of religion, in \nhospitals, in prisons, among the lower orders of the poor ; in short, \nwliere danger, labor or other causes kept away the Benedictines and \nAugListines, there they were ever to be found. The Franciscans ar- \nrived in England in the reign of Henry II, and commenced their first \nestablishment at Canterbury. \n\nThe Dominicans derived their names from St. Dominic, a Spaniard \nby birth, and a man of fiery and impetuous temper. Exasperated by \nthe contests which the heretics had excited in the Church, he set out \nfor France with a few companions, in order to combat the sectaries \nthat were multiplied in that quarter. This enterprise he executed \nwith the greatest vigor, attacking the Albigenses and other enemies of \nthe church with the power of eloquence, the force of arms, and the \nterrors of the inquisition, which owed its form to this violent and san- \nguine priest. Passing from thence into Italy, he was honored by the \nreigning pontiff with the most distinguisheil marks of approbation and \nfavor, and after many labors in the cause of the church, he obtained \nthe privilege of erecting this new fraternity, whose principal design \nwas the suppression of error, and the extirpation of heretics. At first \nhe adopted the rule of the Canon\'s regular of St. Augustine, and sub- \nsequently that of St. Benedict, but the alterations and additions he in- \ntroduced, made it almost entirely a new rule. In a chapter of his or. \nder at Bologne, in 1320, he obliged the brethren to take a vow of ab- \nsolute poverty, and to abandon entirely all their revenues and posses- \nsions. The Dominicans were first called preaching friars, because \npublic instruction was the chief object of their institution. In Eng- \nland they were called black friars. Their first monastery in that na- \ntion was founded at Oxford in the year 1276 ; the mayor and alder- \nman of London gave them two whole streets by the river Thames, \nwhere they erected a very commodious convent, whence the place is \nstill called Black Friars. During three centuries the Franciscans and \nDominicans, governed with an almost universal and absolute sway, \nboth church and state, filled the most eminent posts, taught in the uni- \nversity and churches, with an authority before which all opposition was \nsilent, and maintained the pretended majesty and prerogatives of the \nRoman Pontiff, against kings, bishops, and heretics, with incredible \nardor and equal success. These two celebrated orders restored the \nchurch from that declining condition in which it had long been Ian- \n\n\n\n404 HISTORY OP \n\nguishing by the zeal and activity with which they set themselves to \nwork to extirpate heresy, to undertake various negotiations and em- \nbassies for the hierarchy, and to confirm the wavering multitude in \ntheir implicit obedience of the Roman prelate. \n\nThe Carmelite order which had been instituted in Palestine in the \npreceding century, was in this transplanted into Europe. Berthold, \na Calabrian, was its original founder. Attended by a few compan- \nions, he proceeded to Mount Carmel and upon that very spot where \nthe prophet Eliaa cisappeared, built a humble cottage with an adjoin- \ning chapel, in which he led a life of solitude, austerity and labor. This \nlittle colony gradully increased, and was at length erected into a mo- \nnastic community by A:bert bishop of Jerusalem. This austere pa- \ntriarch drew up a rule of discipline for the new monks, which was af- \nterwards confirmed by the Roman pontiff. Such was the origin of the \nfamous order of Carmelites, or as they are commonly called, the or- \ndrr of our Lady of Mount Carmel, which was now transplanted into \nEurope, and obtained a leading rank among the mendicant orders. \nIt is true, that the Carmelites reject, with the greatest indignation an \norigin so recent and obscure, affirming that the prophet Elias was the \nfounder of their ancient community. Very few, however, have been \nengaged to adopt this chimerical account of their establishment except \nthe members of the order, and many Roman Catholic writers have \ntreated their pretensions to such remote antiquity with the utmost \ncontempt. Indeed, nothing can be more ridiculous than the chcum- \nstantial narrations of the occasion, origin and revolutions of this fa- \nmous order, which are found in many ecclesiastical authors, whose zeal \nfor this fraternity have rendered them capable of adopting, without re- \nluctance, or at least reciting without shame the most puerile and gla- \nring absurdities. They inform us that Elias was introduced into the \nstate of Monachism by the ministry of angels ; that his first disciples \nwere Jonah, Micah, and also Obadiah, whose wife, in order to get rid \nof an importunate crowd of lovers, who fluttered about her at the court \nof Achab, after the departure of her husband, bound herself by a vow \nof chastity, took the veil from the hands of father Elias, and thus be. \ncame the first abbess of the Carmelite order. They observe, that \namong other marks which were used to distinguish the Carmelites \nwas the tonsure, that this mark exposed them to the derision of the \nprofane multitude, and furnishes the explication of the term bald head \nwhich the children addressed, by way of reproach toElisha as he was \non his way to Carmel. They tell us, moreover, that Pythagoras was \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. -405 \n\na member of this order ; that he drew all his wisdom from Mount Car- \nmel, and had several conversations with the prophet Daniel, at Baby- \nlon, on the subject of the Trinity. Nay, they go slill further into the \nregions of fable, and assert that the Viij^in Mary, and Jesus himself \nassumed the habit and profession of Carmelites, and this fiction is load- \ned with a mass of absurd circumstances which it is impossible to read \nwithout the highest degree of astonishment; \n\nThe hermits of St. Augustine, had lor their founder Alexander IV., \nwho, observing that the hermits were divided into several societies, \nsome of which followed the maxims of the famous William, others the \nrule of St. Augustine, formed the project of uniting them into one reli- \ngious order, and subjecting them to the same rule of discipline. This \nproject was put in execution in the year 1256. \n\nAs these four Mendicant orders were allowed the privilege of travels \ning wherever they thought fjroper, of conversing with persons of all \nranks, of instructing the youth and the multitude wherever they went, \nand as these monks exhibited in their outward appearance, and man- \nner of life, more striking marks of gravity and holiness than were ob- \nservable in other monastic societies, they arose at once to the very \nsummit of fame, and were regarded with the utmost esteem and ven- \neration throughout all the countries of Europe. The enthusiastic at- \ntachment to these sanctimonious beggars went so far, that several \ncities were divided, or cantoned out into four parts, for the accommo^ \ndation of these four orders. The first part was assigned to the Dor \nminicans, the second to the Franciscans, the third to the Carmelites, \nand the fourth to the Augustines. The people were unwilling to re- \nceive the sacrament from any other hands than those of the Mendir \ncants, to whose churches they crowded to perform their devotions \nwhile living, and were extremely anxious to have their remains deposi- \nted there after death. These circumstances gave rise to many comr \nplaints among the ordinary clergy, whose fame and influence were \nthus effectually eclipsed, while the accumulated distinctions and privif \nleges which were bestowed upon the Mendicants by the Pontiff, expo- \nsed them still more to the envy and hatred of the rest of the clergy, \nand this hatred was still fuither augmented by the arrogance which \ndiscovered itself every where in the conduct of these superstitious or- \nders. They declared publicly that they had a divine impulse and \ncommission to illustrate and maintain the religion of Jesus ; they af- \nfirmed that the true method of obtaining salvation was revealed to \nthem alone ; proclaimed the superior efficacy and virtue of thejr induU \n\n\n\n406 H I S T R Y O F \n\ngences, and Impiously boasted of their interests at the Court of Hea- \nven, and their familiar connections with the saints in glory, the Virgin \nMary, and the Supreme Being. Blinded by these blasphemous pre- \ntensions, the multitude would entrust none but the mendicants with \ntheir spiritual and eternal concerns. To illustrate the notorious frauds \nwhich were often practised, it is only necessary to refer to the fable \nrelating to Simon Stockius, the general of their order, who died about \nthe beginning of this century. We are informed that the Virgin Ma- \nry appeared to this ecclesiastic, and gave him a solemn promise, that \nthe souls of those persons who left the world with the Carmehte cloak \nor scapulary on their shoulders, should infallibly be preserved from \ndamnation. This fiction and many others of a kindred character, ri- \ndiculous and impious as they were, found patrons and defenders \namong the Roman prelates. \n\nAlthough the Mendicant orders were considered as the main pillars \nof the hierarchy, and the principal support of the papal authority, yet \nafter the death of Dominic and Francis, they involved the pontiff in \nmany troubles and perplexities, which were no sooner dispelled than \nthey were again renewed with increased violence. These tumults \nand perplexities began with the contests between the Dominicans and \nFranciscans, about pre-eminence. In these dissensions, monkish hu- \nmility was fully illustrated by the bitter invectives and foul accusations \nwith which each order loaded their rivals. Besides this, the Franc\'s- \ncans were early divided among themselves, and split into several fac- \ntions. These factions gathering strength and consistence from day to \nday, were not only disastrous to the tranquility of the church, but struck \nat the supreme jurisdiction and prerogatives of the Roman prelate. \nWhoever considers with attention the series of events that occurred \nin the Latin Church from this remarkable period, will be fully convin- \nced that the Mendicant orders, whether through imprudence or de- \nsign we shall not determine, gave several mortal blows to the authori- \nty of the Church of Rome, and excited in the minds of the people \nthose ardent desires for a reformation in the church which produced \nin after times such substantial and glorious results. \n\nAnother cause of division among the Franciscans now arose and \nproduced many unhappy divisions with the monks of that order. \nAbout the commencement of this century, there were handed about \nin Italy, several pretended prophecies of the celebrated Joachim, ab- \nbot of Sora in Calabria, whom the multitude revered as a person di- \nvinely inspired, and equal to the most illustrious prophets of ancient \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M . 407 \n\ntimes. The greatest part of these predictions were contained in a \ncertain book, entitled the Everlasting Gospel, and known as the Book \nof Joachim. This Joachim, whether a fictitious or a real personage \nis alike uncertain and unnecessary to be known, among many other \nfuture events, foretold the destruction of the Roman Church, (whose \ncorruptions he censured with the greatest severity) and the promulga- \ntion of a more new and perfect gospel in the age of the Holy Ghost, \nby a band of poor and austere ministers, whom God was to employ \nand raise up for that purpose. He divided the world into three ages, \nrelative to the three dispensations of religion that were to succeed \neach other in it. The two imperfect ages, viz : the age of the Old \nTestament, which was that of the Father, and the age of the New, \nunder the administration of the Son, were, according to the predic- \ntions of Joachim, now past, and the third age, that of the Holy Ghost, \nwas now at hand. The Scriptural Franciscans, who were generally \nwell meaning, but credulous enthusiasts, not only placed implicit con- \nfidence in the prophecies and doctrines that were attributed to Joa- \nchim, but applied these predictions to themselves, and to the rule of \ndiscipline established by their founder, St. Francis, maintaining that \nhe delivered to mankind the true Gospel, and that he was the angel \nwhom St. John saw flying in the midst of Heaven. At the very time \nthat the intestine divisions among the Franciscans were at their greatest \nheight, one of the Spiritual Friars undertook the explication of the \nEverlasting Gospel, in a book which appeared in the year 1250, un- \nder the title of Introduction to the Everlasting Gospel. In this \nbook the fanatical monk among other enormities as insipid as impi- \nous, inculcated the following doctrine : * That St. Francis who was^ \nthe angel meniioiied in the Revelations, had promulgated the tiue \nand everlasting gospel, which was to be substituted in its room, and \nthat the ministers of this great reformation were to be humble and \nbare-footed fiiars, destitute of all worldly emoluments.\' \n\nWhen this strange book was published at Paris in the year 1 254, it \nexcited among the doctors of the Church the most lively feelings of \nin.ignation against the Mendicant friars, who were already laboring \nunder the displeasure of the public on other accounts. This univer- \nsal ferment engaged the Roman pontiff, though much against his will, \nto order the immediate suppression of the book. He however took \ncare to have this order executed with the greatest possible mildness, \nlest the reputation of the Mendicants should be wounded, and the \neyes of the multitude opened. But the university of Paris was not \n\n\n\n408 \n\n\n\nHISTORY OF \n\n\n\nsatisfied with this timorous proceeding, and its doctors, repeated with- \nout intermission their accusations and complaints until this extrava- \ngant production which had given such just and general offense, was \npublicly committed to the flames. \n\nThe fanaticism which originated in the prophecies of Joachim, did \nhot stop here. The delusion hsid become so deeply rooted, that ma- \nny new sects were formed for their accomplishment, and war was \nopenly declared against the established church, its system of doctrine \nand its form of worship. Among other fanatical sectaries, there arose \none of a most extraordinary character, in the person of Wilhelmina, a \nBohemian woman, residing in the territory of Milan. Having studied \nwith attention the predictions concerning the age of the Holy Ghost, \nshe persuaded herself, and what is still more surprising, had sufficient \ninfluence to persuade many others, that the Holy Ghost was become \nincarnate in her person, for the salvation of a great part of mankind. \nAccording to her doctrine *none were saved by the blood of Jesus but \ntrue and pious christians, whilst the Jews, Saracens, and unworthy \nChristians, were to obtain salvation through the Holy Spirit, which \ndwelt in her, and thereof consequence then of all that happened to \nChrist during his appearance on earth in human nature, was to be ex- \nactly revoved in her person, or rather in that of the Holy Ghost, which \nwas united to her. This mad woman died at Milan in the year 1481, \nand her memory was not onl}^ held in the highest veneration by her \nnumerous followers, and the ignorant multitude, but was also honored \nwith public and private worship. Her sect was nevertheless discov- \nered by the inquiring age of persecution, in the year 1300, and fell in- \nto the hands of the inquisition, who destroyed the magnificent mon- \nument tnat had been erected to her honor, caused her bones to be \nraised and committed to the flames, and in the same fire consumed \nthe chief leaders of this wretched faction, among which were persons \nof both sexes. \n\nDuring the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the monastic socie- \nties always received protection from the occupants of the papal chair, \nalthough they had entirely degenerated from the objects of their insti- \ntution. At the Iptter part of the period they had become a herd of \nilliterate, profligate and licentious epecurians, who perverted their rev- \nenues to the gratification of their lusts, and renounced in their con- \nduct all regard to their respective rules of discipline. This entire pros- \ntration of their dignity and boasted sanctity, and the excesses and \nviolence which were every where exhibited, aroused a spirit of inqui- \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 409 \n\nry among the people, and greatly contributed towards hastening on \nthe reformation which was about to follow. \n\nHaving now briefly detailed the history of all the principal monastic \norders existing previous to the reformation, we will now turn back \nand glance at the origin of the different military orders which origin- \nated from the monastic stock. The Benedictines and Augustines \nwere the standing army of the Vatican, and they fought its spiritual \nbattles with constancy and success for nearly six centuries. The \nfirst addition made to them was that of the military orders ; and this \nproceeded not from any sense of the insufficiency of the veteran es- \ntablishments, or distrust in them, but from circumstances wholly in-^ \ndependent of any such causes. They arose in the agitation of the \ncrusades, and were nourished by the same spirit which first created \nthose expeditions, and then caught from them some additional fury. \n\nThe union of the military with the ecclesiastical character had be- \ncome common, in spite of repeated prohibitions, among all ranks of \nthe clergy. It was exercised by the vices of the feudal system, which \nhad given them wealth in enviable profusion, but which provided by \nno sufficient laws or strength of government, for the protection of \nthat which it had bestowed, so that force was necessary to defend \nwhat had been lavished by superstition. The warlike habits which \necclesiastics seem first to have acquired in the defence of their prop- \nerty, were carried forth by them into distant and offensive campaigns, \nand exhibited in voluntary feats of arms, to which loyalty itself, fur- \nnished a very insufficient pretext. But those general exercises did \nnot give birth to any distinct order professing to unite religious vows \nwith the exercise of arms; and even the first of those, which did af- \nterwards make such profession, were in their origin pacific and char- \nitable institutions. \n\nThe order of St. John of Jerusalem, or the Knights of the hospital, \nwas in its origin a pacific and charitable institution. About the year \n1050, at the wish of some merchants of Amalfi, trading with Syria, \na Latin church had been erected at Jerusalem, to which a hospita \nwas soon added, with a chapel dedicated to the baptist. When God- \nfry the Bouillon took the city in 1099, he endowed the hospital; it \nthen assumed the form of a new religious order, and received con* \nfirmation from Rome, with a rule for its observance. \n\nThe revenues were soon found to exceed the necessities of the es- \ntablishment ; and then the Grand Master changed its principle and \ndesign by the infusion of the military character. The knights of the \n52 \n\n\n\n410 H I S T R Y F \n\nhospital were distinguished by three gradations. The first in dignity \nwere the noble and military ; the second were ecclesiastical, superin- \ntending the original objects of the institution ; the third consisted of \nthe \'serving brethren,\' whose duties also were chiefly military. To \nthe ordinary vows of charity poverty and obedience, they added the \nobligations of charity, fasting and penitence ; and whatsoever laxity \nthey may have admitted in the observance of them, they unquestiona- \nbly derived from that profession some real virtues which were not \nshared by the fanatics around them ; and they softened the savage fea- \ntures of religious warfare with some faint shades of unwonted hu- \nmanity. \n\nSo long as their residence was Jerusalem, they retained the peace- \nful name of hospitallers ; but they were subsequently known by the \nappellation of knights of Rhodes and Malta. Faithful, at least to one \nof the objects of their institution, they valiantly defend one of the out- \nworks of Christendom, against the progress of the invading Mussul- \nman, and never sullied their arms by the massacre of pagans or here- \ntics. \n\nThe Knights Templars received their name from their residence in \nthe immediate neighborhood of the temple at Jerusalem. The foun- \ndations of this order were laid in the year 1118, and the rule to which \nit was afterwards subjected, was from the pen of St. Bernard. This \ninstitution, both in its original purpose and prescribed duties, was ex- \nclusively military. To extend the boundaries of Christendom, to pi-e- \nserve the internal tranquility of Palestine, to secure the public roads \nfrom robbers and outlaws, to protect the devout in their pilgrimage to \nthe holy places, were the peculiar offices of the Templar. They were \ndischarged with fearlesness, and rewarded with, renown. Renown \nwas followed by the most abundant opulence. Corruption came in \nits train ; and on their final expulsion from Palestine, they carried \nwith them back to Europe, much of the wild unbridled license, \nwhich had been familiar to them in the east. But their unhappy fate, \nas it is connected with one of the most important periods of papal his- \ntory, must be observed in its proper place. \n\nThe Teutonic, or German order had its origin likewise in the office \nof charity. During the siege of Acre, a hospital was erected, for the \nreception of the sick and wounded. This establishment survived the \noccasion which erected it ; and to confirm its character and perma- \nnency, it obtained a rule, in 1070, from Celestine III. and a place \namong the \'orders Hospital and Military.\' On the termination of the \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 411 \n\ncrusades, these knights returned to Germany, where they enjoyed con- \nsiderable possessions ; and soon afterwards, by a deviation from the \npurpose of their institution, which might seem shght in a superstitious \nage, they turned their arms to the conversion of Prussia. \n\nThat country and the contiguous Pomerania, had hitherto resisted \nthe peaceful exertions of successive missionaries, and continued to \nworship the rude deities, and follow the barbarous manners of antiqui- \ntv. But where the language of persuasion had been employed in vain, \nthe disciplined valor of the Teutonic knights prevailed. It was re- \ncompensed by the (Conquest of two rich provinces, and the faith which \nwas inflicted on the vanquished in the rage of massacre, was \nperpetuated, under the deliberate oppression of military government. \nThis event took place about the year 1230, but in another generation, \nwhen the memory of its introduction was effaced, the religion really \ntook root and flourished, by the sure and legitimate authority of its \nexcellence and its truth. After that celebrated exploit, the Teutonic \norder continued to subsist in great estimation with the church; and \nthis patronage was repaid with persevering fidelity, until at length, \nwhen Ihey perceived the grand consummation approaching, the holy \nknights generally deserted that tottering fortress, and arrayed their re \nbellious host under the banners of Luther. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. \n\nOrigin of communities of Female Recluses \xe2\x80\x94 Prevalence among the \nEastern JV*ations \xe2\x80\x94 Introduced into Europe by JUarcella, a Roman \nlady \xe2\x80\x94 J^uns of the Holy Trinity \xe2\x80\x94 Jfunneries founded by St. Domi- \nnic \xe2\x80\x94 Foundation of the Ursuline Order \xe2\x80\x94 Character of the Female \nOrders \xe2\x80\x94 Profligacy and Licentiousness of the Monks \xe2\x80\x94 Invective of \nVoltaire. \n\nThat there existed, even in the Antenicene church, virgins, who \nmade profession of religious chastity, and dedicated themselves to \nthe service of Christ, is clear from the writings of Tertullian, Cyp- \nrian, and Eusebius ; but there is no sufficient reason to believe that \nthey were formed into societies ; still less that they constituted any or- \nder or congregation. They exercised individually their self-imposed \nduties and devotions, and found their practice to be consistent with \nthe ordinary occupations of society. \n\nThe origin of communities of female recluses was probably coeval \nwith that of monasteries, and the produce of the same soil. The glory \nof the institution is ascribed to St. Syncletica, the descendant of a Ma- \ncedonian family, settled in Alexandria, and the contemporary of An- \nthony. Many such establishments vv^ere founded in Egypt before the \nmiddle of the fourth century ; and they were propagated throughout \nSyria, Pontus and Greece, by the same means and at the same time \nwith those of the holy brothers, though not in the same abundance. \nThey gradually penetrated into every country where the name of \nChrist was known ; they were found among the Armenians, the Min-. \ngrelians, Georgians, Maronites and others ; and finally framed an \nimportant and not incongruous appendage to the oriental church. \n\nA noble Roman lady, named Marcella, is celebrated as the instru- \nment chosen by Providence, to introduce the pious system into the \nwest. In emulation of the models of Egypt, she assembled several \nvirgins and widows in a community consecrated to holy purposes ; \nand her example found so many imitators, that the fathers of the next \ngeneration, St. Ambrose, St. Jerome and St. Augustine, bear sufficient \ntestimony to the prevalence of the institution in their time. It is true \nthat as late as the year 400, many devout virgins still preserved their \n\n\n\n1, \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 413 \n\ndomestic relations, and adhered to the more secular practice of the \nAntenicene church ; and it is possible those devotees were never ex- \ntinct in any age. The associations for the same end gradually embra- \nced those with whom religious zeal was the leading motive ; and their \nsanctity was recommended to popular reverence, as it may also have \nbeen exalted and fortified, by the discipline and the vow which bound \nthem. \n\nThe rules to which the convents of Nuns were subject^ were form- \ned for the most part, upon those which bound the monks. Like the \nmonks they lived from common funds, and used a common dormitory, \ntable and wardrobe, the same religious services exercised their piety ; \nhabitual temperance and occasional fasting, were enforced with the \nsame severity. Manual labor was no less rigidly enforced, but instead \nof the agricultural toils imposed upon their \'brethren,\' to them were \ncommitted the easier tasks of the needle and distaff. By duties so \nnumerous, by occupations admitting such great variety, they beguiled \nthe tediousness of the day, and the. dullness of monastic seclusion. \n\nIt appears probable that in the very early ages the virgins, who \nwere dedicated to religious purposes, could enter without, any scan- \ndal, into the state of marriage. But we should recollect, that at that \ntime, the monastic condition, properly speaking did yiot exist. Imme- \ndiately after its first institution, St. Basil loudly declared against such \na departure from the more perfect purity ; that patriarch of monasti- \ncism does not hesitate to pronounce the marriage of a nun to be in- \ncest, prostitution and adultery ; and St. Ambrose and St. Augustine \nexacted the same sacred obedience to the irrevocable vow. \n\nBy the council of Chalcedon, nuns who married were made \nliable, together with their husbands, to the sentence of excom- \nmunication ; yet in such manner that penance might be imposed, if \nthey reverently requested it, and communion restored in consequence \nof that penance, after a long interval proportioned to the offense. \nThis canon was generally received in the west. But in the year 407 \nInnocent I. closed the door of penance, and left no loop hole of for- \ngiveness open to those who had violated their vow. Subsequent ages \nincreased, rather than mitigated this rigor ; and imprisonment \ntortures and death, were finally held out as the punishments of monas- \ntic incontinence. The resource of penance was still reserved by In- \nnocent for incontinent novices, those who married after having avow- \ned the intention of chastity, but without yet having taken the veil. \nThe ceremony of the consecration to the seclusion of the veil, was \n\n\n\n414 HISTORY OF \n\nof earlier origin than the time of St. Ambrose, and it appears that it \nmight then be performed by a priest no less than by a bishop. The \nwords pronounced on this occasion were presented by the fourth \ncouncil of Carthage ; but they varied, or were entirely changed in sub- \nsequent times. The age at which the novice might be consecrated, \nwas equally variable, and seems to have been left, at least, in early \ntimes, to the discretion of the prelates. An age as advanced as sixty \nyears appears first to have been usual ; but St. Ambrose gives reasons \nfor permitting the veil to be sooner assumed : and the age of twenty \nfive was established as the eailiest, at which the recluse was permitted \nto place the indelible seal upon her resolution. \n\nThe first period of Monachism was terminated in the western church \nby the epoch of St. Benedict, and while that hermit was inventing \nhis new institution for the brothers of his obedience, his sister Scho- \ntastica was raising the standard, round which the holy virgins might \ncollect with greater regularity and discipline. The rule of her disci- \nples was however rather given in restoration of the original obser_ \nvance, than on any new principle of religious seclusion. In the \nprimitive establishments, industry and prayer, abstinence, silence, \nobedience and chastity were ordained ; and the first Benedictine nuns \nwere rather reformed nuns of St. Basil than a distinct order. \n\nThey acquired such reputation and flourished so rapidly, that in \nthe pontificate of Gregory the Great, Rome contained three thousand \n\' handmaids of God^ who followed the Benedictine rule. They con- \ntinued to rise in rank and power, so as to render it necessary, in the \nyear 813, to repress the pretended right of the abbesses to consecrate \nand ordain and perform other sacerdotal functions. \n\nThe establishment of female recluses followed very closely, the nu> \nmerous diversities of the monastic scheme, and imitated the names of \nthe male institutions, where they could not adopt their practice or \neven their profession. An order of canonesses-regular was present- \ned with a rule in 813. In later times a community of noble young \nladies, who were associated under a very easy discipline, and not re- \nstrained by any vow of celibacy, under the title of canonesses-secular ; \nbut these pretenders to religious seclusion were on some occasions \ndiscountenanced by the church. An imitation af the military orders \nmight, at first sight, seem still more repugnant to the feelings and du- \nties of holy virgins. But it was in fact far otherwise. That commu- \nnity originated in an office of gratuitous humanity ; to entertain the \nstranger, to tend the sick, were the earliest offices of the knights of \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 415 \n\nthe hospital. Those humbler tasks may have been forgotten in the \ncharacter of the soldier of the cross ; but the nuns of the hospital ad- \nhered to the earliest and noblest objects of the institution. Ti^eir \nfoundation was contemporary with that of the Chevaliers, and in af- \nter times they extended their establishments, and perhaps their chari- \nties to every part of Europe. \n\nThe calamities of the Crusades were followed and alleviated by an- \nother institution, in which charitable females immediately took ashare^ \nand of which the purpose was not less worthy of its religious profes- \nsion. A number of Christian captives had been thrown by the vicis- \nsitudes of war into the hands of the Saracens, and for their redemp- \ntion, the order of \' the nuns of the Holy Trinity,\' was established ear_ \nly in the thirteenth centur}^ It survived the occasion which gave it \nbirth, and flourished widely under the patronage of certain pious prin? \ncesses, especially in Spain. \n\nThe busy zeal of St. Dominic, divided with his other ecclesiastical \nduties the foundation of several nunneries. And though we cannot \ndiscover that the essential characteristics of his order, preaching and \nmendicity were practically communicated to the holy sisters who bore \nhis name, yet the name was sufficient to procure for them wealth and \npopularity ; and they were not surpassed in either of those respects. \nby any other order. St. Catharine of Sienna, a vehement devotee, \nprofessed especially to respect the virtues and imitate the discipline of \nSt. Dominic, and she may be accounted among his most genuine dis- \nciples, since she interposed to smooth the political difficulties of her \ncountry, and to influence by reason and authority the most momen- \ntous concerns of the Church. \n\nAmong the female mendicants, the latest institution was that of the \nCarmelites. They were founded about the year 1452 ; and nearly a \ncentury afterwards were reformed by the celebrated Theresa, a na- \ntive of Castile. \n\nWe shall not trace the endless catalogue, nor enumerate the names \nunder which similar institutions appeared. Among those of some- \nwhat earlier times, that of St. Brigida, a princess of Sweden, is most \nrenowned. It was an estabfishment for the reception of both sexes, \nthough separated in residence, under the superintendance of an ab- \nbess, and its rule was confirmed by Urban V. in the year 1360. \nThough manual labor was strictly enjoined, the royal hand which \nfounaed the community appeared to have blessed it with ample endow-, \nments. \n\n\n\n410 HISTORY OF \n\nOf the more modern orders the Ursulines require some notice. Its \norigin is ascribed to Angela de Buscra, about the year 1537, though \nthe Saint from whom it derived its name, Ursula Benicara, a native of \nNaples, was born ten years afterwards. Its character was peculiar, \nand recalp our attention to the primitive form of ascetic devotion. \n\nThe duties of those holy sisters were the purest within the circle of \nhuniari benevolence ; to minister to the sick, to relieve the poor, to \nconsole the miserable, to pray with the penitent. These charitable \noffices they undertook to execute without the bond of any community, \nwithout the obligation of any monastic vow, without any separation \nfrom society, any renouncement of any of their domestic duties or \nvirtues ; and so admirably were these offices performed in millions of \ninstances, that, had all the other female orders been really as useless \nand vicious as they are sometimes described to be, the virtues of the \nUrsulines had alone been sufficient to redeem the monastic name. \nBut it is untrue that these other orders were either com m only- \ndissolute, or generally useless. Occasional scandals have engen- \ndered universal calamities. \n\nTo recite the mere names of those more latel}^ founded, is insuffi- \ncient to show that their professed objects were almost always excellent ; \nand it would be injurious to human nature, as it is contrary to histori- \ncal evidence, to suppose that those objects were instantly abandoned* \nand made merely a cover for the opposite vices. In the more secular \ninstitutions of the other sex, there was greater space for the operation \nof evil passions. In those polluted cloisters, the seeds of avarice \nwere commonly nourished by the practice of profitable deceptions, and \nthe prospect of opulent benifices. The holiest contemplations were \ninterrupted by the voice of ambition, inviting the most austere recluse \nto dignity and power, the abbacies and prelacies ; to the councils of \nkings, and to predominant apostolical eminence, whence kings and \ntheir councils were insulted and overthrown. But in the cell of the \nfemale devotee, those passions can seldom have intruded, because \nthey had no object there. Without insisting upon any natural predis- \nposition to piety and benevolence, we are assured that the precincts \nof the convent were fruitful in the exercise of both ; and whatever \njudgment we may form respecting the character of that influeuce \nvs^hich monachism has exerted through so many ages, and so ma- \nny forms of society, we may pronounce without hesitation the general \npurity of the female orders. \n\nVoltaire, in his chapter on the religious orders, after eulogizing \n\n\n\nii \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 417 \n\ncharities of the female institutions in the noblest spirit of philanthropy \nhas remarked that \' Those who have separated themselves from the \nchurch of Rome have but faintly imitated that generous virtue.\' The \ntaunt is undeserved. We did not lay aside our charities when we dis- \npensed with our vows ; we did not languish in the practice, when we \nrejected the profession, the religious motive acts not less powerfully \nbecause the name is less commonly put forward, and in as far as the \ntender sex is concerned, there is not a district in our cities, nor a vil- \nlage incur country which does not profit by the unpretending, ima- \nvowed and enlightened benevolence of Protestant Ursulines. \n\nAs the abuses and corruptions of the monastics, and the insolence \nand licentiousness of the monks, and particularly the Mendicant Or- \nders, had been one of the most exciting and principal causes which \nurged forward the Reformation ; that great event was productive of \nmany radical improvements. Severe rules were employed to restrain \nlicentiousness, and much pains taken to conceal at least, such vestiges \nof ancient corruption and irregularity as yet remained. In some pla- \nces the austerity of the ancient rules of discipline, which had been so \nshamefully relaxed, were restored by several zealous patrons of mo- \nnastic devotion, while others, animated by the same zeal, instituted \nnew communities, in order to promote as they imagined, a spirit of \nreligion, and thus to contribute to the well being of the church. \n\nOf this latter nuinber was Matthew de Bassi, a native of Italy, the \nextent of whose capacity was much inferior to the goodness of his in- \ntentions. He was a Franciscan of the rigid class, one of those who \nwere zealous in observing rigorously the primitive rules of their insti- \ntution. This honest enthusiast persuaded himself that he was divine- \nly inspired with the zeal which inpelled him to restore the rules of the \nFranciscan order to their primitive authority ; and, looking upon this \nviolent and irresistible impulse as a celestial commission attended with \nsufficient authority, he commenced this work of monastic reformation \nwith the most devout assiduity and ardor. His enterprise was honor- \ned in 1525 with the solemn approbation of Clement VII., and thig \nwas the origin of the order of the Capuchins. The vow-s of this order \nimplied the greatest contempt of the world and its enjoyments, and \nthe most profound humilit}^, accompanied with the most austere and \nsullen gravity of external aspect ; and its reputation and success ex- \ncited in the other Franciscans the most bitter feelings of indignation \nand envy. The Capuchins were so called from the sharp pointed \ncapuche, or cowl, which they added to the ordinary Franciscan habit, \n53 \n\n\n\n418 \' HISTORY OF \n\nand which was supposed to have been used by St. Francis himself. \n\nAnother branch of the Franciscan order formed a new community \nunder the denomination of Recollets in France, Reformed Francis- \ncans in Italy, and Barefooted Franciscans in Spain ; these were \nerected into a separate order, with their respective laws and rules of \ndiscipline in 1532, by the authority of Clement VII. They differed \nfrom the other Franciscans only in this, that they professed to follow \nwith greater zeal and exactness, the austere institute of their common \nfounder and chief; whence they were sometimes called Friars Mi- \nnors, of the strict observance. \n\nSt. Theresa, a Spanish lady of an illustrious family, undertook the \ndifficult task of re forming the Carmelite order, which had departed \nmuch from its primitive sanctity, and of restoring its neglected and vi- \nolated laws to their original credit and authority. Her associate in \nthis arduous attempt was Juan de Santa Cruz, and her enterprise \nwas not wholly unsuccessful, although the greater part of the Carmel- \nites opposed her aims. Hence the order was, during a period of ten \nyears, divided into two branches, of which one part followed a milder \nrule of discipline, while the other embraced an institute of the most se- \nvere and self-denying kind. But as these different rules of life among \nthe members of the same community were a perpetual source of ani- \nmosity and discord, the more austere or barefooted Carmelites were \nseparated from the others, and formed into a distinct body in 1580, by \nGregory XIII. at the particular desire of Philip II. king of Spain. \nThis separation was confirmed in 1587 by Sixtus V. and completed \nin 1593 by Clement VIII., wha allowed the Barefooted Carmelites to \nhave their own chief, or general. But, after having withdrawn them- \nselves from the others, these austere friars quarrelled among them, \nselves, and in a few years their dissensions grew to an intolerable \nheight, hence they were divided anew by the last mentioned pontiff in- \nto two communities, each of which had its governor or general. \n\nOf all the new orders, the most eminent beyond all doubt, was that \nof the Jesuits, which we have already had occasion to mention, in \nspeaking of the chief pillars of the church of Rome, and the principal \nsupports of the declining authority of its pontiffs. Compared with \nthis aspiring and formidable society, all the other religious orders ap> \npear inconsiderable and obscure. The Reformation among the oth- \ner changes which it occasioned, even in the Romish Church, by ex. \nciting the circumspection and emulation of those who still remained \naddicted to popery, gave rise to various communities, which were all \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 419 \n\ncomprehended under the general denomination of Regular Clerks, \nand as all these communities were, according- to their own solemn \ndeclarations, formed with the design of imitating that sanctity of man- \nners, and reviving that spirit of virtue which had distinguished the sa- \ncred order in primitive times ; this was a plain, though tacit confes" \nsion of the corruption of the clergy, and consequently of the indispen- \nsable necessity of the reformation. \n\nThe first society of these Regular Clerks arose in 1524, under the \ndenomination of Theatins, which they derived from their principal \nfounder, John Peter Caraffa, (then bishop of Theate, or Chieti, in the \nkingdom of Naples, and afterwards pope, under the title of Paul IV.) \nwho was assisted in this pious undertaking by Caietan, or Gaetan, and \nother devout associates. These monks, being by their vows destitute \nof all possessions and revenues, and even precluded from the resource \nof begging subsist entirely upon the voluntary liberality of pious per- \nsons. They are called by their profession and institute to revive a \nspirit of devotion, to purify and reform the eloquence of the pulpit, to \nassist the sick and dying by their spiritual instructions and counsels, \nand to combat heretics ot all denominations with zeal and assiduity. \nThere are also some female convents, established under the rule and \ntitle of this order. \n\nThis establishment was followed by that of the Regular Clerks of \nSt. Paul, so called from their having chosen that apostle for their \npatron ; though they are more commonly known under the denomina- \ntion of Barnabites, from the church of St. Barnabas at Milan, which \nwas bestowed upon them in 1545. This order which was approved \nin 1532 by Clement VII. and confirmed about three years after by \nPaul III., was originally founded by Antonio Mavia Zacharias of \nCremonia, and Bartholomew Ferrari, and Ant. Morigia, noblemen of \nMilan. Its members were at first obliged to live after the manner of \nthe Theatins, renouncing all worldly goods and possessions, and de- \npending upon the donations of the liberal for their daily subsistence. \nBut they soon became weary of this precarious method of living, and \ntook the liberty, in a short time of securing to their community, cer-? \ntain possessions and stated revenues. Their employment was to go \nfrom place to place, like the apostles, in order to convert sinners, \nand bring back transgressors into the paths of repentance and obedi- \nence. \n\nThe Regular Clerks of St. Maieul, who are also called the Fathers \nof Somasquo, from the place where their community was first estab- \n\n\n\n420 HISTORYOF \n\nlished, and which was also the residence of their founder, were erect \ned into a distinct society by Jerome jEmiliani, a noble Venetian, and \nwere afterwards successively confirmed by the pontiffs Paul III. and \nPius IV. Their chief occupation was to instruct the ignorant, and \nparticularly young persons, in the principles and precepts of the Chris- \ntian religion, and to procure assistance for those who were reduced to \nthe unhappy condition of orphans. The same important ministry \nwas committed to the Fathers of the Christian doctrine in France and \nItaly. \n\nIt would be an endless and unprofitable labor to enumerate partic- \nularly the multitude of less considerable orders and religious associa- \ntions which were instituted in Germany and other countries from an \napprehension of the pretended heretics, who disturbed the peace, or \nrather the lethargy of the church ; for certainly no age produced sa \ngreat a swarm of monks, and such a number of convents, as that in \nwhich Luther and other reformers opposed the divine light of the \nGospel, to ignorance, superstition, and papal tyranny. We therefore \npass over in silence these less important establishments, because they \nwere erected on unstable foundations, and consequently have been \nlong buried in oblivion, while numbers were suppressed by the wis- \ndom of certain pontiffs, who considered the multitude of these com- \nmunities rather as prejudicial than advantageous to the church. Nor \ncan we take particular notice of the female convents, or nunneries \namong which the Ursulines shone forth with a superior lustre, both in \npoint of number and dignity. The Priests of the Oratory, founded in \nItaly by Philip Neri, a native of Florence, and publicly honored with \nthe protection of Gregory XIII. in 1577, must be excepted from this \ngeneral silence, on account of the eminent figure they made in the re- \npublic of letters. It was this community that produced Baronius> \nRaynaldus, and Ladurchius, who held so high a rank among the ec- \nclesiastical historians of the sixteenth and following centuries, and there \nare still to be found in it men of considerable erudition and capacity. \nThe name of this religious society was derived from an apartment ac- \ncommodated in the form of an oratory, or cabinet for devotion, which \nSt. Philip Neri built at Florence for himself, and in which for many \nyears, he held spiritual conferences with his more intimate compan- \nions. \n\nIt is too evident to admit of the least doubt, that all kinds of erudi- \ntion, whether sacred or profaae, were held in much higher esteem in \nthe western world since the time of Luther than they had been before \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 421 \n\nthat auspicious period. The Jesuits boast that their society contrib- \nuted more, at least in this century, to the culture of the languages, the \nimprovements of the arts, and the advancement of true science, than \nall the other religious orders. It is certain that the directors of schools \nand academies, either through indolence or design, persisted obstinate" \nly in their ancient method of teaching, nor would they suffer them- \nselves to be better informed, or permit the least change in their un- \ncouth and disgusting systems. The monks were not more remarka- \nble than the academic teachers for their compliance with the growing \ntaste for polished literature, nor did they seem at all disposed to ad- \nmit into the retreats of their gloomy cloisters, a more solid and ele- \ngant method of instruction than they had been formerly accustomed \nto. These facts furnish a rational account of the surprising variety \nthat appears in the style and manner of the writers of this age, of \nwhom several express their sentiments with elegance, perspicuity and \norder, while the diction and style of a great number of their contem-> \nporaries are barbarous, perplexed, obscure and insipid. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. \n\nEnglish JMonasteries \xe2\x80\x94 Condition investigated by Commissioners appoint- \ned by Henry VIII. \xe2\x80\x94 Surrender of Revenues \xe2\x80\x94 Suppression of the \nlesser JMonasteries \xe2\x80\x94 *N*ew visitation appointed \xe2\x80\x94 Entire abolition af all \njWonastic establishments in England \xe2\x80\x94 Developements of Superstition, \nFraud and Imposture \xe2\x80\x94 Destruction of the Shrine of Thomas a Beck- \net \xe2\x80\x94 Murmur excited \xe2\x80\x94 Indignation of the Pope \xe2\x80\x94 Excommunication of \nHenry. \n\nAmong the first fruits of the Reformation wliich had been commen- \nced and successfully carried forward, dm ing the reign of Henry VHI. \nmay be reckoned the abolition of the monasteries throughout the \nkingdom. The unprecedented success which attended the efforts of \nHenry, in the accomplishment of this object, are attributed to a vaii- \nety of causes. The personal respect inspired by Henry was consid- \nerable, and even the terrors with which he overawed every one, were \nnot attended with any considerable degree of hatred. His frankness, \nl)is sincerity, his magnificence, his generosity, were virtues which \ncounterbalanced his violence, cruelty and impetuosity. And the im- \nportant rank which his vigor, more than his address, acquired him in \n^ former negotiations, flattered the vanity of Englishmen, and made \nthem the more willingly endure those domestic hardships to which \nthey were exposed. The king, conscious of his advantages, was now \nproceeding to the most dangerous exercise of his authority ; and after \npaving the way for that measure by several preparatory expedients, \nhe was at last determined to suppress the monasteries, and put him- \nself in possession of their ample revenues. \n\nThe great increase of monasteries, if matters be considered merely in \na political light, will appear the radical inconvenience of the Catholic \nreligion ; and every other disadvantage attending that communion, \nseems to have an inseparable connection with these religious institu- \ntions. Papal usurpations, the tyrranny of the inquisition, the multi- \nplicity of holidays ; all these fetters on liberty and industry, were ulti- \nmately derived from the authority and institutions of monks whose \nhabitations being established every where, proved so many seminaries \nof superstition and folly. This order of men was extremely enraged \n\n\n\n\\ \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M. 423 \n\nagainst Henry, and regarded the. abolition of the papal authority in \nEngland as the removal of the sole protection which they enjoyed \nagainst the rapacity of the crown and of the courtiers. They were \nnow subjected to the king\'s visitation, the supposed sacredness of \ntheir bulls from Rome was rejected, the progress of the reformation \nabroad, which had every where been attended with the abolition of \nthe monastic orders, gave them reason to apprehend like consequen- \nces in England, and though the king still maintained the doctrine of \npurgatory, to which most of the convents owed their origin and sup- \nport, it was forseen that in the progress of the contest, he would eve- \nry day be led to depart wider from ancient institutions, and be drawn \nneareV the tenets of the reformers, with whom his political interests \nnaturally induced him to unite. Moved by these considerations the \nfriars employed all their influence to inflame the people against the \nking\'s government ; and Henry finding their safety irreconcilable \nwith his own, was determined to seize the present opportunity, and \nutterly destroy his declared enenjies. \n\nCromwell, secretary of state, had been appointed Vicar-General, ot \nVicegerent ; a new office, by which the king\'s supremacy, or the abso*^ \nlute uncontrollable power assumed over the church, was delegated to \nhim. He employed Layton, London, Price, Gage, Petre, Bellasis \nand others, as commissioners who carried on every where, a rigorous \ninquiry with regard to the conduct and deportment of all the friars^ \nDuring times of faction, especially of the religious kind, no equity m \nto be expected from adversaries ; and it was well known that the; \nking\'s intention in this visitation, was to find a pretence for abolish-, \ning monasteries, we may naturally conclude that the reports of the? \ncommissioners are very little to be relied upon. Friars were encour- \naged to bring in informations against their brethren ; the slightest ev-^ \nidence was credited ; and even the calumnies spread abroad by the: \nfriends of the reformation, were regarded as proof. Monstrous dis- \norders are therefore said to have been found in many of the religious^ \nhouses ; whole convents of women abandoned to lewdness ; and all \nthe vices of the most degrading kind. It is indeed probable, that the \nblind submission of the people during those ages would render the \nfriars and nuns more unguarded and more dissolute than they are in \nany Roman Catholic country at the present day ; but still the re_ \nproaches which it is safest to credit, are such as point at vices natu- \nrally connected with the very institution of convents, and with the mo- \nnastic life. The cruel and inveterate factions and quarrels therefore. \n\n\n\n424 H I S T R Y F \n\nwhich the commissioners mentioned, are very credible among meil, \nwho being confined together within the same walls, never can forget \ntheir mutual animosities, and who, being cut off from all the most en- \ndearing connections of nature, are commonly cursed with\'hearts more \nselfish, and tempers more unrelenting, than fall to the share of other \nmen. The pious frauds practiced to increase the devotion and liber- \nality of the people, may be regarded as certain, in an order founded \non illusion, lies and superstition. The supine idleness also, and its \nattendant, profound ignorance, with which the convents were re- \nproached, admit of no question ; and though monks were the true \npreservers as well as the inventors of the dreaming and captious phi- \nlosophy of the schools, no manly or elegant knowledge could be ex- \npected among men, whose lives, condemned to tedious uniformity, \nand deprived of all emulation, afforded nothing to raise the mind or \ncnltivate the genius. \n\nSome few monasteries, terrified with this rigorous inquisition carri- \ned on by Cromwell and his commissioners, surrendered their revenuCg \ninto the king\'s hands, and the monks received small pensions as the \nreward of their obsequiousness. Orders were given to dismiss such \nmonks and nuns whose ages were below twenty four, whose vows on \nthat account were supposed not to be binding. The doors of the \nconvents were opened, even to such as were above that age ; and eve- \nry one recovered his liberty who desired it. But as all these expedi- \nents did not fully answer the king\'s purpose, he had recourse to his \nusual instrument of power, the parliament ; and in order to prepare \nmen for the innovations projected, the report of the visitors was pub- \nlished, and a general horror was endeavored to be excited in the na- \ntion against institutions which to their ancestors had been objects of \nprof:)und veneration. \n\nThe king, though determined utterly to abolish the monastic orders, \nresolved to proceed gradually in this great work ; and he gave direc- \ntions to the parliament to go no further at first than to suppress the \nlesser monasteries, which possessed revenues below two hundred \npounds annually. These found to be the most corrupted, as being \nless under the restraint of shame, and being exposed to less scrutiny ; \nand it was deemed safest to begin with them, and thereby prepare the \nway for the greater innovations which were to succeed. By this act, \nthree hundred and seventy-six monasteries were suppressed, and their \nrevenues amounting to thirty two thousand pounds annually, were \ngranted to the king, besides their goods, chattels, and plate, computed \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 426 \n\n&t a hundred thousand pounds more. It does not appear that any \nopposition was made to this important law ; so absolute was Henry\'s \nauthority. A court, called the court of augmentation of the king\'s \nrevenue, was erected for the management of these funds. The peo- \nple naturally concluded, from this circumstance, that Henry calcula- \nted to proceed in dispoiling the church of her patrimony. \n\nA few years afterwards a new visitation was appointed of all the \nmonasteries in England, and a pretence only being wanted for their \nsuppression, it was easy for a prince, possessed of such unlimited \npower, and seconding the present humor of a great part of the na- \ntion, to find one. The abbots and monks knew the danger to which \nthey were exposed ; and having learned by the example of the lesser \nmonasteries, that nothing could withstand the king\'s will, they weie \nmost of them induced, in expectation of better treatment, to make a \nvoluntary resignation of their houses. Where promises failed of ef- \nfect, menaces, and even extreme violence were employed ; and as \nseveral of the abbots, since the breach with Rome, had been named \nby the court with a view to this event, the king\'s intentions were the \nmore easily effected. Some also, having secretly embraced the doc^ \ntrine of the reformation, were glad to be freed from their vows ; and \nOn the whole the design was conducted with such success, that in less \nthan two years, the king had obtained possession of all the monastic \nrevenues. \n\nIn several places, particularly in the county of Oxford, great inter-* \nest was made to preserve some convents of women, who, it was af- \nfirmed, lived in the most irreproachable manner, and therefore justly \nmerited, it was thought, that their houses should be saved from the \ngeneral destruction. There appeared great difference between the \ncase of nuns and friars ; and the one institution might be laudable \nwhile the other was exposed to much blame. The males of all ranks, \nif endowed with industry, might be of service to the public ; and none \nof them could want employment suited to his station and his capacity. \nBut a woman of family, who failed of a settlement in the marriage \nstate, an accident to which such women are more liable than those in \nlower stations, had really no rank which she properly filled ; and a \nconvent was a retreat both honorable and agreeable, from the inutility \nand often want which attended her situation. But the king was deter- \nmined to abolish monasteries of every denomination, and probably \nthought that these ancient establishments whose general character had \nbeen considered disreputable, would be the sooner forgotten, if no re- \n\n54 \n\n\n\n426 HISTORY OF \n\nmains of them of any kind, were allowed to subsist in the kingdom. \nThe better to reconcile the people to this great innovation facts were \ncollected and accounts were propagated of the detestable lives of the \nfriars in many of the convents ; and great care was taken to defame \nthose whom the court had determined to ruin. The reliques also, and \nother superstitions, which had so long been the object of the peoples \nveneration, were exposed to their ridicule ; and the religious spirity \nnow less bent on exterior ^observances and sensible objects, was en- \ncouraged in this new direction. It is needless to be prolix in an enu- \nmeration of particulars: historians mention, on this occasion, the sa- \ncred repositories of convents; the parings ofSt. Edmund\'s toes; some \nof the coals that roasted St. Laurence, the felt of St. Thomas of Lan- \ncaster, an infallible cure for headache; part of St. Thomas of Can- \nterbury\'s shirt, much reverenced; some reliques, an excellent preven- \ntive against rain; others, a remedy to weeds in corn. \n\nThere were also discovered, or said to be <liscovered in the Mon- \nasteries, some impostures of a more artificial nature. At Hales, in \nthe county of Gloucester, there had been shewn during several ages \nthe blood of Christ brought from Jerusalem; and it is easy to imagine \nthe veneration with which such a relique was regarded. A miracu- \nlous circumstance also attended this miraculous relique; the sacred \nblood was not visible to any one in mortal sin, even when set before \nhim; and until he had performed good works sufficient for his absolu- \ntion, would not deign to shew itself to him. At the dissolution of the \nmonastery the whole contrivance was detected. Two of the monks \nwho were initiated into the secret, had taken the blood of a duck, \nwhich they renewed every week. They put it in a phial, one side of \nwhich consisted of thin and transparent crystal, the other of thick and \nopaque. When any rich pilgrim arrived, they were sure to show him \nthe dark side of the phial, till masses and offerings had expiated his of- \nfense, and then finding his money or patience or faith nearly exhaust- \ned, they made him happy by turning the phial. \n\nA miraculous crucifix had been kept at Boxley, in Kent, and bore \nthe appellation of the Rood of Grace. The lips and eyes, and head \nof the image moved on the approach of its votaries. Hilsey, bishop \nof Rochester, broke the crucifix at St. Paul\'s cross, and shewed to \nthe whole multitude the wheels and springs by which it had been se- \ncretly moved. A great wooden idol revered in Wales, called Darvel \nGathenn, was brought to London and cut in pieces; and by a cruel \nrefinement of vengeance, it was employed to burn Friar Forest, who \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M . 427 \n\nwas punished for denying the supremacy, and for some pretended \nheresies. A finger of St. Andrew, covered with a thin plate of silver, \nhad been pawned by a convent for a debt of forty pounds, but as the \nking\'s commissioner refused to pay the debt, people made themselves \nmerry with the mortified creditor on account of his pledge. \n\nBut of all the instruments of ancient superstition, no one was so \nzealously destroyed as the shrine of Thomas a Becket, commonly \ncalled St. Thomas of Canterbury. This saint owed his canonization \nto the zealous defence he had made for clerical privileges; and on \nthat account also, the monks had extremely encouraged the devotion \nof pilgrimages towards his tomb; and numberless were the miracles \nwhich they pretended his reliques wrought in favor of his devout vota- \nries. They raised his body once every year; and the day on which \nthis ceremony was performed, which was called the day^of translation, \nwas a general holiday. Every fiftieth year there was a celebrated ju- \nbilee to his honor, which lasted fifteen days: plenary indulgences were \nthen granted to all such as visited his tomb; and a hundred thousand \npilgrims have been registered at a time in Canterbury. The devotion \ntowards him in that place had quite effaced the adoration of the Dei- \nty, nay even that of the Virgin. At God\'s altar, for instance, there \nwere offered in one year, three pounds two shillings and sixpence; at \nSt. Thomas\' eight hundred and thirty-two pounds twelve shillings and \nthree pence. But next year the disproportion was still greater; there \nwas not a penny offered at God\'s altar; the Virgin\'s gained only four \npounds one shilling and eight pence; but St. Thomas got for his share \nnine hundred and fifty four pounds six shillings and three pence. \nLewis VIII. of France, had made a pilgrimage to this miraculous \ntomb, and had bestowed on the shrine a jewel, esteemed the richest \nin Christendom. It is evident how obnoxious to Henry, a saint of \nthis character must appear, and how contrary to all his projects for \ndegrading the authority of the court of Rome. He not only pillaged \nthe rich shrine dedicated to St. Thomas, he made the Saint himself \nbe cited to appear in court, and be tried and condemned as a traitor ; \nhe ordered his name to be struck out of the calender, the office lor \nhis festival to be expunged from all breviaries; his bones to be burned, \nand the ashes to be thrown into the air. \n\nAt different times the king suppressed six hundred and forty five \nmonasteries ; of which twenty eight had abbots that enjoyed seats in \nparliament. Ninety colleges were demolished in several counties ; \ntwo thousand three hundred and seventy four chantries and free chap- \n\n\n\n428 H I S T R Y F \n\nels ; a hundred and ten hospitals. The whole revenue of these es- \ntablishments amounted to one hundred and sixty one thousand one \nhundred pounds. It is worthy of observation, that all the lands, pos- \nsessions, and revenues of England, had a little before this period been \nrated at four millions annually ; so that the revenues of the monks, \neven comprehending the lesser monasteries, did not exceed the twen- \ntieth part of their income ; a sum vastly inferior to what is commonly \napprehended. The lands belonging- to the convent were usually let \nat very low rent ; and the farmers, who regarded themselves as a spe- \ncies of proprietors, took care always to renew their leases before they \nexpired. \n\nGreat murmurs were every where excited on account of these in- \nnovations, and men much questioned whether priors or monks, who \nwere only trustees or tenants for life, could, by any deed however vol- \nuntary, transfer to the king the entire property of their estates. In \norder to reconcile the people to such mighty innovations, they were \ntold that the king would never thenceforth have occasion to levy taxes, \nbut would be able, from the abbey lands alone, to bear during war as \nwell as peace, the whole charges of the government alone. While \nsuch topics were employed to apease the populace, Henry took an ef- \nfectual method of interesting the nobility and gentry in the success of \nhis measures ; he either made a gift of the revenues of convents to his \nfavorites and courtiers, or sold them at low prices, or exchanged them \nfor other lands on very disadvantageous terms. He was so profuse \nin these liberalities that he is said to have given a woman the whole \nrevenue of a convent as a reward for making a pudding which hap- \npened to gratify his palate. He also settled a pension on the abbots \nand priors, proportioned to their former revenues or to their merits j \nand gave each monk a yearly pension of eight marks ; he erected six \nnew bishopricks, Westminster, Oxford, Peterborough, Bristol, Ches- \nter and Gloucester ; and by all these means of expense and dissipa^ \ntion, the profit which the king reaped by the seizure of the church \nlands, fell much short of vulgar opinion. As the ruin of convents had \nbeen forseen some years before it happened, the monks had taken \ncare to secrete most of their stock, furniture and plate ; so that the \nspoils of the great monasteries bore not in these respects any propor- \ntion to those of the lesser. \n\nBesides the lands possessed by the monasteries, the regular clergy \nenjoyed a considerable part of the benefices of England, and of the \ntithes annexed to them ; and these were also at this time \'transferred \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M . 429 \n\nto the crown, and by that means passed into the hands of laymen ; an \nabuse which many zealo:{s churchmen regarded as the most criminal \nsacrilege. The monks were formerly much at their ease in England, \nand enjoyed revenues which exceeded the regular and stated expense \nof the house. We read of the abbey of Chertsey, in Surrey, which \npossessed seven hundred and forty four pounds annually, though it \ncontained only fourteen monks ; that of Furnese in the county of \nLincoln, was valued at nine hundred and sixty pounds annuall}^ and \ncontained about thirty. In order to dissipate their revenues, and sup_ \nport popularity, the monks lived in a hospitable manner ; and besides \nthe poor maintained from their efforts, there were many decayed gen- \ntlemen who passed their lives in traveling from one convent to anoth- \ner, and were entirely supported at the tables of the friars. By this \nhospitality, as much as their own inactivity, did the convents prove \nnurseries of idleness ; but the king, not to give offense by too sudden \nan innovation, bound the new proprietors of the abbey lands to sup- \nport the ancient hospitality. But this engagement was fulfilled in \nvery few places, and for a very short time. \n\nIt is easy to imagine the indignation with which the intelligence of \nthese confiscations was received at Rome, and how much the eccle- \nsiastics of that court, who had so long kept the world in subjection by \nhigh sounding epithets and by holy execrations, would now vent their \nrhetoric against the character and conduct of Henry. The pope was \nat last incited to publish the bull which had been passed against that \nmonarch ; and in a public manner he delivered over his soul to the \ndevil, and his dominions to the first invader. Libels were dispersed \nin which he was anew compared to the most furious persecutors of an^ \ntiquity ; and the preference was now given to their side ; he had de- \nclared war with the dead, whom the pagans themselves respected ; \nwas at open hostility with heaven ; and had engaged in professed \nenmity with the whole host of saints and angels. Above all, he was \noften reproached with his resemblance to the emperor Julian, whom \nit was said he imitated in his apostacy and learning, though he fell \nshort of him in morals. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nJWonachism in the Sixteenth Century \xe2\x80\x94 A partial Reformation Effected. \nCongregation of St. Maur \xe2\x80\x94 Female Convent at Port Royal \xe2\x80\x94 Re^ \nformed Bernardins of La Trappe \xe2\x80\x94 Foundation of several neiv Or \nders \xe2\x80\x94 Fathers of the Oratory of the Holy Jesus \xe2\x80\x94 The Priests of the \n\xe2\x80\xa2Missons \xe2\x80\x94 Progress of Learning among the Benedictines. \n\nAlthough the monastic establishments of the seventeenth century \nexhibited more circumspection and regularity of conduct than in for- \nmer times, yet they had every where departed in a great measure \nfrom the spirit of their founders, and the primitive laws of their respec- \ntive institutions. At this time their convents and colleges made a \nmost wretched figure, as we learn from the accounts given by emi- \nnent Catholic historians. But in the progress of this century many ef- \nforts were made to remove existing abuses. Some wise and pious \nBenedictines, in France and other countries, reformed several monas- \nteries of their order, and endeavored to bring them back, as near as \npossible, to the laws and discipline of their founders. Their example \nwas followed by the monks of Clugni, the Cistercians, the regular \ncanons, the Dominicans and Franciscans. It is from this period that \nwe are to date the division of the monastic orders into two general \nclasses. One comprehended the reformed monks, who, reclaimed \nfrom that licentiousness and corruption of manners which had former- \nly dishonored their societies, led more strict and regular lives, and \ndiscovered in their conduct a greater regard for the primitive laws ot \ntheir order. The other was composed of the un-reformed orders, who, \nforgetting the spirit of their founders, and the rules of their institutes, \nspent their days in ease and pleasure, and had no tase for the austeri- \nties and hardships of a monastic life. The latter class was evidently the \nmost numerous ; and the majority even of the reformed monks, not \nonly fell short of that purity of manners which was enjoined, but \nmoreover gradually and imperceptibly relapsed into their former in- \ndolence and disorder. \n\nAmong the reformed monks, a particular degree of attention is due \nto certain Benedictine societies, or congregations, who surpassed all \nthe other monastic orders, both in the excellence and utility of their \n\n\n\nMOKACHISM. 431 \n\nrules and constitution, and in the zeal and perseverance with which \nthey adhered to them. Of these societies, the most distinguished were \nthe congregation of St. Maur, which was founded in 1629, by the ex- \npress order of Gregory XV. and was enriched by Urban VIII. in 1 627, \nwith various donations and privileges. It does not, indeed appear \nthat even this society adhered strictly to the spirit and maxims of \nBenedict, whose name it bears, nor is it beyond the reach of censure \nin other respects ; but these imperfections are compensated by the \ngreat immber of excellent rules and institutions that are observed in \nit, and by the regular lives and learned labors of its members. In this \ncongregation, a select number of men of genius and talent, were set \napart for the study of sacred or profane literature, especially of history \nand antiquities; and these learned members are furnished with all the \nmeans and materials of knowledge in a rich abundance, and with every \nthing that can facilitate their labors, and render them successful. It \nis known to those who have any acquaintance with the history and \nprogress of learning in Europe, what signal advantages the republic \nof letters has derived from the establishment of this famous congrega- \ntion, whose numerous and admirable productions have cast a great \nlight upon the various branches of philology and the helles lettre, and- \nwhose researches have embraced the whole circle of science, philoso- \nphy excepted. \n\nThough these various efforts for the reformation of the monasteries \nwere not entirely unsuccessful, yet the effects they produced even in \nthose places where they had Fucceeded most, came far short of that \nperfection of austerity which had seized the imagination of a number \nof individuals whose number in the Romish Church is considerable \nthough their credit be small, and their severity generally looked upon \nas excessive and disgusting. These rigid censors having always in \ntheir eyes the ancient discipline of the monastic orders, and being \nbent on reducing the modern convents to that austere discipline, look- \ned upon the changes above-mentioned as imperfect and trifling. \nThey considered a monk as a person obliged by the sanctity of his \nprofession, to spend his whole time in prayer, tears, contemplation and \nsilence ; in the perusal of holy books and the hardships of bodily Ia_ \nbor ; they even went so far as to maintain that all other designs and \noccupations, however laudable and excellent in themselves, were en- \ntirely foreign from the monastic vocation, and on that account vain \nand sinful in persons of that order. This severe plan of monastic \ndiscipline was recommended by many persons whose obscurity put it \n\n\n\n432 H I S T R Y O F \n\nout of their power to influence many in its behalf ; but it was also \nadopted by the Jansenists, who reduced it to practice in some parts of \nFrance, and in none with more success and reputation than in the fe- \nmale convent of Port Royal, where it has subsisted since the year \n1618. \n\nThese steps of the Jansenists excited a spirit of emulation, and sev- \neral monasteries exerted themselves in imitation of this austere model r \nbut they were all surpassed by Bonthillier de Ranee, abbot de la \nTrappe, who, with the most ardent zeal and indefatigable labor, at- \ntended with uncommon success, introduced into his monastery thi& \ndiscipline, in all its austere and shocking perfection. This abbot, so^ \nillustrious by his birth, and so remarkable for his extraordinary devo- \ntion, was so happy as to vindicate his fraternity from the charge of ex- \ncess of superstition, which the Jansenists had drawn upon themselves \nby the severity of their monastic discipline ; and yet his society obser- \nved the severe and laborious rule of the ancient Cistertians, whom \nthey even surpassed in abstinence, mortifications and self-denial. \nThis order long existed under the denomination of the Reformed Ber- \nnardins of La Trappe, and has several monasteries both in Spain and \nItaly ; but if credit may be given to the accounts of writers who seem \nto be well informed, it degenerated gradually from the austere and \npainful discipline of its famous founder. \n\nThe Romish Church from whose prolific womb all the various forms \nof superstition issued forth in an amazing abundance, saw several \nnew monastic estabhshments arise within its borders during this cen_ \ntury. The greatest part of them we shall pass over in silence, and \nconfine ourselves to the mention of those which have obtained some \ndegree of fame. \n\nThe Fathers of the Oratory \xc2\xa9f the Holy Jesus, an order instituted \nby Cardinal BeruUe; a man of genius and talents, who displayed his \nabilities with such success, in the service both of church and state, \nthat he was generally looked upon as equally qualified for shining in \nthese different spheres. This order, which in the nature of its rules, \nand in the design of its establishment seems to have been in direct oppo- \nsitionto that of the Jesuits, was founded in 1613, produced a consider- \nable number of persons, eminent for their piety, learning and elo- \nquence, and long maintained its reputation in this respect. Its mem- \nbers, however, had been suspected of introducing new opinions on \naccount of certain theological productions, and this suspicion was \nindustriously circulated and propagated by the Loyalists. The \n\n\n\nM\\ \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 433 \n\npriests who enter into this society are not obliged to renounce their \nproperty or possessions, but only to refuse all ecclesiastical cures or \noffices to which any fixed revenues or honors are annexed, as long as \nthey continue members of this fraternity, from which they have liber- \nty to retire whenever they think proper. While they continue in the \norder, they are bound to perform with the greatest fidelity and accu- \nracy, all the priestly functions, and to turn the whole bent of their \nzeal and Industry to one point, namely the task of preparing and qual- \nifying themselves and others for discharging them daily with greater \nperfection and more abundant fruits. If, therefore, we consider this \norder in the original end of its institutions, its convents may be called, \nnot improperly, schools of divinity. In later times, the Fathers of the \nOratory have not confined themselves to this object, but have imper- \nceptibly extended their original plan, and applied themselves to the \nstudy of polite literature and theology, which they teach with reputa. \ntion in their colleges. \n\nAfter these Fathers, the next place is due to the Priests of the Mis- \nsions ; an order founded by Vincent de Paul, (who has since obtained \nthe honors of saintship,) and formed into a regular congregation, in \n1632 by Pope Urban VIII. The rule prescribed to this society by \nits founder, lays its members under the three following obligations : \nfirst, to purify themselves, and to aspire daily to higher degrees of \nsanctity and perfection, by prayer, meditation, the perusal of pious \nbooks and other devout exercises ; secondly, to employ eight months \nin the year in the villages, and among the country people in order to \ninstruct them in the duties and principles of religion, form them to the \npractice of piety and virtue, accommodate their differences and ad- \nminister consolation and relief to the sick and indigent ; thirdly, to \ninspect and govern the seminaries in which persons designed for holy \norders receive their education, and to instruct the candidates for the \nministry, in the sciences that relate to their respective vocations. \n\nThe Priests of the Missions were also entrusted with the direction \nand government of a female order called Virgins of Love, or Daugh^ \nters of Charity, whose office it was to administer assistance and relief \nto indigent persons who were confined to their beds by sickness or \ninfirmity. This order was founded by a noble virgin, whose name \nwas Louisa le Gras, and received in 1660 the approbation of Clement \nIX. The Brethren and Sisters of the pious and christian schools, \nwho are now commonly called Pietists, were formed into a society in \n1678 by Nicholas Barre, and obliged bv their engagements to devote \n\n55 \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\n\n\n434 HISTORYOF \n\nthemselves to the education of ppor children of both sexes. It would \nbe endless to mention all the religious societies which rose and fell? \nwere formed by fits of zeal, and dissolved by external incidents, or \nby their own internal principles of instability and decay. \n\nThe literary glory of the Jesuits suffered a remarkable eclipse from \nthe growing lustre ef the Benedictine order, and more especially of \nthe Congregation of St. Maur. The Jesuits were perpetually boast- \ning of the eminent merit and lustre of their society on the one hand, \nand on the other, exposing to public contempt the ignorance and stu- \npidity of the Benedictines. Their view in this was to form a plausible \npretext for invading the rights of the latter, and engrossing their \nample revenues and possesions ; but the Benedictines resolved to \ndisconcert this insidious project; to wipe off the reproach of igno- \nrance which had heretofore been cast upon them with too much jus- \ntice; and to disappoint the rapacious avidity oftheir enemies, and rob- \nthem of their pretexts. For this purpose they not only erected \nschools in their monasteries, for the instruction of youth in the various \nbranches of learning and science, but also employed such oftheir se- \nlect members as were distinguished by their erudition and genius, in \ncomposing a variety of learned productions which were likely to sur- \nvive the waste of time, adapted to vindicate the honor of the fraternity, \nand reduce its enemies to silence. \n\nThis important task vsras executed with ability and success by Ma- \nbillon, D\' Archery, Massuet, Ruinart, Beangendre, Garnier, De La \nRue, Martenne, Montfaucon, and other eminent men of that learned \norder. It is to these Benedictines that we are indebted for the best \neditions of the Greek and Latin fathers; for the discovery of many \ncurious records, and ancient documents, that throw^a new light upon \nthe history of remote ages and upon the antiquities of various coun- \ntries; for the best accounts of ancient transactions, whether ecclesias- \ntical or political, and of the manners and custoips of the earliest times \nfor the improvement of chronology, and the other brenches of litera- \nture. In all these parts of philology and the belles lettres, the relig- \nious order now under consideration has shone with a distinguished \nlustre ; and given specimens of knowledge, discernment, and indus- \ntry, which are worthy of being transmitted to posterity. It would be \nperhaps, difficult to assign a reason for that visible decline of learning \namong the Jesuits, which commenced precisely at the period when \nthe Benedictines began to make this eminent figure in the republic of \nletters. The fact, however, is undeniable; and the Jesuits were long \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M. 436 \n\nunable to produce any one or more of their members who were \nqualified to dispute the pre-eminence, or even to claim an equality with \nthe Benedictines. The latter long continued to shine in the various \nbranches of philology, and, almost every year, enriched the literary \nworld with productions that furnished abundant proofs of their learn- \ning and industry; whereas, if a single work published by the Jesuits of \nAntwerp, be excepted, many years passed away ere the sons ofLoy- \nala gave any brilliant evidences of their boasted learning, or added to \nthe mass of literature anything worthy of comparison with the labors \nof the followers of Benedict. \n\nThese learned monks excited the emulation of the Priests of the \nOratory, whose efforts for rivalship were far from unsuccessful. Sev- \neral members of the latter order distinguished themselves by their re- \nmarkable proficiency in the various branches of sacred and profane \nliterature. This appears from the writiugs of Morin, Thomassin, Si- \nmon and many others. The Jansenists, also, deserve a place in the \nlist of those who cultivated letters with industry and success. Many \nof their productions abound with erudition, and several of them excel \nboth in elegance of style and precision of expression; and it may be \nsaid in general, that their writings were eminently serviceable in the \ninstruction of youth, and also proper to contribute to the progress of \nlearning among persons of riper years, the writings of those who \ncomposed the community of Port Royal, the works of Tillemont, Ar- \nnauld, Nicole, Pascal and Lancelot, with many other elegant and \nuseful productions of persons of this class, were, undoubtedly, an or- \nnament to French literature. The other religious societies, the high- \ner and lower orders of the clergy, had also among them men of learn- \ning and genius, who reflected a lustre upon the respective classes to \nwhich they belonged. Nor ought this to be a matter of astonishment, \nsince nothing could be more unnatural, although indolence was \nalways the most conspicuous trait in the monastic character, than \nthat there should be some, who, unwilling to hide or throw away the \ntalent of which they were possessed, should employ this leisure and \nthese opportunities with success, in the cultivation of the sciences. \nIt is certain, nevertheless, that the eminent men found beyond the \nlimits of the above\'mentioned four classes, were few in number, and \nscarcely exceeded the list which either of them could furnish. \n\nDuring the last century, the monastic system underwent but few \nalterations. As the establishment of the Protestant faith was every \nwhere immediately followed by the confiscation of all monastic estab- \n\n\n\n436 HISTORY OF \n\nlishmentSj those institutions were entirely confined to the strong \nholds of Romanism. The colonists from the European Catholic na- \ntions who effected settlements in Asia and Ameiica, carried with \nthem this indispensable appendage of the court of Rome, and convents \nand monasteries were erected in all the principal cities and villages \nthroughout the foreign possessions of France, Spain and Portugal. \n\nOn the breaking oufc of the French Revolution, it is well known \nthat all the ancient institutions of France, both political and ecclesi- \ntical, were immediately swept away, and that monasticism shared the \nsame fate which was meted out to every existing system. The revo- \nlutionary spirit which had been excited into action, and raised to a \nfearful height by the gross abuses of the government and the church, \nbecame still farther inflamed by the developements of superstition and \ncorruption which the confiscation and examination of these institu- \ntions produced. Perceiving that they had long been the dupes of \nfraud and imposture, the populace too naturally judged the merits and \ncharacter of Christianity itself from the lives of its ministers and its \ninstitutions of worship. Rejecting, therefore the truths of the gospel \nand trampling without restraint on all that had hitherto been deem- \ned sacred, the whole French nation was soon plunged into that vor- \ntex of anarchy and infidelity from which tyranny only was able to ex> \ntricate it. Upon the restoration of the Bourbon family, and the re> \nestablishment of papal authority, many of the monasteries were again \nfitted up and once more became the nurseries of idleness and hcen- \ntiousness. Although the Romish is the established religion of France \nyet the prevalence of sceptical opinions is such that the observance of \nthe religious forms and ceremonies of the Catholic church is mostly \nof a formal character; and as the monasteries are subjected to a more \nrigid censorship, and regarded with a more jealous eye than formerly, \nthese establishments are at present conducted more in accordance \nwith the ostensible object Ox their institution than at any time subse- \nquent to their first erection. The monks of the present age have stu- \ndied to qualify themselves for the peculiar services, which, as support- \ners of the decayed fortunes of the Romish hierarchy, in an enlighten- \ned age of the world, are indispensably necessary. The cloister has \ntaken a more literary caste, and a large portion of the Romish priest- \nhood are now as much distinguished for their erudition and learning, \nas they were formerly for their ignorance and stupidity. \n\nIn the kingdoms of Spain and Portugal Monachism has within the \nlast year suffered extreme detriment from popular excitement. By \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 337 \n\nthe repeated commission of many glaring acts of fraud and depravity, \nthe monks of those kingdoms seem to have excited the popular odi- \num, and even to have drawn forth the disapprobation of the govern- \nment. Civil commotion agitated both kingdoms, outrages were fre- \nquently committed on the persons and property of the clergy, many \nmonasteries were torn down, and their inmates exposed to the fury \nof an enraged Ipopulace, and the lives of a great number of the inhab^ \nitants sacrificed. This excitement was immediately seconded by the \ncourt, and the suppression of many of the monasteries was ordered by \na royal decree. \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \n\nJHonachism in the United States \xe2\x80\x94 Increase of Romanism in the Western \nStates \xe2\x80\x94 Destruction of the UrsuUne Convent in Charlestown \xe2\x80\x94 Ex- \ncitement produced \xe2\x80\x94 Review of the General Character of ^Monastic \nInstitutions \xe2\x80\x94 Revenues and privileges of the European JMonks \xe2\x80\x94 De- \nbasing influence of monastic Discipline \xe2\x80\x94 Ineffectual efforts for the \nRejormation of the Monasteries. \n\nIt will not be necessary for the accomplishment of the object of this \nwork, to dwell upon the history of Monachism in this country. Inthe \nwestern section of the Union where by far the greatest portion of the \nCatholics reside, many convents and other Romish institutions exist, \nand the jurisdiction of the papal church seems to be gradually ex- \ntending. The causes which have produced this result will be else- \nwhere considered. There are now upwards of thirty monasteries and \nconvents with academies attached to them for the instruction of young \nladies, and more than four hundred churches, scattered throughout \nthe cities and principal towns in the republic. These establishments \nwere erected and have hitherto been sustained by French and Irish \nemigrants and their descendants, aided and supported by the efforts \nand contributions of the court of Rome and the Society de Propa- \nganda Fide. Yet notwithstanding the strenuous efforts which have \nbeen made, and are still making for the advancement of this cause, its \nprogress has thus far been mostly dependant upon emigration. \n\nMuch excitement has been called forth in the United States by \nthe destruction of the Ursuline Convent in Cambridge, near Boston, \nby a mob, on the night of the 11th of August, 1834. This event \nwhich no real and intelligent Protestant has failed to deplore, origina- \nted in what has since been amply proven to be a misconception of \nfacts. A story was propagated, and among a people by no means \nfavorably affected towards the Catholic religion, obtained almost uni- \nversal credence, that a Miss Harrison, who was known to belong to \nthe Convent, was then detained in confinement, contrary to her own \ninclination and the wish of her friends. Without waiting to investi- \ngate the truth of these reports, a mob was immediately collected in \nBoston, in which it is to be regretted, many men of respectable stand- \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M. 439 \n\ning in society, were intimately concerned, and marching into\'Charles- \ntown, assaulted the convent, drove out its inmStes, plundered it of its \nproperty, and finally setting it on fire, the building was laid in ashes. \n\nAlthough this glaring violation of existing laws was committed in \nthe presence of an immense multitude who were assembled on that \noccasion, yet all subsequent efforts to bring to punishment the actors \nin this digraceful outrage, proved entirely ineffectual. Many indict- \nments were fonnd against different individuals, but the proof was \ndeemed too contradictory and deficient, to warrant their commitment. \nThis result gave rise to much excitement and protracted controversy. \nCatholicism and infidelity failed not to attribute it to a connivance on \nthe part of the civil authorities, in the act, and even the Protestant \nclergy have been charged with its instigation. It is doubtless true \nthat most or nearly all the spectators there assembled were laboring \nunder extreme excitement, and regarded with a favorable eye the \nrash proceedings of the populace ; and it could not be expected that \nmen would give testimony, if avoidable, which would criminate them- \nselves or their immediate associates. \n\nAll experience has shown the utter inability of government in times \nof popular excitement to enforce an impartial execution of the laws ;; \nfor as in this instance, where thousands were either directly or indirectly \nengaged, it would be impossible, and perhaps unjust to select exam- \nples of justice. Of the existence of these general evils, and the rem- \nedy which ought to be applied, this is not the proper place to speak. \nAs this is but one of the many alarming instances of the triumph of \nmobocracy over the constituted authorities of the land which have oc- \ncurred within the last few years, no better reason can be assigned for \nsupposing this outrage to have received the approbation of the Protes- \ntant public, than that the tragedy at Vicksburg has met the cordial ap- \nproval of the great mass of the American people, merely because its \ninfuriated perpetrators have escaped the penalties of the law. \n\nHaving traced the history of monachism as accurately and briefly \nas possible from its origin to the present time, it will now be proper \nio consider its general tendency on society and liberal institutions. \nBut there are other points which more immediately revert to the wel- \nfare of the republic in its political and temporal relations which re- \nquire distinct illustration. These have been so elegantly illustrated in \nMakray\'s essay on the effects of the Reformation, that an extract \nfrom that work will now be given. \n\nThe reformation has promoted the internal security and prosperity \n\n\n\n440 \n\n\n\nHISTORY OF \n\n\n\nof the states of Europe, by effecting the abolition of various custom^ \nand institutions which were calculated to corrupt their morals and \nimpoverish their resources. The cruelty of some of the heathen em- \nperors, and the terrible persecutions with"which they visited the primi- \ntive Christians, induced multitudes of the latter to escape into solitary \nand uninhabited places where the enthusiasm that distinguished many \nof them was inflamed to a great degree by the gloom of the surround- \ning desert. Fanaticism having continued the unnatural practice of \nleaving society even after the cause which had given birth to it had \nceased, the monastic life began to assume a regular form. Edifices \nwere reared and appropriated to the purpose ; rules were prescribed \nfor the observance of their inhabitants ; and eminent for piety was the \nindividual esteemed, who, forsaking the vain pleasures and pursuits of \na fleeting world, took up his final retreat in one of these solitary man- \nsions. This was the origin of monastic institutions, and one of the \nmost surprising subjects that can engage our contemplation, is the ex- \ntent to which they increased. To think of a society that derived its \nexistence from an obscure individual, who possessed no influence \nsave what his fervid superstition conferred upon him, extending its \nramifications over one kingdom after another, till it could boast of an \nestablishment over half the globe ; numbering, too, among its mem- \nbers, statesmen, kings and emperors, and actually grasping a great \npart of the wealth of the nations in which it prevailed, is one of the \nmost astonishing scenes which history affords. \n\nThe monastic life is unnatural, for it is in direct opposition to an \noriginal principle of the human mind, by which our species are con- \nnected among themselves, the desire of society ; nor is there a more \nstriking phenomenon in the history of mankind, than that enthusiasm \nshould acquire entire superiority over an affection to which men in \nevery region of the world do homage. The professed and primary \nobject of monastic institutions is preposterous. Little can be said for \nthe rationality of minds which could suppose that the duties which we \nowe to the God who made us, may be better performed amid the \ngloom of the desert, and the dreariness of the cell, than in the scenes \nof social life. \n\nBut although it were granted that the object of monastic institutions \nis not irrational, their existence from the very hour of their commence- \nment, was one continued crime against God, and against human soci- \nety, increasing every hour in magnitude and atrocity. Man is not a \nbeing formed for himself alone. Dependant on his fellows, his very \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 441 \n\ncircumstances point out his destination. He is a member of society, \nand there are duties which he owes to society of as much importance \nin their own place, as those which are more immediately required of \nhim by his Maker. What estim.ate, then, must we form of the con- \nduct of him who turns away with utter contempt from all those offi- \nces of social duty, and bursting through all those strong and enduring \nties by which he is connected with the members of the same great \nfamily, resolves to live \' a solitary man ? \n\nLook then to the aggregate of injury, which, in the withdrawment \nof its members was inflicted on society by these institutions, during \nthe long period of twelve centuries, and though the crime be negative, \nit will not be easily counterbalanced. If the beings devoted to mona- \nchism during all that time be estimated at the permanent average of \nthree hundred thousand, a number, there is reason to believe, greatly \nbelow the truth ; forty generations passed away during that period, \nand a total is presented to us equal to the population of England, \nperhaps double or triple that number, of our fellow creatures,_to whose \nexertions in her service, society had a right of which she could not be \ndeprived, snatched away from her, and with all those powers and fac- \nulties, which, under a kindlier influence might have been her ornament \nand delight, buried in the lone desert. \n\nWho can tell, amid this overthrow of mind, how many mighty \nspirits were crushed in their opening energies 1 How many individ- \nuals were compelled to live in vain, through whose enterprising eflbrts \nlight might have been shed on the paths of literature, or on the truths \nof religion 1 Who can tell whether the combined exertions of many \nof these lost myriads, might not have prevented the disastrous reign of \ndarkness that ensued, and rendered the reformation unnecessary ? At \nall events, who can doubt that in all this inconceivable multitude \nthere were many who would have occupied important stations in soj \nciety ; many who would have proved the centre of domestic charities \nthe lovers of freedom, the friends and benefactors of their species\'? \nWhat can redeem from the charge of atrocious guilt, the system which \noccasioned the ruin of such intellectual, moral, as well as physical \npowers. \n\nThis, however, is not the precise view of the injuries done to soci- \nety by monastic institutions, nor is it that in which their criminality \nappears invested with its highest aggravation. It is, indeed, much to \ndeprive society of the benevolent exertions of millions of her members; \nbut it is a painful addition to set all these millions in hostility against \n56 \n\n\n\n442 H I S T OR Y F \n\nher. From the principles on which these institutions were established, \nand the conduct which characterized their members, they were array- \ned against her prosperity and her peace. The principles on which \nthey were instituted, were those of entire devotedness to the court of \nRome, and absolutely independent of the civil power. Now, the ex_ \nemption of such vast numbers of ecclesiastical persons from all sub- \njection to the secular authorities, was utterly at variance with nation- \nal security ; yet this exemption was claimed for them, and during ma- \nny ages afforded ground of contention and warfare, in almost every \nnation of Europe. It was too late after the reformation had taken \nplace, to think of continuing such a state of matters ; but its contin_ \nuation was attempted, and in the articles decreed by the council of \nTrent, for the reformation of princes and civil magistrates which were \nonly a collection and confirmation of the decrees of former councils, \nwe may read at once a description of the state of christendon for ages \nprevious to the reformation, and of the state in which, if papal influ- \nence had been sufficiently powerful, it would still have remained. \n\nThe principal decrees of this council on this subject, are the follow- \ning : \' That persons ecclesiastical, even though their clerical title should \nbe doubtful, and though they themselves should consent, cannot un- \nder any pretext, even that of public utility, be judged in a secular ju- \ndicatory. Even in cases of notorious assassination, or other capital \ncases, their persecution must be preceded by a declaration of the bish- \nop of the diocess. That in causes spiritual, matrimonial, those of her- \nesy, tithes, &c., civil, criminal, mixed, belonging to" the ecclesiastical \ncourt, as well over persons as over goods, pertaining to the church, the \ntemporal judge cannot intermeddle, notwithstanding any appeal ; and \nthose who in such causes shall recur to the civil power, shall be ex- \ncommunicated, and deprived of the rights contended for. Secular \nmen cannot constitute judges in ecclesiastical causes ; a clergyman \nwho shall accept such offices from a layman, shall bb suspended from \norders, deprived of benefices, and incapacitated. No king or empe- \nror can make edicts, relating to causes or persons ecclesiastical, or \nintermeddle with their jurisdiction, or even with the inquisition ; but \nare obliged to lend their arm to the ecclesiastical judges whenever de- \nsired. Ecclesiastics shall not be constrained to pay taxes, excise, &c. \nnot even under the name of free gifts, or loans, either for patrimonial \ngoods, or the goods of the church. Princes and magistrates shall not \nquarter their officers, &c., on the houses or monasteries of ecclesias- \ntics, nor draw thence aught for victuals^or passage^ money. And \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. 44S \n\nthere was an admonition to all princes, to have in veneration the \nthings which were of ecclesiastical right, as pertaining to God, and \nnot to allow others herein to offend ; renewing all the constitutions of \nsovereign pontiffs and sacred canons, in favor of ecclesiastical immu- \nnities, commanding under pain of anathema, that neither directly or \nindirectly, under any pretence, ought to be enacted or executed \nagainst any ecclesiastical persons or goods,. or against their liberty; \nany privilege or immemorial exception to the contrary notwithstand- \ning. \n\nSuch are the privileges with which not only the monks but all the orders \nof the clergy, insulted the powers of Europe, by arrogating to them- \nselves, and in asserting which, they frequently threw whole kingdoms \ninto confusion. It is evident that these articles imply a total indepen- \ndence of the ecclesiastic of the secular powers, inasmuch as the lat- \nter could use no coercive measures, either for preventing the commis- \nsion of crimes by the former, or for punishing them when committed ; \ncould not, even for the eviction of civil debts or discharge of lawful \nobligations, effect the clergy, either in person or property, moveable \nor immoveable, and could exact no aid from them for the exigencies \nof the state, however urgent. Besides, the independence was solely \non the side of the clergy. The laiety could not, by their civil sanc- \ntions affect the clergy without their own concurrence ; but the clergy, \nboth by their civil and their religious sanctions could affect the laiety, \nand, in spite of their opposition, whilst the people had any religion, \nbring the most obstinate to their terms. The civil judge could not com- \npel a clergyman to appear before his tribunal ; the eccclesiastical judge \ncould compel a layman to appear before him, and did daily use this \npower. In all the interferings and disputes between individuals of \nthe different orders, the clerical only could decide. Moreover, though \nthe kinds of power in the different orders, were commonly distin- \nguished into temporal and spiritual, the much greater power of the \necclesiastics was strictly temporal. \n\nMatters spiritual are those only of faith and manners; and the lat- \nter only as manners; that is, as influencing opinion, wounding charity, \nor raising scandal. Whereas, under the general term spintual^ they \nincluded the more important part of civil matters also, matrimonial and \ntestamentary affairs, questions of legitimacy and succession, covenants \nand conventions, and wherever the interposition of an oath was ne- \ncessary. Add to these that they were the sole arbiters of the rights \navowedly civil of the church and churchmen, and in every thing where \n\n\n\n444 H I S T R Y O F ^ \n\nin these had, in common with laymen, any share or concern. The \npopish clergy, generally, and especially the monastic orders, were a \nsort of spiritual army, dispersed in different quarters throughout Eu- \nrope, but of which all the movements and operations could be direct- \ned by one hand and governed upon one uniform plan.\' The monks \nof each particular country were a particular detachment of that army \nof which the operations could easily be supported and seconded by all \nthe other detachments, quartered in the different countries round about. \nEach detachment was not only independent of the sovereign of the \ncountry in which it was granted and by which it was maintained, but \ndependent on a foreign sovereign, who could at any time turn its arms \nagainst the sovereign of any particular country, and support them by \nthe arm.s of all the other detachments. \n\nThe monastic institutions were injurious to the states of Europe, in- \nasmuch as they absorbed a vast portion of national wealth. It is not \nmerely true of them that they were supported in affluence and splen- \ndor; at the expense of the very community whose claims on their ser- \nvices they had spurned; but aided by the delusions which Popery had \nspread over the world, they drew into their possession immense rich- \nes, the greater part of which, as to any advantages resulting from it \nto the state, became from that moment utterly dead. \n\nThe revenues which they derived from their endowments in land \nand from their church livings, although enormous, were not the only \nsources of wealth to the monasteries. Sums exceeding conception \ncame into their possession from the sale ol relics, and the voluntary \nofferings of superstitious devotees. Perpetually were the religious of \nthe monasteries exhibiting avast variety of relics, whose virtues were \nmarvellously adapted to all the exigencies of human life ; there were, \nfor example, three or four arms of St. Andrew, some dozens of Jere- \nmiah\'s teeth, the girdle of the Virgin Mary, shown in eleven several \nplaces, two or three heads of Ursula, some of Peter\'s buttons, and \nmany of the rags of the muslin and lace of Margaret and Clara, and \nother illustrious female saints. A thousand marvellous properties \nwere attributed to these precious relics. They had power to fortify \nagainst temptation, to infuse and strengthen grace, to drive away the \ndevil and all evil spirits, to allay winds and tempests, to purify the air, \nto secure from thunder and lightning, to arrest the progress of conta- \ngion, and heal all diseases! Indeed, it was much more difficult to tell \nwhat they could not than what they could do. To be permitted to \ntouch, or even to see these hallowed things, was a privilege for which \n\n\n\nJ \n\n\n\nMONACHISM. \' 445 \n\nthe people had to pay. Their possession v/as to be obtained only at \na most exorbitant price, but the virtue b]^ which they were distin- \nguishedj was also proportioned to the rate at which they had been pro- \ncured. \n\nIn addition to the immense sums received for their relics, the mon- \nasteries were ever attesting some new miracle, for the purpose of at- \ntracting the attention of the unhealthy, the penitent and the pilgrim ; \nall of whom were expected to leave an offering behind them to the \nwonder working saint. The wealth of which the monks became pos- \nsessed by these means was enormous. It is related that the offerings \nat the shrine of Thomas a Becket amounted to a sum equal io fifty \nthousand dollars, and the gold taken from the altar at the time of the \ndemolition of the religious houses, \'filled two chests, which eight strong \nmen could hardly carry.\' The jewels, the plate, the furniture, and \nother goods which belonged to all these houses, must have amounted \nto a sum of which no computation can now be made. In many of \nthe rich monasteries, their vestment was of cloth of gold, silk and vel- \nvet, richly embroidered ; and their crucifixes, images, candlesticks, \nand other utensils and ornaments of their churches, were of pure gold \nand silver. \n\nAnd what was the mighty benefit in return for all the splendid \ngifts they received, which the monastics conferred on their devotees \'? \nInvariably the grand return made to the donors, was a promise that \nall the influence the fathers possessed in heaven, should be exerted in \nbehalf of their souls and the souls of their relations. What imposition \ncan be too gross for the deception of an ignorant and superstious peo- \nple ! The sanctity of the recluse consisted wholly or chiefly in some \nridiculous peculiarity of garb; yet was the world so much infatuated \nby their appearance, that liberality to them, even to the beggaring of \ntheir own children, was regarded as the most direct path to heaven ; \nand it was imagined that immortal happiness conld not be more efFec\xc2\xab \ntually secured than by giving the luxuries of life to those who bad \nbound themselves to live in abstinence, and by enriching those who \nhad sworn to live forever poor ! Thus were the people deluded, and \nthus the pretensions of the monastic fathers to poverty and austere pi- \nety was mere cant, for amid all the gloom, and all the affected rigidity \nof their character and their devotions, they never manifested much re- \nluctance to encumber themselves with the riches that perish, and to \nbarter for the carnal things of this world, the precious commodities o^ \nthe world to come. \n\n\n\n446 H I S T R Y F \n\nIt would have been well, however, if the mere absorption of proper- \nty and wealth had been all the positive evil with which the monastic \ninstitutions were chargeable. It is manifest that this, in process of \ntime would have ruined society ; and but for the reformation, Europe \nwould have become, ere long, a region of monasteries a nd of monks \nNevertheless, it is the moral influence they exerted, that renders \nthem pre-eminently infamous, and throws over their guilt its deepest \nand darkest shade of atrocity. The morality of a nation constitutes \nits highest glory, when that is gone its worth is departed, and though \nit may continue to boast of its trade, and riches, and power, it is be- \ncome an abomination in the earth. It is a fact which cannot be dis- \nputed, that these institutions naturally tended and greatly contributed \nto spread the ruin of moral character over every country m which \nthey prevailed. There is not one individual of our species, on whose \nmind seclusion from society would not produce the most baneful ef- \nfects. It would either give to his character the complexion of a rigid \nunsocial misanthrope, or inspire him with all the fervor of fanatical \nfrenzy. Men of strong mental powers improved by education, have \nbeen unable to withstand its influence. Indeed, it seems to be the \nunavoidable effect of a monastic education, to contract and fetter the \nhuman mind. The partial attachment of a monk to the interests of \nhis order^ which is often incompatible with that of other citizens, the \nbabit of implicit obedience to the will of a superior, together with the \nfrequent return of the wearisome and frivolous duties of the cloister, \ndebase his mind and extinguish that generosity of sentiment and spirit \nwhich qualifies men for thinking or feeling justly, with respect to what \nis proper in hfe and conduct. The effect of monastic seclusion on \nthe female mind, has been sometimes of a singular cast. In a convent \nof nuns in France, a strange impulse seized one of the fair sisterhood \nto mew like a cat, which soon communicated itself to the rest, and \nbecame general throughout the convent, till at last they all joined at \nstated periods in the practice of mewing, and continued it for several \nhours ! \n\nIn the fifteenth century, one of the nuns in a German convent was \nseized with a propensity to hite all her companions ; and surprising as \nit may seem, this disposition spread among them until the whole sis- \nterhood were infected with the same fury. This exhibits the ludi- \ncroiisness of monachism ; but it is the effect which it has produced on \nthe passions, which mankind have most reason to deplore. Men may \nthink to escape the power of passion, by escaping from the view of \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M . 447 \n\nthose objects by which it was excited ; but experience tells us that \nthe thought is vain. The calm which seems to accompany the mind \nin its retreat is deceitful ; the passions are secretly at work within the \nheart ; the imagination is continually heaping fuel^on the latent fire ; \nand at length the laboring desire bursts forth, and glows with volcanic \nheat and fury. The man may change his habitation, but the same \npassions and inclinations lodge with him : and though they appear to \nbe undisturbed and inactive, are silently influencing all the propensi_ \nties of his heart. Even minds under the influence of virtuous princi- \nples could with difficulty stem the impetuous torrent ; and as for those \nof an opposite description, it is not wonderful that they should be over- \ncome. The celibacy, the poverty and the self-tormenting punish- \nments to which the advocates of monachism pretended to dedicate \nthemselves, were the means of fostering their pride, their ambition, \nand their sensual inclinations ; and so quickly was the semblance of \nsanctity banished from their habitations, that in the ninth century, the \nmost strenuous eflbrts of Charlemagne were inadequate to the task \nof repressing the disorders with which they were pervaded. Igno- \nrance, arrogance and luxury were the prominent features in the char- \nacter not only of the monks, but all the orders of clergy. Worldly \nambition, gross voluptuousness, and grosser ignorance, characterized \ntheir various ranks ; and the open sale of benefices placed them often \nin the hands of the basest of men. \n\nThe history of monastics exhibits that their hearts were corrupted \nwith the worst passions that disgrace humanity, and the discipline of \nthe convent was seldom productive of a single virtue. The prelates \nexceeded the inferior clergy iri every kind of profligacy as much as in \nopulence and power ; and of course, their superintending and visitori_ \nal authority was not exerted to restrain or lessen the prevalence of \nthose vices, which their evil example contributed so largely to in- \ncrease. \n\nThe celebrated Boccace, by his witty and ingenious tales has se- \nverely satirized the licentiousness and immorality which prevailed du- \nring his time, in tne Italian monasteries ; but by exposing the scanda- \nlous lives, and lashing the vices of the monks, nuns and other orders \nof the papal clergy, he has been decried as a contemner of religion, \nand as an enemy to true piety. Contemporary historians have also \ndelivered the most disgusting accounts of their intemperaance and de- \nbauchery. The frailty, indeed, of the female monastics, was ever an \narticle of regular taxation ; and the holy father did not disdain to fill \n\n\n\n448 H 1 S T R Y V \n\nhis coffers with the price of her impurities. The frail nun, whether \nshe had hecome immured within a convent, or still resided without \nits walls, might redeem her lost honor, and be reinstated in her former \ndignity and virtue far a few ducats. This scandalous traffic was car- \nried to an extent that soon destro3^ed all sense of morality, and height- \nened the hue of vice. \n\nAmbrosias of Candoli, a prelate of extraordinary virtue, visited \nvarious convents in his diocess ; but on inspecting their proceedings, \nhe found no traces even of decency remaining in any one of them, nor \nwas he able, with all the sagacity he exercised, on the subject, to re- \ninfuse the smallest particle of these qualities into the degenerated minds \nof the sisterhood. The reform of the nunneries was the first step that \ndistinguished the government of Sixtus IV. after he ascended the pa- \npal throne, at the close of the sixteenth century. Bossus, a canon of \nthe strictest principles, and of most inflexible disposition, was the agent \nselected for this arduous achievement. The Genoese convents where \nthe nuns lived in open defiance of all the rules of decency and the pre- \ncepts of religion, were the first objects of his attention. The oration \nwhich he publicly uttered from the pulpit, as well as the private lec- \ntures and exhortations which he delivered to the nuns from the con- \nfessionar chair, were fine models, not only of his zeal and probity, but \nof his literature and eloquence. They breathed in themost impres- \nsive manner, the true spirit of Christian purity ; but his glowing rep- \nresentations of the bright beauties of virtue, and the dark deformities \nof vice, made little impression upon their corrupted hearts. Despi- \nsing the open calumnies of the envious, and the secret hostilities of the \nguilty, he proceeded in spite of his discouragepjents and opposition in \nhis highly honorable pursuit ; and at length by his wisdom and assi- \nduity, beheld the fairest prospects of success daily opening to his \nview. The rays of hope, however, had scarcely beamed upon his en- \ndeavors, when they were immediately over-clouded by disappointment. \nThe arm of magistracy, which he had wisely called upon to aid in the \naccomplishment of his design, was enervated by venality ; and the in- \ncorrigible objects of his solicitude, having freed themselves by bribery, \nfrom the terror of civil power, contemned the reformers\' denuncia- \ntions of eternal vengeance hereafter, and relapsed into their former li- \ncentiousness and depravity. A few indeed, among the great number \nof nuns who inhabited those guilty convents, were converted by the \nforce of his eloquent remonstrances, and became afterwards highly \nexemplary, by the virtue of their lives, but the rest abandoned them \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 440 \n\nthemselves to their impious courses ; and though more vigorous meas- \nures were, in a short time, adopted against the refractory monastics, \nthey set all attempts to reform them at defiance. The modes, per- \nhaps, in which their vices were indulged, changed with the character \nof the age ; and as manners grew more refined, the gross and shame* \nful indulgences of the monks and nuns were changed into a more ele- \ngant and decent style of enjoyment. Fashion might render them more \nprudent and reserved in their intrigues, but their passions were not less \nticious, nor their dispositions less corrupt. \n\n9 1 \n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. \n\nCeremony of introducing a Lady into a Convent \xe2\x80\x94 Rules and Regular \ntions observed in Convents \xe2\x80\x94 Duties of the JSToviciate \xe2\x80\x94 Taking the \nVeil \xe2\x80\x94 Jlttending Ceremonies \xe2\x80\x94 Deceptions practised by Monks \xe2\x80\x94 Li- \ncentious Indulgences \xe2\x80\x94 Disclosures at ^Montreal \xe2\x80\x94 General Remarks \non the character and tendency of Monasticism. \n\nThe imposing character of the ceremonies of the Romish Church \nhave ever been the chief instrument by which the blind veneration and \nadherence of the world has been secured. The ceremony of intro- \nducing* an applicant for a place in a convent, is thus described by are- \ncent C a olic publication in Ireland. This is but one of the innu- \nmerable number which are constantly occurring in all sections of \nCatholic Christendom, but will serve as an illustration of the manner \nof conducting the ceremony, and the false views of duty and devotion \nwhich \'pervade this superstitious church. \n\n" Miss Joyce, daughter of Walter Joyce, of Mervieu, was received \nto-day, amongst the pious and exemplary sisterhood of the Presenta- \ntion convent ; scarcely have we ever witnessed a scene more subhme- \nly imposing. The young and promising daughter of one of our most \nrespectable and esteemed citizens, presenting herself at the altar of her \nGod, in the abandonment of every earthly consideration \xe2\x80\x94 in the sac- \nrifice of every thing that could bespeak permanency to social life and \nto social happiness, in the dedication of her exalted talents, of her \nyoung and innocent loveliness, of the world\'s promise and the world\'s \nhopes, must indeed be capable of awakening in the breasts of all, a \ngenerous and a dignified association, whilst it affords an important \ncoloring to the completion of her future existence, and her ultimate \ndestiny. At half past nine the * Ogloriosa Virginum^ was sung from \nthe highest choir, in the masterly accompaniment of select musical \nperformers. The procession then began to move from the vestry, \nthrough the lower choir to the chapel in the following order. 1 . The \nThuriferere. 2. The Acolytes. 3. The master of ceremonies, the \nRev. Mr. Daly. 4. The subdeacon, the Rev. Mr. Gill. 5. Deacon, \nthe Rev. Mr. O\'Donnell. 6. The high priest, the Rev. Mr. Finn. \n7. The celebrant, the very Rev. Warden French, and his train bear- \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M . 461 \n\ner. The Rev. Warden French having been conducted to hii fal- \n\ndastorium, under a rich canopy, the high priest and his officiating \nministers, retired to their places at the gospel side of the altar. And \nnow all was breathless expectation ; the young postulant (applicant) \nappeared in the attendance of the Rev. mother, and her assistant, ro- \nbed in all the gaudy extravagance of fashionable splendor, and beam- \ning in the glows of youthful modesty, which taught us to believe, that \nhad she remained in the world she forsook, she would have moved the \nattraction of every heart, the leading star of every eye. The very \nRev. Celebrant was then conducted to the platform of the altar, and \nthe postulant and her attendants having genufiuted, (knelt,) the cere- \nmony of reception began with the preparatory prayers and responso- \nries. When the novice was seated, and the celebrant was reconduct- \ned to the fandastorium, high mass commenced with peculiar dignity, \nand with a strict precision in all the various ceremonies, which always \nrender the Catholic service sublime." (The reader can judge for \nhimself of the sublimity by referring to the description of the cele" \nbration of mass.) " After the gospel, the Rev. Mr. Daly delivered an \nexcellent sermon, addressed peculiarly to the novice, and prefaced by \na text admirably pertinent to the subject he handled ! \' Hearken O \ndaughter and see, incline thine ear ; thou shalt leave thy people and \nthy father\'s house, for the king hath greatly desired thy beauty, and he \nis the Lord thy God.\' Ps. 45. After mass the novice retired, whilst \nthe clerical choir chanted in full tone the Psalm, \' in exitu Israel de \nEgypto.^ At the conclusion of the Psalm she appeared disrobed of \nher worldly habiliments and vested in the simplicity of penance and \nretirement. In the different answers to questions put to her by the \ncelebrant, she was clear and decisive, like one whose determination of \nembracing a life of religion and of chastity was that of long and con- \nclusive reflection. The ceremony on the whole created a deep and \ngeneral interest. The chapel and lower choir were crowded with the \nfirst of rank and distinction in our city and the vicinity. We recog- \nnized among them the respectable families of his grace the archbishop \nof Tuam, collector Reilly, and our worthy mayor, Col. Carey.\' This \naccount (says the author of the History of Popery,) is probably from \nthe pen of some popish priest. Be that as it may, to every enlighten- \ned mind the ceremony here described is all mummery and nonsense. \nIf it were just as it appears, what is the amount? Why a young \nsprightly damsel, to whom God has given talents and powers to be \nextensively useful, a comfort to her friends and a blessing to the world, \n\n\n\n452 HISTORYOF \n\nresolves under the tuition of popery to throw away these talents, or \nbury them, and retire into solitude, and for what 1 Ah, who can tell ? \nThis is the best of it. But taking the affair, divested of external glare, \njust as it is, and as she will find it in the result, and what is it 1 Why \nthis fair unsuspecting damsel is persuaded, under the forms of super- \nstition, to become a victim to the craft and villany of a few designing \nmen. By superstitious rites she is drawn from the paternal roof, and \nfrom maternal watchfulness, and placed beyond the reach of parental \nfidelity, at the mercy of wolves in sheep\'s clothing. And to grace the \ntransaction, a passage of scripture, which is figuratively written of the \nchurch, is perverted and applied to this damsel, and the most blasphe- \nmous suggestion made, by a literal application of the language to her. \nIf the preacher, instead of reading, \' the king hath greatly desired thy \nbeauty,\' had put the priests in the place of the king, he would have \nbeen much nearer the truth. Let the papists gloss this transaction \nover ever so much, or call it by what name they will, it is really \na human sacrifice, as really so as the burning of Hindoo widows, and \nit involves precisely the same principle. In the words of another, \n\' Here a silly young creature is represented as devoting herself to a \nlife of celibacy, and perpetual seclusion from the world, which must \nbe a life of delusion or misery, or both, because it is contrary to the \nappointment of God, who requires no man or woman to relinquish the \nadvantages of domestic and social intercourse, or to become thus se- \ncluded fi^om the world, but who rather commands all to occupy the \nsphere which in his providence he assigns them in the world, for his \nglory and the good of their fellow creatures.\' What right has a fe- \nmale or any other person to devote their lives to perpetual seclusion, \nany more than they have to take away their own lives *? And when \nGod shall require an account of their stewardship what can they say \nmore than was said by the unprofitable servant, and what can they \nexpect to hear from the judge different from what he heard 1 \n\nThe general character of the monasteries and convents has already \nbeen considered. Their internal arrangement and the discipline and \nduties which are observed and enforced upon their deluded or vicious \noccupants will next claim attention. The following are the Rules, \nas given by Miss Reed, (whose well authenticated narrative of a resi- \ndence in the Ursuline Convent at Charlestown, has recently beenpub^ \nlished to the world,) which it is the duty of every Novice to read as of- \nten as once a week, and render a strict observance. These Rules \n"vrere enclosed in a gilt frame and suspended in the community. \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M. 463 \n\n1. To rise on the appearance of the Superior. \n\n2. When reprimanded, to^kneel at once and kiss the floor, until the \nsignal be given to rise. \n\n3. When speaking of the Superior, to say our Mother ; when speak- \ning to her, and to the professed Choir Religieuse, Mamare ; to say \nSister, when speaking to the Novices; o/them. Miss; and of the pro- \nfessed Choir, Mrs. ; to say our or ours, instead of my or mine. \n\n4. To say "Ave Maria " every time we enter the community. \n\n5. Before entering^any room, to give three knocks on the door, ac- \ncompanied by some religious ejaculation, and wait until they are an- \nswered by three from within. \n\n6. Not to lift our eyes while walking in the passage ways ; also \nnever to touch each other\'s hands. \n\n7. To stand while spoken to by the Bishop or Superior, and kneel \nwhile speaking to them , to speak in a particular tone. \n\n8. If necessary to speak to the Superior during a time of silence, \napproach her kneeling, and speak in whispers. \n\n9. Never to leave a room without permission, giving at the sam^ \nlime our reasons. \n\n10. To rise and say the \' Hour\'* every time the clock strikes ex-^ \ncept when the Bishop is present, who if he wishes makes the sig- \nnal. \n\nThe follov/ing are the written * Rules and Penances of our Hol]f \nFather, St. Augustine,^ together with those of St. Ursula, given from \nmemory. They are read at the refectory table every week. \n\n1. To kneel in the presence of the Bishop, until his signal to \n\nrise. \n\n2. Never to gratify our appetites, except with his holiness the Bish- \nop\'s or a Father Confessor\'s permission. \n\n3: Never to approach or look out of the window of the Monas- \ntery. \n\n4. To sprinkle our couches every night with holy water. \n\n* \' The Hour. \xe2\x80\x94 O sacred heart of Jesus / always united to the will of thy Father, grant \nthat ours may be sweetly united in thine. Heart of Mary / an asylum in the land of our \ncaptivity, procure for us the happy liberty of the children of Jesus. May the souls of th^ \nfaithful departed through the merits of Christ and mercies of God, rest in peace. Amen." \n\nThe above is what is called an Hour, there is a different though similar one, for each o \nthe twenty- four hours in the day. They are written and placed in two gilt frames, over \nthe mantle-piece ; twelve over the heart of Mary m one, and twelve over the heart of Jesus \nin the other. Every time the clock strikes the one who is to lecture rises and says one q^ \nthem. \n\n\n\n464 HISTORYOF \n\n5. Not to make any noise in walking over the Monastery. \n\n6. To wear sandals and hair cloth ; to inflict punishment upon \nourselves with our girdles in imitation of a Saint. \n\n7. To sleep on a hard mattrass or couch, with one coverlet. \n\n8. To walk with pebbles in our shoes, or walk kneeling until a \nwound is produced. Never to touch any thing without permission. \n\n9. Never to gratify our curiosity, or exercise cur thoughts on any \nsubject, without our spiritual director\'s aid and advice. Never to de- \nsire food or water betv/een portions. \n\n10. Every time, on leaving the community, to take holy water \nfrom the altar of the Blessed Virgin, and make the sign of the cross. \n\n11. If a Religieuse persists in disobeying the Superior, she is to be \nbrought before the Bishop of the diocese, and punished as he shall \nthink proper. Never to smile except at recreation, nor even then \ncontrary to religious decorum. \n\n12. Should the honored Mother, the Superior, detect a Religieuse \nwhose mind is occupied with worldly thoughts, or who is negligent in \nobserving the rules of the Monastery, which are requisite and neces- \nsary to her perseverance and perfection in a religious life, she should \nimmediately cause her to retire to her cell, where she should enter into \na retreat. \n\nThe time of the Noviciate is mostly consumed in one continued \nround of superstious observances, in prayer, invocation to the Saints, \nand the performance of every species of penance, which the Lady Su- \nperior is authorised to impose for the slightest indiscretion or commis- \nsion of any trivial offence. After passing through the term required \nof the Noviciate, the next step in the line of monastic perfection is the \nact of taking the veil, by which the nun by solemn act absolves her- \nself from all connection with the world, and vows to devote the residue \nof her life to devotion and solitude. This act is attended with differ- \nent ceremonies among the various orders. The following description \nis taken from an account of the ceremony performed on the admission \nof a candidate into the order of Black Nuns. \n\nBefore taking the veil the novice is ornamented for the ceremony, \nand clothed in a rich dress furnished for the occasion, and placed near \nthe altar of the chapel, in full view of all the number of spectators who \nmay have assembled. Being well prepared by a long and rigorous \ntraining, and frequent rehearsals of what is to be performed, she stands \nmotionless, with her large flowing dress, waiting for the appearance of \nthe bishop. Upon his arrival, who approaches through the door from \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 455 \n\nbehind the altar, the noviciate throws herself at his feet, and asks \nhim to confer upon her the veil. Having expressed his consent, the \nbishop throws it over her head, saying, " Receive the veil, O thou \nspouse of Jesus Christ;" and then turning to the Superior, the novice \nthrows herseli prostrate at her feet, according to previous instructions, \nrepeating what had before been learned and rehearsed, and then \nmakes a movement as if to kiss her feet. From this she is prevented \nor apparently prevented, by the Superior, who catching her by a sud- \nden motion of the hand, finally grants the request. She then kneels \nbefore the Holy Sacrament, which is a very large round wafer, \nheld by the bishop between his fore-finger and thumb, and then pro- \nnounces her vows. \n\nThis wafer the nuns are taught to regard with the utmost veneration, \nconsidering it as the real body of Jesus Christ, the presence of which, \ntherefore, makse the vows uttered before it, binding in the most sol- \nemn manner. After taking the vows, she then proceeds to an apart- \nment behind the altar, in which a coffin is placed with her future \nsaintly name engraven upon it. The coffin is lifted by four handles \nattached to it, by the accompanying nuns, while the new member of \nthis community throws off her dress, and puts on that of the ho\'y sis- \nterhood, to which she has now forever attached herself. This cere- \nmony being done, they all return to the chapel. The new nun \nproceeds first, followed by her four sisters, the bishop, in the mean \ntime, naming a number of worldly pleasures in rapid succession, in re- \nply to which she as rapidly repeats \xe2\x80\x94 I renounce, I renounce, I re \nnounce. \n\nThe coffin is then placed in front of the altar, and she then advan- \nces and lays herself in it. This coffin is deposited after the ceremony \nin an outhouse, to be preserved till after her death, when it is to re- \nceive her corpse. A large, thick black cloth is then spread over \nthe coffin, and the chanting of Latin hymns immediately commenced. \nAfter remaining for sometime in this situation, the pall or Drap Mor- \ntel, as the cloth is called, which is strongly perfumed with incense, \nis removed and the nun steps out of her coffin and kneels. The \nBishop then addresses these words to the Superior, "Take care and \nkeep pure and spotless this young virgin, whom Christ has this \nday consecrated to himself. Music then commences, and the cere- \nmony is completed. She then proceeds to the Superior\'s room to re- \nceive instructions in regard to her future duties and manner of life, \nfollowed by the other nuns, who walk two and two, with their hands \n\n\n\n456 H I S T O R Y O F \n\nfolded on their breasts, in the customary manner, and their eyes cast \ndown upon the floor. \n\nThus ends this ceremony, which, however much it may strike the \neye of the ignorant beholder with admiration for that spirit of self de- \nvotion which could prompt any individual to renounce the pleasures \nof earth, to take upon herself an eternal vow of chastity, and to bury \nherself while living in the solitude of a convent, for the purpose of \nholding a more intimate and holy communion with God and angels, \nyet it is one that is too frequently the precursor of a life devoted to \nthe grossest sensuality, the indulgence of every species of wickedness \nand the commission of the most unnatural crimes. \n\nIt it is not to be supposed that every convent is converted into a \nbrothel, or established for the express object of carrying into execu- \ntion the criminal designs of a class of people whose lives are devoted \nto that degree of purity and holiness which enjoins celibacy. There \nare now, and doubtless ever have been, many monastic institutions, \nin which the avowed objectof their foundation has been steadily pur- \nsued. Nothing but a deep sense of religious duty, and sincerity of \npurpose could have induced many of the early monks to inflict the \nself punishments, undergo the hardships, brave the dangers and en- \ndure the almost endless variety of penances, to which they were con- \nstantly subjected. As the institution was tounded in fanaticism, and \na misconception of the character and attributes of God, so have ma- \nny, perhaps most of those who have joined the order, been actuated \nby similar motives. This remark applies more particularly to the \ngentlel" sex, who are more susceptible of religious emotion, less skill- \ned in the deception and fraud which pervade the world, and therefore \ndisposed to place too much confidence|in professions of piety and holi- \nness. Not aware that the friar\'s cloak often envelopes the most aban- \ndoned profligate and heartless libertine, they entrust themselves with \nthe most unsuspecting confidence to the spiritual guardianship of \nthese holy fathers, and too often find, when irrevocable vows have \nbound them, and the massive walls of a convent prevent their escape, \nthat a fearful alternative is presented to them, or that dishonor is \ninevitable. \n\nTwo universal facts illustrate this hideous topic, in all its scandal- \nous inordinancy. Convents for the monks and their sisters are never" \nwidely separated. They cannot exist apart \xe2\x80\x94 where the nunnery is \nstationed, the monastery is speedily erected. In all the nations where \npopery has ruled, subterraneous or other secret avenues of commune \n\n\n\nM N A C H I S M. 467 \n\ncation between the friars and their sisters, have often been found. In \nTuscany, they were discovered, as recorded by Scipio de Ricci ; and \nalso in many other places. In the very nature of the case, it is im- \npossible that purity and decorum can preside among the inmates of a. \nconvent. \n\nA narrative has recently been given to the world, purporting to be \na correct account of the most abandoned profligacy, infanticide and \nmurder, committed in the Hotel Dieu, at Montreal. This narrative \nabout the credibility of which to belief, much controversy has been eli- \ncited, and a great difference of opinion prevails, is given by a nun who \nis represented to have been a member of that convent, and finally to \nhave effected her escape. As this affair is now in a train of investiga- \ntion which must soon place it beyond all controversy, it will not here \nbe proper to give any opinion. Nor in forming an estimate of the \nevils resulting from the conventual system is it material whether these \ndevelopements are or are not founded in truth. Previous disclosures \nhave established the fact that such tnormities as are here charged up- \non this convent, have been not only not uncommon, but of the most \nalarming frequency. It is not necessary, therefore, to resort to ficti- \ntious accusations for the purpose of rendering infamous this offspring \nof superstition and iniquity. The catalogue of well attested facts \nwhich might be drawn from the history of past ages would shock the \nsensibilities of the most hardened, and wound the chastity of the most \nobscene. The reader wishing to pursue this revolting subject farther \nwill find ample material for examination, in the account of the con- \nvents unveiled during the French Revolution, the Spanish monaste- \nries as described by the Rev. Blanco White, and the monastic estab- \nlishments of Italy, as explored by order of the Grand Duke of Tus- \ncany. \n\n" Eighty years after the Reformation, (says Bourne in his invalua- \nble appendix to McGavin,) we are assured that the number of mon- \nasteries and convents in the papal dominions of Europe, exceeded \ntwo hundred and twenty jive thousand, which must have contained at \nleast six millions of persons, all of whom were of mature age. Ac- \ncording to this calculation, as compared with the population of the \nUnited States, if the monastic system were as widely extended in this \nrepublic as in those European nations, there would be not less, prob- \nably, than one million and a half of nuns, living in indolence, profusion \nand profligacy, who would comprise one fourth part of all the adult \ninhabitants of the federal union. \n58 \n\n\n\n458 HISTORYOF \n\n"National prosperity, and particularly those institutions which con- \ntribute to it, depend chiefly upon the freedom and virtue of the citi- \nzens. These, however, cannot exist where Popery predominates. \nThere are also subordinate causes which are very influential in pro- \nducing the advantages that are so desirable. A numerous, active and \nmoral people, abundantly supplied with temporal comforts, would be \nthe brief description of a prosperous nation; but this character never \ndid belong and never possibly can appertain to any country, where \nconventual institutions are plenty and encouraged. This fact is man^ \nifest, because the monastic life is destructive to the human species. \nIt encourages indolence, and grasps an enormous revenue, to sqan- \nder in the utmost extravagance of debauchery. If an equal number \nof monasteries now existed in the United States to that which former- \nly were maintained in Europe, combining the loss of labor and the \nadditional expenditures, the amount would constitute an annual sura \nequivalent, at least, to Jive hundred millions of dollars, to be deducted \nfrom the national income and opulence. \n\n" The system of celibacy, which is the chief corner stone of all the \nmonastic edifices contemns the divine constitution of human nature,- \nand outrages common instincts. It generates the very worst corrup- \ntions and perversions to which human nature is liable. Such clearly, \nare the inflictions of monastic life \xe2\x80\x94 ^its solitude and celibacy ! The \nvery same authority which forbids adultery enjoins marriage, and ag \nlong as morality is understood to consist in obedience to the declared \nwill of God, it can never be imagined that a man is defiled by living \nin matrimony any more than by eating with unwashed hands. The \nanchoret is a selfish by his very profession; and like the sensualist, \nthough his taste be of another kind, he pursues his personal gratifica\xc2\xab* \ntion, reckless of the welfare of others. That so monstrous an immo- \nrality should have dared to call itself by the name of sanctity^ and \nshould do so in front of Christianity, is indeed surprising. \n\n" That the European nations were vastly less in the number of \ntheir inhabitants prior to the reformation of the sixteenth century \nthan they now are is an indisputable fact ; and the causes are obvious \nto every political economist. The Roman priests and monks, with \ntheir nuns, sisters, and neices, all of whom lived in canonical celibacy, \ncomprised two fifths of the whole adult people ; and these were ei- \nther debilitated by inordinate and unnatural sensuality, or were guilty \nof procuring abortions, or of infanticide. Hence the people were \ncomparatively lew ; and there is no doubt that Europe now contains \n\n\n\nM O N A C H I S M . 459 \n\nthree times as many people as were living two hundred years ago. \xe2\x80\x94 \nOne grand cause of this increase is obvious. The monasteries and \nconvents throughout all the Protestant countries were demolished \nand the friars and nuns were dismissed to useful life, with an injunc- \ntion against the restoration of the ungodly craft. Hence selfishness \ndied away ; dissoluteness decreased ; and their consequent crimes \nwere so diminished, that instead of being tolerated, and adjudged to \nbe venial faults, they became aggravated felonies ; and of course, the \npeople multiplied in a ratio never before known. This could not \nhave been exemplified during the sway of the monastic corruptions- \nThe erection of convents, and especially those for females, by impe- \nding the increase of the people, is the greatest obstruction which Sa- \ntan can devise, to multiply vice, and to counteract the approximation \npf these states to the first rank among the nations of the world, \n\nWith this melancholy result of Popery, is connected another perni- \ncious device. The monks and nuns are ever illegally and corruptly \ngrasping after wealth. Except the offspring of priests and nuns, no \nparents can place their children within those Jesuit institutions unless \nthey furnish large present pay, and hold out the expectation that the \nreversionary property accruing from their parents will eventually be- \nlong to the confraternity of friars or of nuns, by whom the deluded \nvictim has been beguiled, until impiety and irreligion have assumed \nlandivided supremacy, or death has transferred the victim to the tomb. \nFor even in this country, no murder which is perpetrated in those \n^ holds of^every foul spirit, and in those cages of every unclean and \nhateful bird ;\' and no atrocity, however flagrant \xe2\x80\x94 ever passes under a \ncoroner\'s research, or the jurisdiction of a court of justice. They \nare equally exempt from the civil authority in these states, as though \nthey resided in an undiscovered island in the Pacific Ocean. It i* \nself-evident, that a system which ever obtains all of earthly goods \nwhich it can possibly grasp, only to expend it in the most iniquitous \nmanner, must be incompatible with the social welfare, and destructive \nof national prosperity ; because the wealth accumulated by convents \nhas always been devoted to purposes most hostile to personal virtue \ndomestic comfort, and the welfare of the body politic. \n\nMonastic institutions are a death-blow to all industry. Indolence \nand uselessness, and corruption, are their grand attributes. They \nare supported by the labor of others, exacted not for an equivalent, \nbut for the most absurd as well as ungodly objects. Their pretended \nYpw of poverty is a ridiculous and shameless imposture. In idleness \n\n\n\n400 HISTORYOF \n\nthey commence, and live, and die ; a nuisance and a burden upon \nthe public. \n\nThe old Gothic castles, in their exterior alone, declare that they must \nhave been the receptacles of all the products of the surrounding coun- \ntry, the seats of barbaric magnificence, and the domicil of every bru- \ntal indulgence. But even in the modern papal countries, and espe- \ncially in those where monachism still partially maintains its suprema- \ncy, there are no factories, no internal improvements, no railroads and \nsteamboats, no science to direct, and no arts to execute any measures \nfor the benefit of families, the augmentation of comforts, and the ad- \nvancement of the commonwealth. Debasement is their inseparable \npatrimony";\' and poverty, and crime, and wretchedness are their unal- \nienable curse. \n\n" Such is the record of monastic profligacy and corruption ; and \nwhen we think how the monks were regarded by the people with thepro- \nfoundest reverencCj\'^and \'moreover with what swarms of them_Eiirope \nwas filled \xe2\x80\x94 friars, white, black, and grey ; canons, regular, and of \nSaint Anthony; Carmelites, Carthusians, Cordeliers, Dominicans \nFranciscans, Conventual and Observances, Jacobins, Remonstraten- \nsians, monks of Tyronne, and of Vallis-Caulium, Hospitallers, knights \nof Saint John of Jerusalem, nuns of Saint Austin, Clare, Scholastica, \nCatherine of Sienna, &c., with canonesses of various classes, we cannot \nentertain a doubt, that the contagion of their example operated with \nmost debasing and corrupting effect upon the character of mankind \nWhat must have been the condition of morality, when its professed \nteachers were so immoral 1 What, in the view of the God of truth \nand purity, must be the turpitude of the popish system, and of that wide- \nly extended institution, monachism, which for more than a thousand \nyears spread its unhallowed influence over so great a portion of the \nworld, and triumphed in the oyerthrowof all that is virtuous and noble \n\\n the character of man." \n\n\n\ni \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nHISTORY \n\n\n\nO F \n\n\n\nJESUITISM \n\n\n\nPounddtiori of the Order of Jesus \xe2\x80\x94 tgnatius Loyola \xe2\x80\x94 Sketch of his \nearly life \xe2\x80\x94 tVourtded at the Siege of Pampeluna \xe2\x80\x94 Becomes deranged \nand retires from the world \xe2\x80\x94 Undertakes a pilgrimage to the Holy \nLand \xe2\x80\x94 Returns to Europe and recommences Study \xe2\x80\x94 Enters the Min- \nistry \xe2\x80\x94 Projects the establishment of an order of Spiritual Knighthood\'^ \nRepairs to Rome \xe2\x80\x94 Procures the approbation of the Pope who confirms \nthe institution by a Papal Decree. \n\nThe Jesuits or Society of Jesus, one of the most celebrated itioiias- \ntic orders of the Romish church, was founded in the year 1 540, by \nIgnatius Loyola. This extraordinary person was born in the reign of \nFerdinand and Isabella in the year 1491, in that part of Biscay call- \ned Guipuscoa. Don Bertram, his father, held a high rank among the^ \nnobility, and his mother was allied to the Counts of Puebla. Ignati- \nus was the youngest of seven children ; and passed his first years with \nDon Juan Velasco, grand treasurer to his Catholic Majesty. Don \nJuan having no children of his own, requested that Ignatius might \ncome and reside with him ; and he paid every attention to his friend\'s \nSdii. When he had attained his 14th or 15th year, Ignatius was sent \nto court, and was made one of the king\'s pages ; but being of a dis-- \nposition too restless to relish the unvaried life of a courtier, he resol- \nved to become a soldier. Glory and love were his predominant pas- \nsions ; he was brave and skilled in his profession ; which he steadily \nfollowed till he was thirty years of age. He then suddenly became \ndisgusted with the world, and resolved to lead the life of an itinerant \nsaint, and to surpass all who had gone before him in a similar career. \n\n\n\n464 HISTORYOF \n\nThis change in his character is said to have beeri occasioned by a \nwound he received at the seige of Pampelunain the year 1521. One \nof his legs was broken, and the rude surgery of those days brought on \na violent fever, which probably affected his understanding. Under \njts influence, it is said, that he had a dream in which St. Peter appear- \ned to him, and thanked him for the praises he had bestowed in a poem \nwhich Ignatius had dedicated to him. This dream made such an im- \npression that he soon recovered. While in a state of convalescence \nhe asked permission to read, and a book, entitled the * Flower of the \nSaints\' was put into his hands. This work, full of the most wonder- \nful stories, could not fail to operate powerfully on a mind predisposed \nto relish its contents. Men, wandering about the world without pro^ \nvision, and submitting to every sort of hardship ; noblemen covered \nwith coarse vestments, girded with heavy iron chains, and living in \nfrightful deserts, or in horrible caverns, filled him with astonishment \nand admiration. He resolved to imitate these devout personages ; to \nclothe himself with a sack ; to feed on bread and water ; to sleep on \nthe ground ; to use severe discipline ; and to search for some dark \ncave for his residence. To crown all he determined to undertake a \npilgrimage to the Holy land barefooted. \n\nAt this time his father was dead, and his eldest brother possessed \nthe chateau of Loyola. In spite of all Ignatius\' caution, his brother \nsaw from various symptoms of a deranged intellect, that some wild \nscheme was in his contemplation. Don Martin besought him not tof \ndestroy the fair reputation he had gained at the seige of Pampeluna, \nnor to tarnish the honor of an illustrious house by a foolish and extrav- \nagant devotion. Ignatius replied very coolly, and observed, * that he \nhad no intention of doing any thing foolish, or that might in any de- \ngree obscure the glory of the house of Loyola.\' His brother was by \nthis speech lulled into security ; and while he indulged the hope that \nnothing disagreeable would happen, Ignatius mounted a mule and de- \nparted from Loyola. Having arrived at Montserrat, he there devoted \nhimself to thci service of the Virgin, by becoming her knight, and \nmade a vow of perpetual chastity. He now began to practice the \nmost severe austerities. He flogged himself several times a dayj and \ndisfigured himself so much that he was pointed out and hooted at in \nthe streets. Afterwards he retired to a cave and continued to exercise \ndiscipline on himself \n\nAt length he became melancholy ; and after brooding over his sins \nfor some time, he persuaded himself that his eternal damnation was \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 466 \n\ncertain, and he became quite insane. He believed himself in hell, \nand uttered the most frightful cries. The monks of a neighboring \nconvent having compassion for his miserable condition, took him from \nhis cave. But in spite of this care his frenzy continued to increase \nand lasted a considerable time. At last it changed into a quiet reve, \nrie, during which he saw many visions. With difficulty be was pre- \nvailed on to take some food ; but the fatigue occasioned by his visions \nbrought on a dangerous illness. A new scheme having occurred to \nhim of consecrating himself to the evangelical ministry, he became \nless austere. He put on a better dress, kept himself comfortable, \nand having regained strength he once more sallied forth. He not \nonly preached, but he wrote ; and his first performance was his \n* Spiritual Exercises.\' He did not lose sight, however, in his new \ncalling, of the Holy Land ; and now freely comm.unicated his schemes \nto his friends, who endeavored in vain to dissuade him from executing \nhis plan. He went to Barcelona, from whence he sailed to Italy. \n\nAt Rome he kissed the feet of Pope Adrian VI. and received a \nblessing on his intended pilgrimage to Jerusalem. From Rome he \nwent to Venice, where he was hospitably entertained by a devout \nSenator. But disliking a life of ease, he became impatient, and set \nsail for the Holy Land. On board the ship he was exceedingly irri- \ntated by the loose manners of the sailors, and so teased them with ex- \nhortations that they threatened to put him on shore in some desert \nplace. The wind being fair, they put into the isle of Cyprus, where \nIgnatius found a vessel ready to sail with pilgrims. He immediately \nwent on board, and arrived at Jaffa in August 1523. \n\nHaving visited all the holy places, he set about attempting to con- \nvert the Mahometans. But the bead of the Franciscans established at \nJerusalem, after reasoning with Ignatius in vain, was obliged to use \nthe authority delegated to him by the Pope, by ordering him to leave \nthe country. Persuaded that God wished him to leave Palestine, Ig- \nnatius disregarded the rudeness with which he had been treated. He \nsat sail on his return to Italy in the month of November, and after a \nstay in Cyprus, arrived about the end of January, 1524. Ignatius \nnow began to aspire to higher exploits ; and feeling the want of knowl- \nedge, he resolved to commence a course of study, and for that pur- \npose went to Barcelona. At the age of thirty three he began to learn \nthe Latin language. He vowed to devote two years to study, and \nbesought his teacher, if he did not learn as he ought, to flog him as \nhe would one of his young pupils. While he was engaged in his stu- \n\n59 \n\n\n\n466 HISTORY OF \n\ndies, he very nearly lost his life. Near the town of Barcelona there \nwas a convent of Dominicans, called the monastery of St. Agnes. \nThe females of this convent far from being vestals, lived the devoted \nprincesses of Venus. Ignatius resolved to attempt their reformation ; \nand having insinuated himself into their confidence, he remonstrated \nagainst their debauchery, and exhorted them so powerfully, that they \nbroke off all connection with their admirers. The gallants having \ndiscovered that their exclusion had been the work of Ignatius, threat- \nened him with the bastinado if he ever again approached the convent. \nHe disregarded their threats, but they kept their word. In spite of \nthis cruel treatment he persevered in his visits ; and his enemies hav- \ning determined to assassinate him, he was one day, as he was passing \nalong in company with a priest, violently assaulted. The priest was \nkilled and Ignatius left for dead. \n\nOn his recovery, he returned to the nuns, and on their telling him \nhis danger, he exclaimed, \' How happy should I be to die, to save \nthe soul of my neighbors !" No farther danger, however, awaited \nhim ; for, fearing the arm of Justice, his enemies asked and obtained \nhis forgiveness. Having studied the Latin language during two years, \nhe went to the monastery of Alcala, recently established by Ximenes^ \nin order to acquire some knowledge of theology and philosophy. \nHaving formed, while at Barcelona, the design of instituting an order \nof Spiritual Knight-errantry, he had made some converts there ; but \nfearing the inquisition of Toledo, he permitted only three of them to \nattend him at Alcala. \n\nIt would be tedious to follow Ignatius through all the vicissitudes \nof fortune which encountered him. The pieceding outline of his ear- \nly adventures have been given, chiefly for the purpose of exhibiting \nthe state and propensities of his mind. There maybe some doubts of \nhis ever having been actually deranged; for it is evident that suffi- \ncient sagacity remained, to enable him to conduct himself in such a \nmanner as to make use of the superstition and fanaticism of the times \nin which he lived, to gain proselytes to his scheme of Spiritual Knight \nErrantry. Towards the accomplishment of his plans, it was obvious- \nly of importance that he should acquire notoriety; and that was cer- \ntainly to be attained by a life of austerity, firmness in suffering, and a \nbold defiance of the world. Although it does not appear that he ev- \ner made any great progress in learning, it is evident that he possessed \ntalents of the first order, but of a peculiar cast. In Spain he met with \nso much ill treatment, that he resolved to leave it; and departed from \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 467 \n\nhis native country for France, at the close of the year 1 527. He \nreached Paris in the month of February; and, at the age of 27, re- \ncommenced his studies in the college de Montaign. It was not long \nbefore he was obliged to leave it, in consequence of his having been \nrobbed by one of his companions, to whom he had entrusted the keep- \ning of his cash, which forced him to go a begging into Flanders and \nEngland. Having recruited his finances in this manner, he returned \nto the College de Montaign, and afterwards entered that of St. Barbe, \nwhere a remarkable incident in his history occurred. Having by his \nexhortations, brought a great number of the students into his particu- \nlar way of thinking and devotion, he was condemned on the com- \nplaint of one of the professors, to be flogged in the presence of the \nwhole college. At the time when this sentence was passed upon him \nhe happened to be out of the college, and he was earnestly advised by \nhis friends not to return. Ignatius was not to be deterred, and he en- \ntered boldly. The gates were instantly closed, and preparations were \nmade to inflict on him the ignominious punishment. He went di- \nrectly to the chamber of the Principal, Govea, and pronounced a \nspeech which had so powerful an effect, that without reply, he was \nled into the hall where the professors and students were collected on \nthe occasion of his disgrace ; and while it was expected that he was to \nbe delivered over to the executioners, Govea fell at his feet, asked \nhis pardon, and pronounced a warm eulogium on his firm devotion to \nthe cause of religion. As a curious instance of the extraordinary \nmethods which Ignatius adopted for the reformation of sinners, the \nfollowing circumstance, which happened about this time seems worthy \nof being recorded. He discovered that a person of his acquaintance \nhad an affair of gallantry with a woman who lived in a village near \nParis. One day, about the time when he knew this person was about \nto visit his mistress, Ignatius placed himself up to the neck in a pond \nby the way side ; and though it was mostly frozen over he waited pa- \ntiently till the sinner approached. "Whither goest thou, unhappy \nman?" he cried ; "Hearest thou not the voice of thunder? Seest \nthou not the sword of divine justice ready to strike thee? Go! con- \nquer thy sinful passion, and I will here suffer for thee till the wrath of \nHeaven be appeased." \n\nThe man was so forcibly struck with this singular action and ad- \ndress, that he immediately promised to amend his life, and returned. \nAfter he had bound his disciples by every means in his power, to \nserve him with fidelity, Ignatius opened to them his scheme, for the \n\n\n\n46S H I S T R Y F \n\nspiritual conquest of the world, which they received with a degree of \nenthusiasm that charmed him, and led him to resolve to procure the \napprobation of the Pope with as little delay as possible. He now^ \nreturned to Spain, and, arriving at Loyola, his brother again attempt- \ned to dissuade him from continuing in a way of life which disgraced \nthe family; but he was altogether unsuccessful. Ignatius went on^ \nwith the assistance of a select number of disciples, preaching and con- \nverting and having at length made every necessary arrangement, and \nestablished in his mind the plan ol his order, he set out for Venice \nwhere he arrived about the end of the year 1535. Here he added to \nthe number of his followers ; and the disciples he had left at Paris and \nother places joined him. He sent a deputation to Rome, the result \nof which was that he and his disciples received the order of priesthood \nfrom Paul HI. \n\nThe war between the Venetians and the Turks having interrupted \nthe communication with the Levant, Inigo proposed to his followers \nto give up the project of visiting the Holy Land, and to offer their ser- \nvices to the pope, to which they agreed. Accordingly with Le Fevre \nand Laines, his favorite disciples, he repaired to Rome. It was resol- \nved that the rest should disperse themselves among the celebrated \nschools, of Italy, for the purpose of adding to the troop. Before sep- \narating they agreed to some general regulations, to which they bound \nthemselves strictly to adhere, viz, that they should lodge in the hospi- \ntals, and beg their bread ; that when a few happened to be together, \nthey were to be superiors by turns ; that they were to preach in the \nmost public places, catechise the children, and receive no reward for \ntheir good offices. \n\nInigo and his companions arrived at Rome about the end of the \nyear 1 537, and were well received. He now proposed that they \nshould establish themselves as a troop of spiritual knights, with the ti- \ntle of the order of Jesus, Having arranged their plans they v/aited \nimpatiently for the return of the pope, who had gone to Nice to be \npresent at an interview between Charles V. and Francis I. During \nthis interval, it happened that a certain monk preached in Rome the \ndoctrine of primitive christians. Inigo thought that he had discover- \ned that this preacher was in fact a Lutheran, and publicly opposed \nhim. Unfortunately however the preacher was powerlully supported \nby the Spanish noblemen, who took great pains to publish the former \nmisfortunes and disgraces of Inigo, who was nearly overwhelmed by \nthe storm they had excited. His presence of mind, however, did not \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 469 \n\nforsake him ; and by bold undaunted conduct he defeated all his ene- \nmies.* \n\nThe pope referred the petition to a committee of cardinals ; and, \nupon their representing the proposed establishment to be unnecessary \nand dangerous, refused to grant his approbation. Loyola, however, \nsoon found means to remove the scruples of the court of Rome. He \nproposed, that the members of his society, besides the usual vows of \npoverty, chastity and monastic obedience, should take a fourth vow \nof subserviency to the pope, binding themselves, without requiring re- \nward or support, to go wherever he should direct for the service of \nthe church, and to obey his mandate in every part of the globe. At a \ntime when the papal authority had received so severe a shock from \nthe progress of the reformation, and was still exposed to the most \npowerful attacks in every quarter, this was an offer too tempting to be \nresisted. The reigning pontiff, though naturally cautious, and though \nscarcely capable, without the spirit of prophecy, of foreseeing all the \nadvantages to be derived from the services of this new order, yet \nclearly perceiving the benefit of multiplying the number of his devoted \nservants, instantly confirmed, by his bull, the institution of the Jesuits, \nand granted the most ample privileges to the members of the society \nand appointed Loyola to be the first general of the order. \n\n*0n the return of the pontiff, Paul IIL, Loyola submitted, a plan of the constitution \nand plan of the new institution, which he affirmed to have been suggested by the immedi- \nate inspiration of Heaven and asked the sanction of his authority for its eonfirmation. \n\n\n\nCHAPTERII. \n\nObject of the Institution of Jesuitism \xe2\x80\x94 Qualifications for membership \xe2\x80\x94 \nDevotion to the interests of the Pope \xe2\x80\x94 Policy adopted by the Jesuits \n\xe2\x80\xa2Adaptation of their Doctrines to the Creeds and Customs of all JVa- \ntions \xe2\x80\x94 Secreta Monita, or private Rules of the Society. \n\nThe simple and primary object of the society was, to establish a \nspiritual dominion over the minds of men, of which the Pope should \nappear the ostensible head, while the real power should reside with \nthemselves. To accomplish this object, the whole constitution and \npolicy of the order were singularly adapted, and exhibited various pe- \nculiarities, which distinguished it from all other monastic orders. The \nimmediate design of every other religious society, was to separate its \nmembers from the world ; that of the Jesuits, to make themselves \nmasters of the world. The inmate of the convent devoted himself to \nwork out his own salvation by extraordinary acts of devotion and self- \ndenial ; the follower of Loyola considered himself as plunging into all \nthe bustle of secular affairs, to maintain the interests of the Romish \nchurch. The monk was a retired devotee of heaven ; the Jesuit a \nchosen soldier of the Pope. That the members of the new order \nmight have full leisure for this active service, they were exempted \nfrom the usual functions of other monks. They were not required to \nspend their time in the long ceremonial offices and the numberless \nmummeries of the Romish worship. They attended no processions \nand practiced no austerities. They neither chanted nor prayed, \n< They cannot sing,\' said their enemies, \' for birds of prey never do.\' \nThey were sent forth to watch every transaction of the world which \nmight appear to affect the interests of religion, and were especially en- \njoined to study the dispositions and cultivate the friendship of persons \nin the higher ranks. Nothing could be imagined more open and lib_ \neral than the external aspect of the institution, yet nothing could be \nmore strict and secret than their internal organization. The gates of \nthe society were thrown open to the whole world, as if there were \nnothing in its nature to dread disclosure. Men of every description \nwere invited to enter, and talents of every kind were drawn together. \nIt was a company, such as had never yet appeared, of which all man- \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 471 \n\nkind might be free at pleasure, but of which every member became \nan irredeemable slave. Other religious orders, were in a manner \nvoluntary associations, of which the executive authority might be vest, \ned in certain heads ; but whatever affected the whole body as an act \nof legislation, was regulated by the common suffrage of all its mem- \nbers. Loyola, however influenced perhaps by the notion of implicit \nobedience which he had derived from his military profession, resolved \nthat the government of the Jesuits should be absolutely monarchial \nA General, chosen for life by deputies from several provinces, posses- \nsed supreme and independent power, extending to every person and \napplying to every case. By his sole authority he nominated or remo* \nved every officer employed in the government of the society \nHe administered at pleasure the revenues of the order, and disposed of \nevery member by his uncontrollable mandate, assigning whatever ser- \nvice, and imposing whatever task he pleased. To his commands they \nwere required not only to yield outward obedience, but to resign to \nhis direction the inclination of their wills, and the sentiments of their \nunderstandings. Every member of the order, the instant that he en. \ntered its pale, surrendered all freedom of thought and action ; and ev- \nery personal feeling was superseded by the interests of that order to \nwhich he had attached himself. He went wherever he was ordered^ \nhe performed whatever he was commanded, he suffered whatever he \nwas enjoined, he became a mere passive instrument, incapable of re- \nsistance. The gradation of ranks was only a gradation in slavery ; \nand so perfect a despotism over a large body of men dispersed over \nthe face of the earth, was never before realized. To render the sub- \nordination more complete, and to enable the general to avail himself \nto the utmost of his absolute dominion, he was provided with effectual \nmeans of perfectly ascertaining the characters and abilities of the \nagents under his control. Ever}^ novice who offered himself as a can- \ndidate for admission into the order, was required to manifest his con- \nscience to the superior, or to a person of his appointment, and not only \nto confess his defects and vices, but to discourse the inclinations, pas\xc2\xab \nsions, and bent of his soul. This manifestation was renewed every \nsix months during the novitiate, which was of considerable length ; \nand every member was also constituted a spy upon the candid ates, \nwhose words and actions and every thing of importance concerning \nthem, he was bound to disclose to the Superior. They were required \nunder this scrutiny to pass through several gradations of rank, and to \nhave attained the age of thirty three years, before they were permitted \n\n\n\n472 HISTORYOF \n\nto take the final vows, and to become professed members. The Su" \nperiors, under whose inspection they were placed, were thus thorough^ \nly acquainted with their disposition and talents ; and the most mi- \nnute detail of every on: \'s character and capabilities were regularly \ntransmitted to the head office at Rome. These reports were digested \nand entered into registers, where the general could survey at one \nview the qualifications and talents of its members, and the kind of in- \nstruments awaiting his selection for any department in the service. \nThe number of these reports from the whole thirty seven provinces o^ \nthe order, have been calculated at 6684 annually. Besides these, \nthere may be \'extraordinary letters,\' or such as are sent by the \nmonitors or spies in each house ; and the provinces were farther \nbound to state the civil and political circumstances of the various \ncountries where they had their residence. These statements, when \nrelating to matters of importance, were conveyed by a particular cy- \npher known only to the general. The situation and interests of ev- \nery department were thus intimately known by the head of the whole \nbody ; and the employment of every individual member, was precise- \nly adapted to his faculties. The meanest talents were in requisition ; \nand according to their own expression * the. Jesuits had missionaries \nfor the villages and martyrs for the Indians.\' There was a peculiar \nenergy imparted to the operations of this singular society ; which has \nbeen compared to a system of mechanism, containing the greatest pos- \nsible quantity of power distributed to the greatest possible advantage. \n\' The Jesuits\' it was said with justice, \' are a naked sword whose hilt \nis at Rome.\' \n\nThe maxims of policy adopted by this celebrated society were, like \nits constiution, remarkable for their union of laxity and rigor. Noth- \ning could divert them from their^original object ; and no means were \never scrupled, which promised to aid its accomplishment. They \nwere in no degree shackled by prejudice, superstition, or real religion. \nExpediency in its most simple and licentious form, was the basis of \ntheir morals, and their principles and practices were uniformly ac- \ncommodated to the circumstances in which they were placed ; and \neven their bigotry, obdurate as it was, never appears to have interfer- \ned with their interests. The permanent and characteristic principle \nof the order, from which none of its members ever swerved, was sim- \nply this ; that its interests were to be promoted by all possible means, \nand by all possible expenses. In order to acquire more easily an as- \ncendency over persons of rank and power, they propagated a system \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 473 \n\nof the most relaxed morality, which accommodated itself to the pas- \nsions of men, justified their vices, tolerated their imperfections, and \nauthorized almost every action, which the most audacious or crafty \npolitician would wish to perpetrate. To persons of stricter principles \nby the purity of their lives, and sometimes by the austerity of their \ndoctrines. While sufficiently compliant in the treatment of immoral \npractices, they were generally rigidly severe in exacting a strict ortho- \ndoxy in opinions. They are a sort of people, said the Abbi Borleau, \n*\'who lengthen the creed and shorten the decalogue" \n\nThey adopted the same spirit of accommodation in their necessary \nundertakings ; and their Christianity, camelion-like, readily assumed \nthe color of every region, where it happened to be introduced. They \nfreely permitted their convents to retain a full proportion of the old \nsuperstitions, and suppressed without hesitation, any point in the new \nfaith, which was likely to bear hard on their prejudices or propensities. \nThey proceeded to still greater lengths : and, besides suppressing the \ntruths of revelation, devised the most absurd falsehoods, to be used for \nattracting disciples, or even to be taught as a part of Christianity. One \nof them in India, produced a pedigree to prove his own descent from \nBramha ; and another in America assured a native chief that Christ \nhad been a valiant and victorious warrior, who, in the space of three \nyears had scalped an incredible number of men, women and children. \nit was in fact their own authority, and not the authority of true reli- \ngion which they wished to establish ; and Christianity was generally \nas little known, when they quitted the foreign scenes of their labors \nas when they entered them. \n\nBut the most singular regulations, which principally contributed to \nextend the power of the Jesuits, and to form that enterprising and \nintriguing spirit by which they were distinguished, were long un- \nknown to the rest of mankind, and were concealed with a degree of \ncare, which might alone have excited the worst suspicions of their na- \nture. It was their favorite maxim, from their first institution, never \nto publish even the ordinary rules and registers of the order. These \nwere preserved as an impenetrable mystery, not only from strangers, \nbut even from the greater part of their own members They refus- \ned to produce them when required by the courts of justice; and \nit was not till the public prosecutions against them in France and Por- \ntugal, which terminated in their overthrow, had commenced, that the \nmysterious volumes of the institute were unveiled to the world. But \nthe *Secreta Monita,\' or hidden rules of the society, which were not \n\n60 \n\n\n\n474 H I S T R Y F \n\ndiscovered till nearly fifty years after the abolition of the order, and \nwhich most unequivocally unfold the detestable nature of the institu- \ntion, were most anxiously withheld from every eye, except those of \nthe thoroughly initiated. They were directed to be communicated, \neven to professed members, with the utmost caution, and then only \nas the result of personal experience, not as the recorded rules of \nthe institution. In the event also of their falling into the hands of \nstrangers, it was expressly enjoined, that they must be positively \ndenied to be the rules of the society. A few extracts from these hid- \nden precepts will furnish the reader with^the best exposure of the spir- \nit and tendency of Jesuitism. \n\nChap. II.-\xe2\x80\x94 /w what manner the society must deport, that they may \nwork themselves into, and after that preserve, a familiarity with princes, \nnoblemen, and persons of the greatest distinction. \n\n1. Princes and persons of distinction every where must by all \nmeans be so managed, that we may have their ear, and that will \nsecure their hearts ; by which way of proceeding, all persons will be- \ncome our creatures, and no one will dare to give the society the least \ndisquiet or opposition. \n\n2. That ecclesiastical persons gain a great footing in the favor of \nprinces and noblemen, by winking at their vices, and putting a lavor- \nable construction on whatever they do amiss, experience convinces ; \nand this we may observe in their contracting marriages with their \nnear relations and kindred, or the like. It must be our business to \nencourage such, whose inclination lies this way, by leading them up \nm hopes, that through our assistance they may easily obtain a dispen- \nsation from the pope ; and no doubt he will readily grant it, if proper \nreasons be urged parallel cases produced, and opinions quoted which \ncountenance such actions, when the common good of mankind, and \nthe greater advancement of God\'s glory, (which are the only end and \ndesign of the society,) are pretended to be the sole motives of them, \n\n^ 3. The same must be observed, when the prince happens to engage \nmany enterprise, which is not equally approved by all his nobility; \nfor m such cases, he must be urged on and excited ; whilst they, on \nthe contrary, must he dissuaded from opposing him, and advised to \n\xc2\xablwr\xc2\xab\'r \'^/ Proposals ; but this must be done only in generals, \n\nalways avoiding ^ar^^c^Zar., lest on the ill success of the affair, the \nmiscarriage be thrown upon the society. And should ever the ac \ntion be called m question, care must betaken to have instructions al- \nways ready, plainly forbidding it ; and these also must be backed by \n\n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 475 \n\nt"he authority of some senior members, who being wholly ignorant of \nmatter, must attest upon oath, that such groundless insinuations are \na malicious and base imputation on the society. \n\n4. It will also very much farther us in gaining the favor of princes, \nif our members artfully worm themselves, by the interest of others, \ninto honorable embassies to foreign courts in their behalf; but espe- \ncially to the pope and great monarchs ; for by such opportunities \nthey will be in a capacity both to recommend themselves and their \nsociety. To this end, therefore, let none but thorough zealots for \nour interest, and persons well versed in the schemes and institutions \nof the society, be ever pitched upon for such purposes. \n\n5. Above all, due care must be taken to curry favor with the min- \nions and domestics of princes and noblemen ; whom by small pres- \nents, and many offices of piety, we may so far bias, as by means of \nthem to get a faithful intelligence of the bent of their master\'s humors \nand inclinations ; thus will the society be better qualified to chime in \nwith all their tempers. \n\n6. How much the society has benefited from their engagement in \nmarriage treaties, the houses of Austria, Bourbon, Poland, and other \nkingdoms, are experimental evidences. Wherefore, let such matches \nbe with prudence picked out, whose parents are our friends, and \nfirmly attched to our interests. \n\n7. Princesses and ladies of quality are easily to be gained by the \ninfluence of the women of their bedchamber ; for which reason we \nmust by all means pay a particular respect to these, for hereby there \nwill be no secrets in the family, but what we shall have fully disclosed \nto us. \n\n8. In directing the consciences of great men, it must be observed, \nthat our confessors are to follow the opinion of those who allow the \ngreater latitude, in opposition to that of the other religious orders ; \nthat their penitents being allured with the prospect of such freedom, \nmay readily relinquish them, and whoEy depend upon our direction \nand counsel. \n\n9: Princes, prelates, and all others who are capable of being sig- \nnally serviceable to our order, must be favored so far as to be made \npartakers of all the merits of the society, after a proper information \nof the high importance of so great a privilege. \n\n10. Let these notions be cautiously, and with cunning instilled into \nthe people, that this society is intrusted with a far greater power of \nabsolving, even in the nicest cases ; of dispensing with fasts, with \n\n\n\n476 HISTORYOF \n\npaying" and demanding of debts, with impediments of matrimony, and \nother common matters, than any other religious order ; which insinu- \nations will be of such consequence, that many of necessity must have \nrecourse to us, and thereby lay themselves under the strictest obliga- \ntions. \n\n11. It will be very proper to give invitations to such to attend our \nsermons and fellowships, to hear our orations and declamations, as al- \nso to compliment them with verses and theses ; to address them in a \ngenteel and complaisant manner, and at proper opportunities to give \nthem some handsome entertainments. \n\n12. Let proper opportunities be used to get knowledge of the ani- \nmosities that arise among great men, that we may have a finger in \nreconciling their differences ; for by this means, we shall gradually \nbecome acquainted with their friends and secret affairs, and of neces- \nsity engage one of the parties in our interests. \n\n13. But should discovery happen to be made, that any person \nserves either king or prince, who is not well affected towards our so- \nciety, no stone must be left unturned by our members, or (which is \nmore proper) some other, to induce him by promises, favours, and \npreferments, (which must be procured for him under the king or \nprince,) to entertain a friendship for, and familiarity with us. \n\n14. Let all be very cautious of recommending or preferring such \nas have been any way dismissed from our society, but especially those \nwho of their own accord have departed from it ; for let them disguise \nit ever so cunningly, nevertheless they always retain an implacable \nhatred against our order. \n\n15. Finally, Let all with such artfulness, gain the ascendant over \nprinces, noblemen and the magistrates of every place, that they may \nbe ready at our beck, even to sacrifice their nearest relations,^ and \nmost intimate friends, when we say it is for our interest and advan^ \n\n\n\nChap. III. \xe2\x80\x94 How the society must behave themselves towards those \nwho are at the helm of affairs, and others who, although they may not \nbe rich, are notwithstanding in a capacity of being otherioise serviceable, \n\n1. All that has been before mentioned, may in a great measure" be \napplied to these ; and we must also be industrious to procure their fa- \nvor against every one that opposes us. \n\n2. Their authority and wisdom may be courted, for obtaining sev- \neral offices to be discharged by us ; we must also make a handle of \ntheir advice with respect to the contempt of riches ; though at the \n\n\n\ni \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 477 \n\nsame time, if their secresy and faith may be depended on, we may \nprivately make use of their names in amassing temporal goods for the \nbenefit of the society. \n\n3. They must also be employed in calming\' the minds of the meaner \nsort of people, and in wheedling the aversions of the populace into an \naffection for our society. \n\n4. As to bishops, prelates, and other superior ecclesiastics, they \nmust be importuned for such things only as shall appear necessary ; \nand even for these, with a proper regard to the diversity of our eva- \nsions, and the tendency of their inchnations to serve us. \n\n5. In some places it will be sufficient, if we can prevail with the \nprelates and curates, to cause those under them only to bear a rever- \nence to our order, and that they themselves will be no hindrance to \nus in the exercise of our ministry. In others, where the clergy are \nmore predominant, as in Germany, Poland, &c. they must be address- \ned with the profoundest respect, that by their and the prince\'s au-. \nthority, monasteries, parishes, priories, patronages, foundations of \nmasses, and religious places, may be drawn into our clutches ; and \nthis is no hard matter to be obtained, in those places where Catholics \nare intermixed with heretics and schismatics. And for the better ef- \nfecting of this, it will be of great importance to demonstrate to these \nprelates the prodigious advantage and merit there will be in changes \nof this sort, which can hardly be expected from priests, seculars, and \nmonks. But should they be prevailed upon, their zeal must then be \nrewarded with public commendations, and the memory of the action \ntransmitted in writing to the latest posterity. \n\n6. In prosecution of the same end, we must engage such prelates to \nmake use of us both for confessors and counsellors ; and if they at \nany time aim at higher preferment from the see of Rome, their pre- \ntensions must be backed with such strong interest of our friends in \nevery place, as we shall be almost sure not to meet with a disappoint- \nment. \n\n7. Due care must be taken by such of our members who have in- \ntercourse with bishops and princes, that the society, when these found \neither colleges, or parochial churches, may always have the power of \npresenting vicars for the cure of souls ; and that the superintendant \nof the place for the time being be appointed curate, to the end we \nmay grasp the whole government of the church ; and its parishioners \nby that means become such vassals to us, that we can ask nothing of \nthem that they will dare to deny us. \n\n\n\n478 H I ST O R Y O F \n\n8. Wherever the governors of academies hamper our designs, or \nthe Catholics or heretics oppose us in our foundations, v^^e must en- \ndeavor by the prelates to secure the principal pulpits ; for by this \nmeans, the society at least may sometime or other have an opportuni- \nty of demonstrating their wants, and laying open their ne^cessities. \n\n9. The prelates of the church, above all others, must be mightily \ncaressed when the affairs of the canonization of any of our members \nis upon the foot ; and at such a time letters by all means must be \nprocured from princes and noblemen, by whose interest they maybe \npromoted at the court of Rome. \n\n10. If ever it happen that prelates or noblemen are employed in \nembassies, all caution must be taken to prevent them from using any \nreligious order that opposes ours, lest their disaffection to us should be \ninfused into their masters, and they propagate it in the provinces and \ncities where we reside. And if ever ambassadors of this kind pass \nthrough provinces or cities, where we have colleges, let thtm be re- \nceived with all due marks of honor and esteem, and as handsomely \nentertained as religious decency can possibly admit of. \n\nChap. IV. \xe2\x80\x94 The chief things to he recommended to preachers, and \nconfessors of noblemen. \n\n1. Let the members of our society direct princes and great men \nin such a manner that they may seem to have nothing else in view \nbut the promotion of God\'s glory ; and advise them to no other aus- \nterity of conscience but what they themselves are willing to comply \nwith ; for their aim must not, immediately, but by degrees and insen- \n:sibly be directed towards political and secular dominion. \n\n2. We must therefore, often inculcate into them, that honors and \npreferments in the state should always be conferred according to the \nrules of justice ; that God is very much offended at princes when \nthey any wise derogate from this principle, and are hurried away by \nthe impulse of their passions. In the next place, our members must \nwith gravity protect, and in a solemn manner affirm that the adminis- \ntration of public affairs is what they with reluctance interfere in ; and \nthat the duty of their office obliges them often to speak such truths as \nthey would otherwise omit. When this point is once gained, care \nmust be taken to lay before them the several virtues persons should \nbe furnished with, who are to be admitted to public employs ; not for- \ngetting slyly to recommend to them such as are sincere friends to \nour order ; but this must be done in such a manner, as not immedi- \nately to come from us (unless the princes enjoin it,) for it may be ef- \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 479 \n\nfected with a far better grace by such as are their favorites and fa- \nmiliars. \n\n3. Wherefore, let the confessors and preaches belonging to our or- \nder, be informed by ourfriends of persons proper for every office, and \nabove all, of such as are our benefactors ; whose names let them al- \nways carefully keep by them, that when proper opportunities occur, \nthey may be palmed upon princes by the dexterity of our members, or \ntheir agents. \n\n4. Let the confessors and preachers always remember, with com- \nplaisance and a winning address, to sooth princes, and never give \nthem the least offense in their sermons or private conversations ; to \ndispossess their minds of all imaginary doubts and fears, to exhort \nthem principally to faith, hope and political justice. \n\n5. Let them seldom or never accept of small presents for their \nown private use, but rather recommend the common necessities of \nthe province or college. At home let chambers plainly furnished \ncontent them ; and let them not appear in showy dresses, but be \nready at every turn to administer their ghostly advice to the meanest \nperson about the place, lest they give others occasion to believe, they \nare willing to be helpful to none but the great. \n\n6. Immediately upon the death of any person in post, let them \ntake kindly care to get some friend of our society preferred in his \nroom ; but this must be cloaked with such cunning and management, \nso as to avoid giving the least suspicion of our intending to usurp the \nprince\'s authority ; for this reason (as has been already said) we our- \nselves must not appear in it, but make a handle of the artifice of some \nfaithful friends for effecting our designs, whose power may screen \nthem from the envy which otherwise might fall heavier upon the soci- \nety. \n\nChap. V. \xe2\x80\x94 Of the proper method of inducing rich loidows to be liber- \nal to our society. 1. For the managing of this affair, let such mem- \nbers only be chosen as are advanced in age, of a lively complexion, \nand agreeable conversation ; let these frequently visit such widows, \nand the minute they begin to show any affection towards our order, \nthen is the time to lay before them the good works and merits of the \nsociety: if they seem kindly to give ear to this, and begin to visit our \nchurches, we must, by all means, take care to provide them confes- \nsors, by whom they may be well admonished, especially to a constant \nperseverence in a state of widowhood, \xe2\x80\x94 and this, by enumerating, and \npraising the advantages and felicity of a single life ; and let them pawn \n\n\n\n480 \n\n\n\nHISTORY OF \n\n\n\ntheir faiths, and themselves too, as a security, that a firm continuance, \nin such a pious resolution, will infallibly purchase an eternal merit, \nand prove a most effectual means of escaping the otherwise certain \npains of purgatory. \n\n4. Care must be taken to remove such servants, particularly, as \ndo not keep a good understanding with the society ; but let this be \ndone by little and little ; and when we have managed so to work them \nout, let such be recommended as already are, or willingly would be- \ncome our creatures ; thus shall we dive into every secret, and have a \nfinger in every affair transacted in the family. \n\n5. The confessor must manage his matters so, that the widow may \nhave such faith in him as not to do the least thing without his advice, \nand his only ; which he may occasionally insinuate to be the only ba- \nsis of her spiritual edification. \n\n6. She must be advised to the frequent use and celebration of the \nsaciaments, but especially that of penance, because in that she freely \nmakes a discovery of her most secret thoughts, and every tempta- \ntion. \n\n8. Discourses must be made to her concerning the advantages of \na state of widowhood, the inconveniences of wedlock, especially when \nit is repeated, and the dangers to which mankind expose themselves \nby it ; but above all, such as more particularly affect her. \n\n9. It will be proper, every now and then, cunningly to propose to \nher some match ; but such a one, be sure, as you know she has an \naversion to : and if it be thought she has a kindness for any one, let \nhis vices and failings be represented to her in a proper light, that she \nmay abhor the thoughts of altering her condition with any person \nwhatsoever. \n\n10. When, therefore, it is manifest that she is well disposed to con- \ntinue a widow, it will then be time to recommend to her a spiritual \nlife but not a recluse one, the inconvenience of v/hich must be magni- \nfied to her; but such a one as Paula\'s or Eustochius,^ &c., and let \nthe confessor, having as soon as possible prevailed with her to make \na vow of chastity, for two or three years at least, take due care to op- \npose all tendencies to a second marriage ; and then, all conversations \nwith men, and diversions, even with her near relations and kinsfolks, \nmust be forbid her, under pretence of entering into a stricter union \nwith God. As for the ecclesiastics, who either visit the widow, or re- \nceive visits from her, if they all cannot be worked out, yet let none be \nadmitted, but what are either recommended by some of our society, \nor are dependants upon them. \n\n\n\nJ JE S U I T I S M. 481 \n\n1 1. When we have thus far gained our point, the widow must be, \nby little and little, excited to the performance of good works, espe- \ncially those of charity ; which, however, she must by no means be \nsuffered to do, without the direction of her ghostly father, since it is \nof the last importance to her soul, that her talent be laid out, with a \nprospect of obtaining spiritual interest ; and since charity, ill-applied, \noften proves the cause and incitement to sins, which effaces the merit \nand reward that might otherwise attend it. \n\nChap. YH.-\xe2\x80\x94Hoid such widows are to he secured, and in lohat man- \nner their effects are to he disposed oj. \n\nThey must let no week pass in which they do not, of their own \naccord, lay somewhat apart, out of their abundance, for the honor of \nChrist, the blessed virgin, or their patron saint ; and let them dispose \nof it, in relief of the poor, or in beautifying of churches ; till they are \nentirely stripped of their superfluous stores, and unnecessary riches. \nIf they have made a vow of chastity, let them, according to our cus- \ntom, renew it twice a year ; and lei the day wherein this is done, be \nset apart for innocent recreations, with the members of our soci- \nety. Let them be frequently visited, and entertained, in an agreea- \nble manner, with spiritual stories ; and also diverted with pleasant \ndiscourses, according to their particular humors and inclinations. \xe2\x80\x94 \nThey must not be treated with too much severity, in confession, lest \nwe make them morose, and ill-tempered ; unless their favor be so \nfar engaged by others, that there is danger of not regaining it ; and \nin this case, greac discretion is to be used, in forming a judgment of \nthe natural inconsistency of women. \n\nLet women that are young, and descended from rich and noble \nparents, be placed with those widows, that they may, by degrees?, be- \ncome subject to our directions, and accustomed to our mode of living. \nThat the widow may dispose of what she has in favor of the society, \nset as a pattern to her, the perfect state of holy men, who have re- \nnounced the world, and forsaken their parents and all that they had \nwith great resignation and cheerfulness of mind, devoted themselves \nto the service of God. Let several instances of widows be brought, \nwho thus, in a short time, became saints, in hopes of being canonized, \nif they continue such to the end. And let them be apprized, that our \nsociety will not fail to use their interest with the court of Rome, for \nthe obtaining of such a favor. If a widow does not in her lifetime, \nmake over her whole estate to the society, whenever opportunity of- \nfers, but especially when she is seized with sickness, or in danger of \n61 \n\n\n\n482 HlSTOHYOF \n\nlife, let some take care to represent to her the poverty of the greatest \nnumber of our colleges, whereof many just erected, have hardly as \nyet any foundation ; engage her by a winning behavior, and inducing \narguments, to such a liberality, as (you must persuade her) will lay a \ncertain foundation for her eternal happiness. \n\nChap. VIII. \xe2\x80\x94 How widows^ children are to be treated, that they may \nembrace religion, or a devoted life. \n\n1. As it will behoove the widows to act with resolution, so must \nwe proceed with gentleness on this occasion. Let the mothers be \ninstructed to use the children harshly, even from their cradles, by \nplying them with reproofs and frequent chastisements, &c. And \nwhen their daughters are near grown up to discretion, let them then \nespecially be denied the common dress and ornaments of their sex ; \nat all times offering up prayers to God, that he would inspire them \nwith a desire of entering into a religious order, and promising them \nvery plentiful portions, on condition they would become nuns ; let \nthem lay before them the many inconveniences attending every one \nin a married state, and those in particular which they themselves \nhave found by woeful experience ; often lamenting the great misfor- \ntune of their younger years, in not having preferred a single life. And \nlastly, let them persist to use them in this manner, that their daugh- \nters may think of a religious^state, being tired of leading such a life \nwith their mothers. \n\n^ 2. Let our members converse familiarly with their sons, and if they \nseem fit for our turn, introduce them occasionally into the college, \nand let every thing be shown with the best face, to invite them to enter \nthemselves of the order ; as the gardens, vineyards country seats, and \nvillas where those of our society pass an agreeable life ; let them be \ninformed of our travels into several parts of the world, of our famili- \narity with princes, and whatever else may be agreeable to youth ^ let \nthem see the outward neatness of our refectories and chambers, the \nagreeable intercourse we have one with another, the easiness of our \nrules, which yet has the promise of the glory of God ; and lastly, the \npre-eminence of our order above all others ; not forgetting, amidst our \ndiscourses of piety, to entertain them also with pleasing diverting sto- \nries. \n\n3. Let us now and then (as if by divine inspiration) exhort them \nto religion in general ; and then carefully insinuate the perfection and \nconveniences of our institution above others } and take care to set in \na due light, both in public exhortations and private discourses, how \n\n\n\nJESUITISM, 483 \n\nheinous a crime it is to resist the immediate call of God ; and lastly, \nlet them be soothed to the performance of spiritual exercises, to de- \ntermine them in the choice of such a state of life. \n\n4. We must also take care to provide for these youths, tutors that \nare firmly attached to our interests, we must keep a strict eye over \nthem, and continually exhort them to such a course of life ; but should \nthey seem reluctant, abridge them of some of their former liberties, \nthat by such restraint they may become conformable. Let their \nmothers set forth the difficulties which the family labor under ; and \nif after all, they cannot be brought of their own accord to desire ad- \nmission into our society, send them to distant colleges belonging to \nthe order, under the notion of keeping them closer to their studies ; \nand from their mothers let them receive little countenance, but let \nour members make use of the most obliging behavior, that their afFec*. \nJionsmay be brought over to us, \n\n\n\nCHAPTERIII, \n\nProgress of Jesuitism \xe2\x80\x94 Influence among the Courts of Europe \xe2\x80\x94 Wealth \nof the Order \xe2\x80\x94 Obtain a grant of the province of Paraguay, in South \nJlmerica \xe2\x80\x94 Government of the Province \xe2\x80\x94 Standing army of the Jesu-- \nits \xe2\x80\x94 Outrages in France \xe2\x80\x94 Banished from that kingdom \xe2\x80\x94 ^ gain re- \nstored to power \xe2\x80\x94 Assassination of the king of Poland \xe2\x80\x94 Persecution \nand Decline\xe2\x80\x94Suppression of the Order by Pope Clement XIV. \n\nThese detestable objects and principles, were long- an impenetra- \nble secret ; and the professed intention of the new order was, to pro- \nmote with unequalled and unfettered zeal the salvation of mankind: \nIts progress was at first remarkably slow. Charles V. who is suppos- \ned, with his usual sagacity, to have discovered its dangerous tendency, \nrather checked, than encouraged its advancement ; and the universi- \nties of France resisted its introduction into that kingdom. Thus rous- \ned by obstacles, and obliged to find resources within themselves, the \nJesuits brought all their^ talents and devices into action. They ap- \nplied themselves to every useful function and curious art ; and nei- \nther neglected nor despised any mode however humble, of gaining \nemployment or reputation. They labored with the greatest assiduity \nto qualify themselves as instructers of youth, and at length succeeded \nin supplanting their opponents in every catholic kingdom. They \naimed, in the next place, to become the spiritual directors of the high- \ner ranks, and soon established themselves in most of the courts which \nwere attached to the papal faith, not only as confessors but as guides \nand ministers of superstitious princes. The governors of the society \npursuing one uniform system with unwearied perseverance became \nentirely successful, and in the space of half a century, had, in a won- \nderful degree extended the reputation, the number and influence of \nthe order. When Loyola, in 1540, petitioned to the pope to author- \nize the institution of the Jesuits, he had only ten disciples ; but in \n1608, the number amounted to 10,381. Before the expiration \nof the sixteenth century, they had obtained the chief direction of the \neducation of youth in every catholic country in Europe, and had be- \ncome confessors of all its noblest monarchs. Thus they formed the \nminds of men in their youth, and retained their ascendency over them \n\n\n\ni, \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 486 \n\nin their advanced years. They took part in every advanced measure, \nand possessed at different periods the direction of the principal courts \not Europe. They preserved the highest degree of influence with the \nRoman Pontiffs, as the most zealous champions of their authority^ \nand were equally celebrated by the friends and dreaded by the adver- \nsaries of the Catholic faith, as the ablest and most enterprising order \nin the church. In 1710 they possessed 24 professsed houses; 59 \nhouses of probation ; 340 residences ; 612 colleges ; 200 missions; \n150 seminaries ; and 19,998 members. \n\nNotwithstanding their vow of poverty their wealth increased with \ntheir power, and they soon rivalled, in the extent and value of their \npossessions, the most opulent monastic fraternities. Besides the sour- \nces of wealth common to all the regular clergy, they possessed one \npeculiar to themselves under the specious pretext of facilitating the \nsuccess and support of their mission, they obtained a special license \nfrom the court of Rome, to trade with the nations whom they labored \nto convert, and though these mercantile schemes tended ultimately \nto accelerate their ruin, they proved, during a century and a half, a \nmost lucrative source of property and influence. Besides carrying oa \nan extensive commerce, both in the East and West Indies, and open- \ning warehouses in different parts of Europe, for the purpose of vend- \ning their commodities, they aimed at obtaining settlements and reign- \ning as sovereigns. It was in this latter capacity, unsuitable as it may \nseem to their whole character, that they exhibited the most wonder- \nful display of their abilities, and contributed most essentially to the \nbenefit of the human race. \n\nAbout the beginning of the seventeenth century, they obtained \nfrom the court of Madrid, the grant of the large and fertile province \nof Paraguay, which stretches across the southern continent of Amer- \nica, from the mountains of Potosi to the banks of the La Plata ; and \nafter every deduction which can reasonably be made from their own \naccounts of the establishment, enough will remain to excite the ap- \nplause and astonishment of mankind. \n\nThey found the inhabitants in the first stage of society, ignorant of \nthe arts of life, and unacquainted with the first principles of subordi- \nnation. They applied themselves to Instruct and civilize these sav- \nage tribes. They commenced their labors by collecting about fifty \nfamilies of wandering Indians whom they converted and settled into \na small township. They taught them to build houses, to cultivate \nthe ground, and to rear tame animals, trained them to arts and man- \n\n\n\n486 H I S T O R Y F \n\nufactures, arid brought them to relish the blessings of security and or- \nder. By a wise and humane policy they attracted new subjects and \nconverts ; till at last they formed a powerful and well organized state \nof 300,000 families. \n\nOver these they exercised a mild and patriarchal government, and \ntheir subjects, docile and grateful, revered them as divinities. The \ncountry was divided into forty seven districts, over each of which, a \nJesuit presided. A few magistrates, chosen by the Indians themselves \nassisted in every town to give obedience to their laws. In other re- \nspects, all the members of the community were as one family, on a \nfooting of perfect equality, and possessed all things in common. Ev- \nery individual was obliged to labor for the public, and the fruits of \ntheir industry were deposited in common store-houses, from which \n.every person received what was necessary for the supply of his \nwants. \n\nPunishments were rare, and always of the mildest kind, such as \nadmonition from a Jesuit, a slight mark of disgrace, or at most a few- \nlashes with a whip. Industry was universal ; wealth and want were \nequally unknown ; and most of those passions which disturb the peace \nof society were deprived of every opportunity to operate. Even the \nelegant arts began by degrees to appear, and full protection was pro- \nvided against every invader. \n\nAn array of 60,000 men was completely armed and regularly disci- \nplined, consisting of cavalry, infantry, artillery, and well provided \nwith magazines of all the implements of war. In short, the Indians \nof Paraguay, under the government of the Jesuits, were an innocent \nand a happy people, civilized without being corrupted, and yielding \nwith entire contentment the most perfect submission to an absolute \nbut equitable government. \n\nYet, even in this most meritorious eflfortfor the welfare of mankind \nthe peculiar spirit of the order was sufficiently discernable. In order \nto preserve their influence, they found it necessary to keep their sub- \njects in a comparative state of ignorance ; and besides prohibiting all \nintercourse with the adjacent settlements of the Spaniards and Portu- \nguese, they endeavored to inspire them with a hatred and contempt \nof those nations. They prevented their subjects from learning any \nlanguage except a native dialect, (the Guarani) which they endeavor- \ned to improve as a general standard, and plainly aimed at establish- \ning an independent empire, subject only to their order, which could \nscarcely have failed, from its excellent constitution and police, to \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 4^7 \n\nhave extended its dominion over all the southern continent of Ameri- \nca. \n\nThough the power of the Jesuits had become so extensive, and \nthough their interests generally prospered during a period of more \nthan two centuries their progress was by no means uninterrupted ; \nand by their own misconduct, they soon excited the most formidable \ncounteractions. Scarcely had they effected their establishment in \nFrance, in defiance of the parliaments and universities, when theh\' \nexistence was endangered by the fanaticism of their own members. \n\nJohn Chastel, one of their pupils, made an attempt upon the life of \nHenry IV. ; and Father Guiscard, another of the order, was convict- \ned ol composing writings favorable to regicide. The parliaments sej- \nzed the moment of their disgrace, and procured their banishment \nfrom every part of the kingdom, except the provinces ot Bordeaux \nand Toulouse. From these rallying points they speedily extended \ntheir intrigues in every quarter, and in a few years obtained their re- \nestablishment. Even Henry, either dreading their power, or pleased \nwith the exculpation of his licentious habits, which he found in their \ninflexible system of morality, became their patron, and selected one \nof their number as his confessor. \n\nThey were favored by Louis XIII., and his minister Richelieu, an \naccount of their literary exertions ; but it was in the succeeding reign \nof Louis XIX. that they reached the summit of their prosperity. The \nFathers La Chaise and Le Teltier, were successively confessors to \nthe king ; and dirt not fail to employ their influence for the interest of \ntheir order, but the latter carried on his projects with such fiery zeal, \nthat one of the Jesuits said of him, \' He drives at such a rate he will \nnot fail to overturn us all.\' The Jansenists were particularly the ob- \njects of his machinations, and he rested not till he had accomplished \nthe destruction of their celebrated college and convent at Port \nRoyal. \n\nBefore the fall, however of this honored seminary, a shaft from its \nbow had reached the heart of its proud oppressor. The \' Provincial \nLetters of Pascal\' had been published, in which the quibbling morality \nand unintelligible metaphysics of the Jesuits, were exposed in a strain \nof inimitable humor and a style of unrivalled elegance. The impres- \ns-ion which they produced was wide and deep, and gradually sapped \nthe foundation of public opinion, on which the power of the order \nhad hitherto rested. Under the regency of the Duke of Orleans, the \nJesuits, and all theological persons and principles were disregarded. \n\n\n\n488 H I S T II Y F \n\n\n\nwith atheistical superciliousness ; but under Louis XV. they partly \nrecovered their influence at court, which, even under Cardinal Hen- \nry, they retained in a considerable degree. \n\nBut they soon revived the odium of the public by their intolerant \ntreatment of the Jansenists, and accelerated their ruin by refusing, \nfrom political rather than religious scruples, to undertake the spiritual \nguidance of Madame de la Pompadour, as well as by attacking the \nauthors of the Encyclopedia. Voltaire directed against them all the \npowers of his ridicule, and finished the piece which Pascal had sketch- \ned. Their power was brought to a low ebb when the war of 1756 \nbroke out which occasioned the famous law suit, which led to their \n\xc2\xa3nal overthrow. \n\nBy that time the society had indicated many symptoms of decay, \n\xe2\x80\xa2both in point of talents and activity, and had rendered themselves at \nonce contemptible. They had disgusted the court by their scruples, \nirritated the philosophers by their clamors, exasperated the other reli- \ngious orders by their persecutions, and alienated the public favor by \na long and and insolent domination. A reasonable pretext was all \nthat was wanted to put down a sect, which had long ceased to be ei-- \nther popular or formidable. The opportunity was soon furnished by \ntheir own impudent obstinacy. \n\nThe war recently commenced, had occasiond great losses in their \ntrade with Martinico, the weight of which would have fallen in part \nupon the society\'s correspondents at Lyons and Marseilles. These \nmerchants, however, alleged that the Jesuits in France were respon- \nsible for the debts of their missionaries in America, and insisted on \nbeing indemnified from the funds of the order. The claim was resist- \ned and a lav/suit commenced, which the Jesuits, by the virtue of their \nprivilege, removed from the provincial parliament to the great cham- \nber at Paris. This measure rendered the dispute and their defeat \nsubjects of general notoriety. \n\nThey were condemned to pay large suras to the adverse party, and \nprohibited thenceforth from meddling in commercial aflfairs. The \nsources of their wealth were thus diminished, and their enemies \nencouraged to renew attacks. The questions at issue in the \ncommercial dispute had given the magistrates a plausible occasion \nfor demanding the right to inspect the constitution of the society, and \nin a luckless hour for themselves they consented to produce their \nbooks. The parhament saw and seized the advantage they had gain- \ned, and resolved to effect the destruction of the order. By an ar- \n\n\n\n1 \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 489 \n\nrest of the 1 1th August, 1761, the Jesuits were required to appear at \nthe end of a year to receive judi^^ment on their constitution, which it \nwas now discovered had never been approved with the requisite \nforms. \n\nin the mean time the king of Poland was assassinated, and Carval- \nho the minister who detested the Jesuits, found means to load them \nwith the crime. Malagriela and a few more of these fathers, were \ncharged with advising and absolving the assassins, and having been \nfound guilty, were condemned to the stake. The rest were banished \nwith every brand of infamy, and were treated with the most iniquitous \ncruelty. They were persecuted without discrimination, robbed of \ntheir property without pity, and embarked for Italy without previous \npreparation, they were literally left to perish with hunger in their ves- \nsels. \n\nThese incidents prepared the way for a similar catastrophe in \nFrance. During the year allotted for the investigation of their rules \nand records, the court evinced a disposition to protect them, and the \nbishops declared unanimously in their favor ; but an unforseen public \ncalamity rendered it necessary to appease the nation by some accept- \nable measure ; and the Jesuits after all, are supposed to have been \nsacrificed, more as a trick of state than as an act of justice. \n\nIn March, 1762, the French court received Intelligence of the \ncapture of Martinico by the British ; and dreading the storm of public \nindignation, resolved to divert the exasperated feelings of the nation, \nby yielding the Jesuits to an impending fate. On the 6th of August, \n1762, their institnte was condem.ned by the parliament, as contrary \nto the laws of the state, to the obedience due their sovereign, and to \nthe welfare of the kingdom. The order was dissolved, and their ef- \nfects alienated. But still the members, though no longer dressed in \ntheir religious habits, continued to hover around the court ; and had \nthey observed their original caution and patient policy, might have \nsucceeded in recovering their privileges. But former successes inspi- \nred them with a fatal confidence. One of the bishops, indignant that \nparliament should presume to dispense with ecclesiastical vows, issu- \ned a mandate in favor of the Jesuits, and the fathers were accused of \nhaving employed themselves too industriously in the circulation of this \npaper. \n\nThe parliament took the alarm and pronounced a decree that eve- \nry Jesuit whether professor or novice, should, within eight days make \noath that he renounced the institution, or quit the kingdom. In a \n\n\n\n490 HISTORYOF \n\nbody. whose moral principles were so relaxed, and whose members \nwhile it existed scrupled no subtleties in promoting: its interests, it is a \nremarkable circumstance, that as secularized individuals, they acted \nin this instance with strict integrity, and refused the alternative of the \noath. \n\nThey were therefore ordered to quit the kingdom, and thus judg- \nment was executed with the utmost rigor. The poor, the aged, the \nsick, were included in the general proscription. But in certain quar- \nters, where the provincial parliament had not decided against them, \nJesuitism still existed ; and a royal edict was afterwards promulga- \nted, which formally abolished the society in France, but permitted \nits members to reside within the kingdom under certain restrictions. \n\nIn Spain where they conceived their establishment to be perfectly \nsecure, they experienced an overthrow equally complete, and much \nmore unexpected. The necessary measures were concerted under \nthe direction of De Choiseul, by the Marquis D\'Ossun, the French \nambassador at Madrid, with Charles III. king of Spain, and his prime \nminister D\'Aranda. \n\nThe execution of their purpose was as sudden as their plans had \nbeen secret. At midnight, March 21st 1767, large bodies of men \nsurrounded the six colleges at Madrid, belonging to the Jesuits, forced \nthe gates, secured tie hells, collected the fathers in the refectory, and \nread to them the king\'s orders for their instant transportation. They \nwere immediately put in carriages, previously placed at proper sta- \ntions ; and were on their way to Carthagena before the inhabitants \nof the city had any knowledge of the transaction. Three days after- \nwards, the same measures were adopted with regard to every other \ncollege of the order in the kingdom, and ships having been provided \nat the different seaports, they were all embarked for the ecclesiasti- \ncal states in Italy. All their property was confiscated, and a small \npension assigned to each individual as long as he should reside in a \nplace appointed, and satisfy the Spanish court as to his peaceable de- \nmeanor. All correspondence with the Jesuits was prohibited, and \nthe strictest silence on the subject of their expulsion was enjoined, un- \nder penalties of high treason. A similar seizure and deportation, took \nplace in the Indies, and an immense property was acquired by the \ngovernment. Many crimes and plots were laid to the charge of the \norder ; but whatever may have been their demerit, the punishment \nwas too summary to admit of justification ; and many innocent indi- \nviduals were subjected to sufferings beyoud the deserts even of the \n\n\n\n1 \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 491 \n\nguilty. Pope Clement III. prohibited their being landed in his do- \nminions, and after enduring extreme miseries in crowded transports, \nthe survivors to the number of 2,300 vi^ere put ashore in Corsica. \n\nThe example of the king of Spain was soon followed by Ferdinand \nVI. of Naples, and soon after by the prince of Parma. They vv^ere \nexpelled from England in 1605 ; from Venice in 1606; and from \nPortugal in 1759, upon the charge of having instigated the families of \nTavora and D\'Aveiro to assassinate king Joseph I. \n\nFrederick the Great of Prussia was the only monarch who showed \na disposition to afford them protection ; but in 1773 the order was \nentirely suppressed by Pope Clement XIV. who is supposed to have \nI fallen a victim to their vengeance. In 1801 the societ}\' was restored \n\n[ in Russia by the emperor Paul ; and in 1804, by king Ferdinand of \n\nSardinia. In August 1814 a bull was issued by Pope Pius VII. resto- \nring the order to all their former privileges, and calling upon all Cath- \nj olic princes to afford them protection and encouragement. This act \n\nof their revival is expressed in all the solemnity of Papal authority, \nI and even affirmed to be above the recal or revision of any judge, with \n\nj whatever power he may be clothed ; but to every enlightened mind it \n\n! cannot fail to appear as a measure incapable of justification from any \nI thing either in the history of Jesuitism or in the character of modern \ni times. \'^ \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nCharacter and condition of the Jesuits during the time of their suppression \n\xe2\x80\x94 Reasons which caused the Restoration of the Order \xe2\x80\x94 Jesuitical \nLiterature \xe2\x80\x94 Inculcation of Pernicious Doctrines \xe2\x80\x94 Consequent Wick- \nedness and Violence \xe2\x80\x94 Jesuitism in the United States \xe2\x80\x94 General \nRemarks. \n\nThe history of th e Jesuits from the period of their suppression to \ntheir revival by popePius VII., lies within a narrow compass. \nThat they have by any means ceased to exist as individuals, alti ough \nthey have done so as a body, will hardly have been imagined for a \nmoment even by those who possessed the fewest means of informa- \ntion on the subject. They have still survived in obscurity, the ghosts \nof their departed greatness, in reduced numbers, with diminished re- \nsources, and an exhausted credit ; hating indeed to look back upon \ntheir former flourishing condition, but not without hope that so long \nas popery should maintain her footing in the world, and especially if \never she should resume any considerable portion of her ancient pow- \ner, they could not fail to be recognized by all who were not thorough- \nly acquainted with their history, as the most vigilant and active friends \nof the church of Rome. The event has shewn that they have not \nbeen disappointed. In spite of all the quarrels of that church with \nihe Jesuits, in spite of the mutual struggle for pre-eminence, which \nhas been ever maintained between them ; their agency is still too im- \nportant to be; overlooked or des})ised by that mystical woman of the \napocalypse, who has her seat upon the seven mountains. There is \nstill too much in common between the two systems ; their corrup-? \ntious are too nearly allied, and their interests too closely interwoven, \nto render it a matter of small import whether the Jesuits shall be \nagain invoked by papal Rome as her auxiliaries, or not ; the influence \nof light in the world is too strong, the difl\'usion of the Bible is too gen- \neral, and the increase of true religion in consequence is too certain, \nto permit a church which loves darkness rather than light, to neglect \nall the means which lie within her reach, to establish and perpetuate \nher own system of ignorance and error, by those friends and agents, \nwho\xc2\xa7e interests are in the main wholly identified with their own. \n\n\n\nJMI \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 493 \n\nThe present pope could not be ignorant that the same causes which \nled to the formation of the society, were at this moment in active op- \neration throughout the world, and therefore appeared to require the \napplication of rhe same remedy. \' The order of Jesuits,\' says Villers, \n\'the most important of all the orders, was placed in opposition to the \nReformation, and it acquired a preponderence proportioned to the \nenormous mass which it was to counterbalance.\' It is with refer- \nence to the same great object of opposition to the reformation, that \nthe present pope has declared that he should deem himself guilty of a \ngreat crime towards God, if amidst the dangers of the Christian re- \npublic, (in other words, the cause of popery.) he should neglect to \nto employ the aids which the special providence of God had put in \nhis power, and, if placed in the bark of St. Peter, and tossed by con- \ntinual storms, he should refuse to employ the vigorous and experienced \nrowers who volunteer their services\'\' ! ! It is in vain that the advocates \nof his holiness will contend that he desired the aid of the Jesuits against \ninfidelity ; for where is the danger to be apprehended from infidelity \nnow 1 It is against the Protestant church and cause, that the Jesu- \nits, those experienced rowers, have now embarked afresh, and it is \nchiefly with reference to their assistance in making head against the \nvessel of the reformation, that the pope has availed himself of their \nservices. \n\nIt would be vain to deny, that many considerable advantages were \nderived to mankind by the labor of the Jesuits. Their ardor in the \nstudy of ancient literature, and their labors in the instruction of youth, \ngreatly contributed to the sources of polite learning. They have produ- \nced a greater number of ingenious authors, than all the other religious \nfraternities taken together ; and though there never was known \namong their order one person who could be said to possess an enlar- \nged philosophical mind, they can boast of many eminent masters in \nthe separate branches of science, many distinguished mathematicians, \nantiquarians, critics, and even some orators of high reputation. They \nwere in general, also as individuals, superior in decency, and purity \nof manners to any other class of regular clergy in the church of \nRome. \n\nTheir active and literary spirit furnished, likewise, a most beneficial \ncounteraction to the deadening influence of their contemporary mo- \nnastic institutions. Even the debased spirit of Christianity which \nthey introduced among the savage tribes of North America, and the \nmore civilized nations of the East, was infinitely superior, both in its \n\n\n\n494 HISTORY OF \n\nconsolations and morals, to the bloody and licentious rites of idolatry. \nBut all these benefits by no means counterbalanced the pernicious \neffects of their influence and intrigues on the best interest of so- \nciety. \n\nThe essential principles of the institution, viz. that their order is to be \nmaintained at the expense of society at large, and that the end sancti- \nfies the means, are utterly incompatible with the walfare of any com- \nmunity of men. Their system of lax and pliant morality, justifying \nevery vice, and authorizing every atrocity, has left deep and lasting \nravages on the face of the moral world. Their zeal to extend the ju- \nrisdiction of the court of Rome over every civil government, gave \ncurrency to tenets respecting the duty of opposing princes, who were \nhostile to the Catholic faith, which shook the basis of all political alle- \ngiance, and loosened the obligation of every human law. \n\nTheir indefatigable industry, and countless artifices in resisting the \nprogress of reformed religion, perpetuated the most pernicious errors \nof popery, and\'postponed the triumph of tolerant and Christian princi- \nples. Whence then, it may be asked, whence the recent lestoration? \nWhat long latent proof has been discovered of the excellence, or even \nthe expediency of such an institution ? The sentence of their aboli- \ntion was passed by the senates, and monarchs, and statesmen, and \ndivines, of all religions, and of almost every civilized country in the \nworld. \n\nAlmost every land has been stained and torn by their crimes ; \nand almost every land bears on its public records, the most solemn \nprotests against their existence. Even they who loved popery, but \ndreaded the atrocity and ambition of Jesuitism ; even an infallible \npontiff, in his cool judicial capacity, after a most solemn hearing, and \nin the face of its most powerful advocates, pronounced its condemna- \ntion. What new witness has appeared to testify its virtues ? What \nadequate cause has been made out for its revival ? If an instrument \nis wanted which may at once quench the flames of charity, throw us \nback in the career of ages, sow the seeds of everlasting division, lay a \ntrain which is to explode in the citadel of truth, and overturn her sa- \ncred towers ; we venture confidently to affirm that Jesuitism is that \ninstrument. \n\nBut as to any other advantages either to Protestantism or Popery, \nit is for the Pope, or some other infallible reasoner to show. Till \nsome such superior being shall stoop down to instruct us on this point, \nand to establish a fact which the Jesuits themselves for two centurief. \n\n\n\nJ \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 496 \n\nand a whole regiment of foliosj endeavored to establish in vain, we \nmust venture to conclude with our forefathers, and with the kings \nand queens, the parliaments, judges, and churches of Europe, and \nwith the infallible Pope Clement XIV., that Jesuitism is a public nui- \nsance ; and that he who endeavors to let it loose upon society, is \nchargeable with high treason against the common interests and happi- \nness of his species. \n\n\'History proves the truth of theJesuit principle, (says Bourne) in its \npractical illustration \xe2\x80\x94 * Strike without the possibility of ascertaining \nwho gves the blow.\' This instruction condenses\' all the rules and \nall the acts of that order of Roman ecclesiastics. But it is obvious, \nthat their nefarious projects cannot be completely consummated, un- \nless they are shrouded by that gloom which precludes all probability \nof discovery. This concealment is amply afforded by the practice \nand regulations of auricular confession. The constitution of the Uni- \nted States imperatively prohibits all legislation and judicial interfe- \nrence with the religious immunities of the citizens ; and under this \ngeneral sanction, it is contended that the Papists are justified in ful- \nfilling all the claims of the Roman pontiff", and in conforming to all \nthe rules of his courts. \n\n\' This immunity is doubtless essential to freedom ; and did the papa! \nhierarchy, like other public instructors, only advert to religious and \nmoral topics, leaving their disciples to ponder, judge, and decide for \nthemselves, they would not demand the notice of the civil authority. \nAnd were Romanism only a compound of theology, and a code of \nmorality, the enforcement of which would necessarily tend to the il- \nlumination and purity of the people ; then\xc2\xbbit ought not to be counter- \nacted, but to be supported. Popery, however, and especially its mo- \ndern heart\'s blood, Jesuitism, are of a totally different character^ \nThey usurp illimitable control over all the thoughts, words, and ac- \ntions of every man ; and claim as a divine right, authority to direct \nthe conscience, infallibly in ihe decision of all casuistical questions ; \nwith the extraordinary prerogative of determining, without appeal to \nthe sacred oracles, the moral character of actions ; and of requiring \nprompt and unreserved obedience to any decree which the Ro- \nman pontiff* may issue, or his subordinate priests may promulgate. \n\n\'The Roman monkish orders, whether male or female, by their par- \namount obligations to the Itahan pontiff* ; their own regulations of \nnon-intercourse with the exterior world, unless their avarice and \nsensuality can be gratified ; and the secrecy which accompanies all \n\n\n\n496 H I ST O R Y F \n\ntheir transactions, except those which are exhibited for effect, to de- \nceive the public ; openly declare that the system which sanctifies \nthese evils ought to be abolished. All the annals of Europe, during \nthe last thousand years, demonstrate that these secret confederacies \nof persons, banded tog\'ether by an obligatory oath to a foreign power, \nwith every possible encouragement to perjure themsehes for the sake \nof that potentate, ought no more to be tolerated in this country than \navowed bands of depredating banditti. Jesuitism and Jesuits are now \nthe most crafty, and determined, and wicked champicms of the papal \nhierarchy ; all of whom have ever been the resolute destroyers of civ- \nil and religious freedom and social order. It is therefore manit^est, \nthat the extension of the system in our republic must be destructive \nof the best interests of the community. \n\n*These evils are augmented, in the very highest degree, by the pow- \ner which, according to their usurped prerogatives, the Roman priests \npossess, to commute the penalties attached to sin, and to absolve the \ncriminal altogether from the punishment which his offenses demand. \nBy the infallible decretals of the court of Rome, disobedience to the \npontifical mandate merits the most summary and terrific anguish \nwhich can be inflicted ; and he who robs, or maims, or murders a \nheretic, a Protestant, or any man who does not wear \' the mark of \nthe beast \' so far from being a transgressor, is actually deemed and \ndeclared a species of saint. Now it is assuredly impossible to pre- \nserve even the semblance of liberty, honesty, safety, or life, where \nsuch principles are held to be infallible. In this republic, all those \nacts and their collateral offenses are pronounced felonies, and as \nsuch the law recognizes arfd punishes them ; but what Papist is there \nwho, from his bigoted servility to the Italian despot, care for a mo- \nment for the uncertain future sentence of the law, contrasted with \nthe present approbation of the Roman pontiff, and the full absolution \nof his priest *? In the confessional, whenever the interests of the pa- \npacy render it necessary, all virtues lose their lovely attributes, and \nall vices are divested of their loathsome turpitude. The Jesuits, by \nthe doctrines which they teach, nullify every law of God, every feel- \nino" of nature, and everydictate of conscience ; and in their stead, they \nestablish the most debasing bondage as exalted honor, and the most \natrocious crimes as the very highest exhibitions of godliness. To af- \nfirm therefore, that Jesuitism is reconcilable with the constitution of \nthe United States, is a self-evident contradiction. \n\n\'The intrigues of the Jesuits have been coeval with their existence. \n\n\n\nJESUITISM. 497 \n\nDuring two hundred years, there is probably not a misery which \nwas experienced by the European nations and their foreign colonies, \nthat either directly or indirectly, did not originate with them. The \ncontentions and tumults, which now threaten most of the European \ncountries, are contrived and prolonged through their deadly artifices. \nAs they increase in numbers, wealth, and influence, in America, sim- \nilar effects will result, until this republic will realize all the evils of the \nancient world ; while the arch-traitors who propel the confusion, and \nmischief, will merely advance and take the spoil.\' \n\nProfessor Bruce, in his volume illustrative of "Popery as it affects \nthe liberty and interests of nations" thus speaks of Jesuitical morality: \n* What shall be said of the morality of the Jesuits ? The most \nlearned and poweiful order of Rome in latter times ; whose schools, \nand seminaries, and consequently their systems and doctrines, are \nnow authorized by law ; whose system is only the quintessence of \ngenuine popery, and the ordinary doctrines of the whole tribe of popes \nand schoolmen carried to .their highest degree of improvement. \nMen who have tortured invention to reconcile the human mind to ev- \nery horrid form of vice, and to teach mankind to commit whatever in \nvulgar language is called evil ; without any of the ordinary feelings \nof guilt and remorse ; who have boldly attempted to effect, by the \nforce of casuistry, what the supreme pontiffs have done by their plen- \nitude of power, to make void all law and obligation ; to change the \nessence of things, and make sin to be no sin ; and forcing imrautable \ntruth to yield to logical subtleties, and stubborn virtue pliantly to bend \nto the interests and corrupt inclinations of mortals. \n\n* They have exempted mankind from love, and all inward homage \nto the Deity, and charity to men, and so dash in pieces both tables of \nthe eternal law ; they have made it almost as easy to practice all vir- \ntue, if there can be such a thing upon their plan, and to avoid every \nfault as it is to breathe. They have put it in the power of every man \nto exculpate himself in acting as he pleaseth, and committing every \nenormity under the sun, by furnishing him with the pleas of ignorance \nsurprise, or passion, convenience, error of conscience, right inten- \ntion, and the impious and sceptical device of probableism. \n\n* They have heen careful to make it sufficiently plain, adapting it \nto the use of persons of every capacity, character, and condition of \nlife ; recommending avarice, ambition, vanity, luxury, disobedience, \nadultery, seduction, calumny, dissimulation, equivocation, mental re- \nservation, lying, perfidy, bribery simony, fraudulent dealing, theft, \n\n63 \n\n\n\n498 HISTORYOF \n\nrobbery, envy, hatred, revenge, duelling, treason, homicide, suicide, \ninfanticide, regicide, \\vith oth^r vices and crimes too numerous, and \nmany of them too impure and abominable, even to aduiit of descrip- \ntion. Hence the popish system, especially as explained and taught \nby the disciples of Loyola, is of an immoral and corrupting Influence ; \nit tends to invalidate or destroy all moral and social obligation ; con- \nsequently it wounds society in its very vitals ; is at war with its best \nand truest interests ; defeats the end of laws and good governments ; \nis inconsistent with that regularity and order, that mutual confidence, \nthat public and private security, which these were established to main- \ntain ; and therefore its adherents may be justly proscribed, subjected \nto restraints, and brought under the operation of penal laws. \n\n\' Such are the men to be invested with the important task of form- \ning the minds of youth ; and such are the doctrines which are now al- \nlowed to be disseminated through the land ; to train up men to \nviLLANY BY RULE, that the prisons may be more speedily replen- \nished, and the gallows never want a numerous succession of malefac- \ntors.\' \n\n\n\nPOPERY \n\n\n\nIN THE \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES \n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. \n\nimportance of the subject considered \xe2\x80\x94 Causes of the apathy in regard to \nit\xe2\x80\x94 Influence of interested Politicians \xe2\x80\x94 Sketch of American Eccle- \nsiastical History \xe2\x80\x94 Interest of Foreign Despots in the overthroio of \nour Institutions \xe2\x80\x94 French Revolution \xe2\x80\x94 War against liberal principles \nproclaimed by the Holy Alliance \xe2\x80\x94 Boasts of the destruction of our \nRepublic. \n\nThe most important branch of -the subject, the designs of Popery \nupon these United States, remains to be discussed. The preceding \nportion of this volume has been principally devpted to the past history of \nRoman Catholicism, and were it merely an account of what has long \nbeen past, were it only the history of a civil and religious despotism \nthat had had its day ; and the record of whose existence was buried \nwith nearly forgotten things, we might read it as we read the history \nof other tyrannies, without any other feelings than those of curiosity, \nand without other emotions than those of gratitus^e that we live in \nhappier times and under a free government. But living, as we do, \ncontemporaries of the papal power, fellow citizens of thousands of \nSubmissive votaries of the popish religion ; a religion whose evident \ninterest it is to destroy our republican institutions, and whose genius \nis perfectly incompatible with our pohtical system ; having among us \nin their full and unconstrained exercise those powers and causes \nwhich hitherto have ever contributed to the papal supremacy, and \nwhich are directed by a system whose motto is secrecy, and by a clas\xc2\xab \n\n\n\n500 POPERYINTHE \n\nof men whose only principle is self-interest which prompts them id \naim at the aggrandizement of their own order, the history of the rise \nand progress of Popery, and the developement of its designs among \nus, becomes pregnant with the most intense interest in which we \nourselves participate, as being most immediately and vitally concern- \ned. \n\nYet, important as a correct knowledge of this subject is to our po* \nlitical security, the discussion of the designs of Roman Catholicism \namong us, has been rarely attempted, and still more rarely encourai- \nged by those whose influence could have promoted it. An extraor-- \ndinary apathy has hitherto almost universally prevailed throughout \nour land, in regard to all subjects having connection with, or relation \nto the Roman Catholic religion. This apathy has several causes to \nwhich it may be correctly referred, and from the importance of the \nsubject they deserve to be traced out and explained ; and if they are \nthe result of defective education, or of erroneous information, an ef- \nfort should be made for their removal. \n\nOur peculiar national history discovers to us the primary cause of \nthis indifference which has so greatly increased with the lapse of years. \nWhile we existed only as English colonies, our country was continu- \nually involved in Indian and French wars to which succeeded the \narduous and protracted struggle of the Revolution ; and since that \nevent, from the very nature of the democratic government which we \nhave adopted, the public attention has been directed to objects which \nhave an apparent and immediate bearing upon the popular interest. \nThus the past generation allowed themselves to forget the well known \ncharacter of popery, and the present have never been fully instructed \nin relation to it. It has therefore ceased to be an object of terror to \nthe people at large, for an enemy to be feared should be known. \n\nOne of the greatest and most apparent beauties of our republican \ngovernment is the perfect and christian system of religious toleration \nwhich is extended to individuals of all sects, and even to infidtls and \natheists: Sectarians of almost opposite creeds, who in the early ages \nof Christianity would have persecuted each other even to extermina- \ntion, now meet in perfect peace and christian charity ; and questions \nof religious controversy are rarely agitated. The right of every one \nto his own opinion and belief is every where acknowledged, and intol- \nerance is decried and coupled with bigotry as with its synonym. \nHappy as this condition of society is, it is yet productive of a state of \napathy which evidently may eventuate in highly prejudicial results. \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. 601 \n\nIndifference in regard to the designs of a political faction would acknowl- \nedgedly soon terminate in the accession of that faction to power ; and \nwith equal certainty the same success may be predicated of a party \nfirmly linked together not only by the bonds of civil, but also of reli- \ngious union. Yet, notwithstanding the dark series of past history, in \nwhich the character and natural tendency of the Roman Catholic re- \nligion are written in letters of blood, and despite of the generally con- \nceded moral degradation and political slavery of Catholic countries \nin our own time, there are those among us who would defend its \nformer usurpations, who preposterously contend that it has changed \nin its nature, and who assert that among us its political influence can \nnever be felt ; and when any one more wise and patriotic than the \nrest dares to lift the veil, and endeavors to expose the fearful plans \n\xe2\x80\xa2and despotic designs of the papal power, he is stigmatized with those \nepithets which are deservedly applied only to bigotry, credulity and \nfierce intolerance ; his character and intentions are loudly assailed, \nand loaded with opprobrium, and his motives are misrepresented and \ncondemned. But a slight investigation will satisfy the candid mind of \nthe character and incentives of those who thus raise the hue and cry \nagainst such intolerance, who would persuade us that we are safe ; \nthat the stability of our institutions is not endangered, and that we \nhave nothing to fear from foreign Roman Catholic influence. They \nare reckless pseudo-patriotic, false-hearted politicians, who have but \none aim, personal power ; men, who like the prince of darkness, \nwould rather reign in disorder and anarchy, than enjoy the quiet and \nrepose of peace, and most of whom would tumble in ruins thje fair \nfabric of our civil and religious liberty, could they survive and estab- \nlish their own dominion on its shattered fragments. They are the \nmen who have the control of the hireling political press of our coun- \ntry, and whose voices coming through that once sacred channel are \nreceived by the people with the reverence due only to the oracles of \ninspiration. \n\nYet there are many who cannot perceive what reason such individ- \nuals have for deception, nor can they believe that they are so entire- \nly reckless and capricious that they will delude their fellow men from \nmere wantonness. Nor is the course which they pursue without its \nadequate object and reward ; they have presented to them what they \nconsider the best of inducements ; they wish to secure the suffrages \nof the Catholics themselves and for this reason they flatter the promi- \nnent men among them, pretending a disinterested devotion to their \n\n\n\n602 POPERYINTHE \n\ninterest and their cause. And to obtain Catholic votes which are of- \nten necessary and effectual in securing their own personal pohtical \nelevation, our intriguing politicians would delude the people to the \nlast ; and were it known to them that there was a plot in progress, \nwhich, when perfected would involve the country in the most tre- \nmendous calamities, if self-interest prompted them to silence, it is \ndoubtful if a political press in ?;!! the wide extent of our land, would \nraise the noteof alaim to warn the people of their danger ; but the \npolitical tempest would be preceded with a stillness, and a fearful \ncalmness, like that which pervadcjs all nature immediately previous to \nthe bursting of the thunder-storm. \n\nThese false politicians ridicule the idea that the Roman Catholics \nare our enemies ; they represent that they fought with us the bloody \nbattles of the Revolution, and that with us they have planted their \nvines in the shade of peace. They inquire what interest a foreign \nprince like the pope can have in the destruction of our institutions, \nand pretend that it is a matter of the greatest indifference to him \nwhether we are freemen or slaves ; and above all, that even if the \npope wished it he could never effect the accomplishment of his de- \nsigns, or procure the subversion of our government. They affirm \nthat the influence of the pope has never been felt among us, and they \nchallenge the assailants of popery to point out the means and instru- \nments by which the pope is to undermine our liberties. \n\nFormerly religious persecution was not peculiar to any sect, or to \nthe advocates of any mode of worship or belief It was indeed too \ngenerally prevalent in all Christendom, and its practice was consider- \ned, even by eminent divines, to be indicated and justified by true \nconstructions of the Holy Scriptures. But the reformed religion from \nits nature is subject to change with the advance oi reason and science, \nand the doctrine ot the temporal punishment of heretics, has, among \nthe protestants been long exploded. Among the Catholics, however, \nthis odious doctrine still constitutes an important article in the disci- \npline of the church ; and in other countries the spiritual tribunals of \nthe Roman church still inflict the punishment of fire, torture, and im- \nprisonment upon the unfaithful and the unbehever. They have not \nchanged in this important particular, nor can they consistently ever \nchange. Their church is infallible and its laws immutable ; the pun- \nishment of heresy by imprisonment and death has ever been practised \nby the Roman Catholics, and to change this spiritual regulation would \n\n\n\nUNITJED STATES. 603 \n\niinpiy that the church had in one instance been fallible ; ari admis- \nsion which no true Romanist was ever willing to make. \n\nAt the commencement of the American revolution, religious toler- \nation, from the causes which have been enumerated, was nearly as \nextensive among us as it is now ; the various sects of religionists \nwere indeed pervaded with a spirit of jealousy of each other ; but it \nwas a jealousy of civil and governmental influence. The church of \nEngland was here established, and its prosperity and extension were \nan especial object of the care of the British government ; all the other \nsects were therefore secretly hostile to it ; and many, at the Dutbreak- \ning of the war saw other than political advantages which would re- \nsult to them in the event of a separation from Great Britain. The \nEpiscopalian Church here, at least, would cease to be a government \nestablishment, and perhaps their own might be adopted as the religion: \nof the State. \n\nThese reasons influenced the nation at large ; but all of them with \nthe exception of the last, operated with double force on the Roman \nCatholics ; for, not only was another form of religion fostered by the \ngovernment, but the experience of history had taught men of all de- \nnominations and creeds to distrust and suspect the Roman Churchy \nThey were also but a small minority compared with other Christians^ \nand they well knew that the only point in which all the Protestant \nsects cordially united, was in the general detestation they entertained \nfor the Roman Catholic doctrine and pract ce. While, therefore, \nEngland maintamed her dominion over the colonies, the Roman \nCatholic-s would remain in the po^ver of Protestants; and without \nperceiving the great changes which had been eff\'ected in relation ta \nthe doctrine of religious toleration ; they feared that the Protestants \nwould retaliate upon them the sanguinary cruelties of former days. \nIn the event of a successful revolution, however, they would be at \nonce released from their apprehensions ; for, as they were at this \ntime mostly confined to Maryland, they would then obtain the ascen- \ndancy in a supreme and independent state. They therefoie had \nnothing to fear but every thing to hope from the event of the contest. \nIf the colonies failed in shaking ofl\' the British yoke, their condition \nwould not be more intolerable ; if they succeeded, the Roman Cath- \nolics would obtain that security from persecution v/hich they believed \nwas hitherto endani^ered. While, therefore, it is admitted that they \ndid indeed fight with us th-i great battles of the Revolution, it will al- \nso be insisted that they had a double intaresji at stake ; and when their \n\n\n\n504 POPERYINTHE \n\nusual inducements are considered, they cannot be thought justly enti- \ntled to extraordinary praise. \n\nThe interest that foreign potentates, and among them the Pope, \nhave in the overthrow of our republican institutions, is not obvious to \nan ordinary observer, and to be clearly shown requires some particu- \nlar historical detail. \n\nModern republicanism originated in America. Our system of \nequality, of elective legislatures, and of written, well defined constitu- \ntions, is peculiar to ourselves, and is entirely unlike the republics of \nancient Greece and Rome, or the transient democracies of the mid- \ndle ages. Our government is founded on new principles, and its the- \nory is novel, in every thing except its name. Its very name, howev- \ner, has in foreign countries identified its fundamental principles with \nthose of the ancient republics, and from this cause, the same want of \nstability, and its final subversion has been predicted of it by politicians. \nTet as long as our republican institutions do exist, we stand in the \nview of the world a refutation o\xc2\xbbf the falsehood so often inculcated by \ndespots and monachists, respecting the turbulence, anarchy and in- \njstability of republics. \n\nWhen we proclaimed our independence of Great Britain, the con- \ntinental relations of our antagonists were such that many European \npowers with alacrity contributed largely to our assistance ; not from \nany admiration of our principles, but mainly from the desire of hum- \nbling the pride, and reducing the power of England. France was \nthe most efficient of these auxiliary powers, and the aid which she \nrendered us, by sending her soldiers among us, infected her armies \nand her captains with republican sentiments, and thereby led the \nway to the overthrow of her monarchy. At the close of the Ameri- \ncan Revolution, the armies of Europe were to a great extent suppli- \ned with officers by France, and thus the principles ol rational republic \ncariism were rapidly disseminated throughout Europe, and became \nthe principles of a large portion of fashionable society. \n\nSoon after the era of the French revolution commenced ; a revo- \nlution whose history is without parallel in the annals of time ; which \nbegan in splendor and closed in blood ; which at first was admirable \nfor its patriotic fervor, and afterwards detestable for its frantic crimes- \nIts dreadful atrocities and its final catastrophe, rendered all ameliora- \nting innovations in the system and policy of European government, for \na time impracticable ; and the excesses committed in the name of \nrepublicanism brought opprobrium and a temporary unpopularity \n\n\n\nU N 1 T E D S T A T E S. 506 \n\nupon the cause of freedom and equality. The outrages which origi- \nnated from the evil passions of men, have been ascribed to an innate \nanarchy and atrocity peculiar to the republican form of government, \nand the minions of despotism have triumphantly pointed to the French \nRevolution as a demonstration of the impracticability of republican- \nism. Yet the causes of failure may now be discovered and the fal\xc2\xab \niacious reasoning of despotism detected. \n\nThe progress of that revolution was at first moderate ; too great a \nchange was not proposed to be immediately effected ; the point of a \nconstitutional monarchy was first to be attained ; and the advance to \nultimate praciical republicanism was to be gradual, but sure. But \nthe conhscation of the estates of the nobles, and of the patrimony of \nthe church ; the sudden abolition of the titles of the nobility and of \nthe regal power ; the former being unjust and the latter unprepared \nfor ; and the controlling ascendency which clubs and mob-led juntos \nacquired over the National Asserabh^, which were the main causes of \nthe failure of the French Revolution, were rather anarchial than re- \npublican in their nature. These causes and their effects are now \nfully perceived and acknowledged by the world ; and the bloody \nscenes and inglorious termination of the former French Revolution, \nare no longer regarded as conclusive authority against republican in- \nstitutions. \n\nOn the other hand we are often triumphantly appealed to as an in- \nstance of a nation v/hose institutions and government are truly re- \npublican ; who have avoided the excesses which others have commit- \nted, and have fully demonstrated to the world that the system of \nequality is not necessarily productive of anarchy and bloodshed, and \nthat the people are capable of self-government without internal com- \nmotion. Hence arises the solicitude which foreign governments have \nmanifested in our domestic concerns ; they are anxious to add us to \nthe list of failures, and they believe, not without good reason, that if \nwe fail, the cause of republics will receive a fatal and decisive blow. \nThe fate of our government becomes therefore of extreme interest to \nthem, for the experiment which we are now trying is of the most pain- \nful importance to the despots of Europe. The republics of Greece \nfell without redemption ; Rome degenerated into a despotism, and \nFrench republicanism ended in madness ; America remains alone ; \nand if we follow the fatal course pursued by our predecessors, proba- \nbly the republican theory will not be renewed in practice for many \ncenturies. \n\n64 \n\n\n\n606 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nThe * Holy Alliance,\' of European Sovereigns have long since pro- \nclaimed unceasing war against liberal principles in Eirrope and the \nworld at large. They are firmly united in this common cause, and \njoined together by the strongest ties ; they are excited by the most \nintense interest that of self-preservation. The war of principles has \nalready commenced ; and even in despotic Europe, the peculiar ad- \nvantages of all the different forms of government have long since be- \ngun to be discussed, and men to avow their predilections ; and a con- \nviction has become almost universal, that a government based on the \nprinciples of American republicanism is not only practicable, but the \nmost perfect of all political systems that have been tried. To such \ndiscussions, and especially to the political propositions which they \ntend to establish, the Holy Alliance have arrayed themselves in for- \nmidable opposition ; they have resolved, and have published their de- \ntermination to the world, that the progress of liberal principles is ta \nadvance no farther ; that henceforth the condition of society is to re- \nceive no political amelioration ; that Europe is to remain in degrading \nsubjection to an eternal despotism, and be forever governed by hered- \nitary rulers, who are to sway their iron sceptres by divine right, and \n\' by the grace of God.\' \n\nTo accomplish these predictions, and give an additional present se- \ncurity to their thrones, they have adopted efficient measures, and put \nthem into immediate operation. They have established a rigid censor- \nship over the public press, and the pubhcation of political works is \nexpressly prohibited, unless their tone is in unison v\xc2\xbb^ith the wishes^ \nand \'intentions of despotism. They have banished and imprisoned \nthose who have given expression to liberal political sentiments, and \nconfiscated the property of those whom they have suspected of disaf- \nfection towards the ruling powers ; and thereby the cause of freedom \nhas been deprived of some of its most efficient supporters. The in- \nfluence of Christianity has been brought to their aid ; they have in- \nserted their absurd political dogmas in the religious creeds which are \npublicly inculcated by the clergy ; and the youth are taught at the \nsame time that Christ is their Saviour, and the Emperor the lawful \nani Supreme head of the State.* The Catholic clergy in Europe, \n\n\n\n= \' The Catholic catechism now taught by Cathohc priests to the Poles in alT the schools^ \npublished by special order al Wilna, 1832, is very\'conclusive of the character of Catholic \ndoctrine. The following questions ani answers are propounded : \n\n* duest. 1. How is the authority of the Emperor to be considered in reference to the \nspirit of Christianity ? Ans. As proceeding immediately from God. \n\n\n\nUlNITEDSTATES. 607 \n\nwith a characteristic moral degradation, have lent their influence to \nthis crusade against liberal principles ; and have meanly become the \nwilling tools of the self-styled Holy Alliance ; interest and gratitude \nequally prompt them to assist those who have hitherto been their \nbenefactors, and who promise future favors ; and from these motives \nthe Jesuits, and other ostensibly religious, but in reality political or- \nders have devoted themselves to the cause of despotism, to the full ex_ \ntent of their means and ability. Thus the system of the Holy Alliance \nis complete ; it combines all the advantages whicli are to be derived \nfrom the absence of any open opposition, and from early religious \nprejudices deeply seated by education, with that arising from the rev- \nerence and implicit faith accorded to religious tenets, and its influence \nis felt with fatal effect though every class of society. \n\nSuch is the system which the imperial despots of Europe have \nadopted and on which they act at home. But the mischief is irrepa- \nrable as long as its prime source exists ; nor is it rational to suppo\xc2\xabe \nthat an alliance of European despots who have before them the experi- \nence of all past ages will strive with eff^ects alone, and will not endeav- \nor to exterminate the cause. There is an evident absurdity in the \nidea that they will content themselves with combatting republican \nprinciples in Europe, and will not make an eff\'ort to ascend to the \nhead of the stream, and dam up at its source the fountain whence \nflow the waters which are so bitter and deadly to their taste. Were \nthere, therefore, no other reason for believing that foreign despots \n\n\n\n* Gluest. 2, How is this substantiated by the nature of things ? Ans. It is by the will \nof God that men Uve in society ; hence the various relations which constitute society ig \ndivided into parts called nations ; the government of which is intrusted to a Prince \nKing, or Emperor, or in other words, to a Supreme ruler ; we see, then, that as man ex- \nists in conformity to the will of God, society emanates from the same divine will and \nmore especially the supreme power and authority of oui lord and master the Czar. \n\n\' Gluest. 3. yv hat duties does religion teach us the humble subjects of his majesty the \nEmperor of Russia, to practice towards him? Ans. Worship, obedience, fidelity, the \npayment of taxes, service, love and prayer, the whole being comprised in the words wor- \nship and fidelity. \n\n* Gluest 4. Wherein does this worship consist, and how should it be manifested ? \nAns. By the most unqualified reverence in words, gestures, demeanor, thoughts and ac- \ntions. \n\nGluest. 5. What kind of obedience do we owe him ? Ans. An entire, passive, and \nunbounded obedience in every point of view. \n\n\' Gluest. 6. In what consists the fidehty we owe to the Emperor,? Ans. In execu- \nting his commands most rigorously, without examination, in performing the duties he re- \nc|Xiires from us, and in doing every thing willingly withont murmuring. \n\n\'Gluest. 7. What are the supernatural revealed motives for this worship ? Ans. The su- \n\n\n\n608 : P F E R Y I N T H \xc2\xa3 \n\nwould endeavor to exercise an liostile influence upon our institutions, \nihan their apparent interest to do so, the presumption would still be \n/rational in every particular. But fortunately we are not left to con-\\ \n/ jecture alone, or to vague surmises upon this suject ; sufficient evi- ^ \ndence has already been discovered to show that they have secretly \nassailed our institutions, plotted their destruction, and determined on \nthe means of their subversion. Well authenticated facts seem to \nprove that the Holy Alliance have formed their plans with such nice- j \nty, and entered upon their execution with such ardor and perseve- j \nranee, that they can calculate their result with the greatest moral j \ncertainty, and contemplate the future as the scene of their approach- \\ \ning triumph. And so confident are they of success, that they already | \npredict the destruction of the American republic, and proclaim to | \nthe world through their official publications, that it is rapidly approach- | \ning the period of its fatal termination. Tbey assert that a secret ) \ncause is with untiring energy working its overthrow, and undermi- \nningits stability in its very bosom. Yet they do not attempt to define i \nthis cause, nor explain the mode by which it is to eflfectuate the pre-. \\ \ndieted result ; they do not point out any effect that it has already pro- \\ \nduced, but only give a general intimation of the ultimate catastrophe j \nwhich is its object. And, in conclusion, they express a confident \'s \nhope that the New World will soon forget her republican principles, ) \ni^ and quietly submit to an united civil and religious despotism. \n\n\n\npernatural revealed motives are, that the emperor is the vicegerent and minister of God t0 \nexecute the divine commands , ?nd, consequently, disobedience to the Emperor is identi- \nfied with disobedience to God himserf; and that God will reward us in the world to \ncome for the worship and obedience we render to the Emperor, and punish us severely to \nall eternity should we disobey and neglect to worship him. Moreover, God commands \nus to love and obey fi-om the inmost recesses of the heart every authority, and particular- \nly the Emperor, not from worldly considt rations, but from apprehension of the final judg- \nment. * -^ - f \n\nCluest. 8. What examples coafirai this doctrine ? Ans. The example of Jesus \nChirst himself, who lived anj died in allegiance to the Emperor of Rome, and respectful- \nly submitted to the judgment which condemned him to death. We have, moreover, the \nexample of the Apostles, who both loved and respected thern ; they suffered meekly in \ndungeons conformably to the will of Emperors, and did not revolt hke malefactors and \ntraitors. We must, therefore, in imitation of these examples., sufi^er and be silent.\' \n\nThis is the slavish doctrine taught to the Catholics of Poland. The people instead of \nhaving power or rights, are, according to this catechism mere passive slaves, born for \ntheir masters, tauoht by a perversion of the threatenings of religion to obey without mur- \nmuring, or questioning, or examination, the mandates of their human deity, bid to cringe, \nand fawn and kiss the very feet of majesty, and deem themselves happy to be whipped, to \nbe kicked, or to die in his service. \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES. 509 \n\nNor is this cause immediately obvious to ourselves. li we look \nabi-oad over the land we can perceive none but the ordinary political \nelements at work, nor is there any apparent reason that they should \nproduce any extraordinary effect. If such a cause exists, its influ- \nence is not manifest to the general observer, nor are its operations \nopen. It is indeed, the interest of our enemies that their designs up- \non our liberties should not be discovered, for to attack us openly \nwould bv to put us on our guard and prepare us for defense. Secrecy \nis therefore maintained, and an impenetrable veil drawn over their in- \nsidious designs. In this manner tliey trust that they may carry on \ntheir plans to a successsful termination without being suspected or de- \ntected ; that they will not be disclosed until their effects roll in a \nbroad tide of moral desolation over the land ; when escape will be \nhopeless, and opposition ineffectual. They wish us to remain in fan- \ncied security, and the voice of warning to be unheard, until the at- \ntack can be openly made with absolute certainty of success ; when \nthe}^ hope to tear up our political fabric from its very foundations ; \nand to establish over us a despotism more intolerable than that of \nCsesar or Napoleon. \n\nYet a close observation and comparison of facts will not fail to de- \ntect this secret cause and expose the plans and operations of foreign \npowers in our country hitherto. To do this however, it will be neces- \nsary to enter somewhat into detail, and to esiimate the effect of a va, \nri.ety of causes. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. \n\nJlmerica compared with Ancient Republics \xe2\x80\x94 Effects of Immigration on \nRome \xe2\x80\x94 Causes of the Emigration to Jlmerica \xe2\x80\x94 Character of the Em- \nigrants \xe2\x80\x94 Their Political Principles and Prejudices \xe2\x80\x94 Comparison of \nthe Emigrants with the early Colonists \xe2\x80\x94 Their Religious Character \n\xe2\x80\x94 Influence of the Pope of Rome through them \xe2\x80\x94 General Deductions. \n\nIt will readily be admitted that the American people are in the pro- \ngress of an experiment which has never been tried under the like \n<3ircumstanceSj and for the determination of whose probable event, \nwe are not furnished with data from past history. The ancient repub- \nlics were constituted on principles many of which were essentially \ndifferent from those which are the basis of American republicanism. \nTheir genius was military, and their laws such as promoted the per- \npetuation of vast family wealth and hereditary honors. General \nknowledge was not diffused through the old republics, nor, indeed \nhad the world so far advanced in civilization and science. But there \nwas a cause which militated with fatal effects against the stabihty \nof the Roman republic, whose operation is invariable and depends up- \non itself alone, and accordingly if it is found existing among us, we \nmay with comparative certainty predict its effects. \n\nThe Roman republic did not commence its decline until a foreign \nimmigration was permitted, and the inhabitants of Italy by an imperi- \nal decree invested with the privileges of citizens of Rome. From the \nstraits of Gibraltar to the cities of Judea, the inhabitants of what \nwere called free towns, were entitled every where to claim for their \nprotection, and at Rome to exercise without any other than slight mu- \nnicipal control, the rights of Roman citizens. The capital was in \nconsequence immediately filled with rude foreigners, ignorant of the \nLatin language and Roman customs, but who constituted a physical \nand constitutional majority of the inhabitants of Rome. The effect \nof this inundation was immediate. As long as the rights of citizen- \nship were confined to those who were strictly Romans, and required \nan actual residence in the parent city, so long did the Roman consti- \ntution retain its simplicity and purity. But when the metropolis was \nfilled with a foreign immigration, when her forum resounded with \n\n\n\nJ \n\n\n\nUNITED STATED. 611 \n\nbarbarous dialects, and her comitia were crowded with uncouth, un- \ncivilized citizens ; then Ucentiousness venalit}", and corruption arose ; \nthen was founded the imperial dynasty of the Csesars, and from that \nhour the power of Rome dated its fatal decline. This same course \nIS in unchecked and extensive operation among ourselves, and it hag \nbecome intensely interesting not only to the enlightened chri&tian, but \nalso to the patriot and statesman. The annual immigration of thou^ \nsands of foreigners into our country, merely stated as an isolated fact \nin statistical history, is of itself alarming to the watchful lover of his^ \ncountry and of her institutions. In the consideration of this subject \nwe are naturally led to inquire into the causes of this immigration \nand the character of the emigrants. \n\nIn many portions of Europe the population is dense even to super- \nfluity, and the removal of the surplus number becomes an object to \ngovernment, and a blessing to the people themselves. There is a \npoint beyond which population cannot advance; when the soil becomes \nbarely adequate to the sustenance of those who inhabit it, and the \nleast failure in the expected harvest, unless extensive relief is afforded \nfrom abropd, is productive of famine, and often of pestilence. Sever- \nal of the European communities have already attained this point, and \nthey readily avail themselves of the facilities of transportation to \nAmerica, to dispose of this surplus population, which the increase of \nevery generation renders more burdensome, and a greater hindrance \nto the accumulation of national wealth. The statesmen of Europe \nhave availed themselves of the sure demonstrations of mathematical \nscience, which clearly show the ultimate economy of this mode of \nridding the states of an useless encumbrance. The character of \nthose who are thus translated to our shores, may be readily inferred \nfrom the cause of their exportation ; they are morally degraded, in- \ncapable of exercising the intellectual faculties, worthless in point of \npropert3% ^^^^ ^ weight upon community, rather than an assistance in \ncontributing to sustain the expenses of government and civil legisla- \ntion. \n\nAnother class of emigrants is composed of those who either flee \nfrom punishment, or come already branded as convicted felons ; men \nwho tind the codes of Europe too strict for the commission of crime, \nand who swarm to America as to a land v/here they can have full li- \ncense to practice every species of villany without any fear of punish- \nment or restraint. They regard our country as a second Botany \nBay, where the commission of crime is not prevented, but the scene \n\n\n\n512 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nof its perpetration only cononed in a more narrow compass. These \nare they who iiii our prisons, and form a large majority of our crimi- \nnals ; they are men who consider wholesome law as despotism, and \nconceive liberty to be a synoiiym for licentiousness, and freedom to \ncommit crime. \n\nA third class consists of men of some little property, who are indu- \nced by curiosity, but oftener by false ideas of our political state, to \nemigrate to our countr3\\ They bring with them the antiquated and \ncumbrous utensils and furniture of former days \xe2\x80\x94 men who would intro- \nduce into our new country a system of agriculture that is applicable \nonly to an old and exhausted soil, who work entirelj^ by rule, and ad- \nhere to antiquated notions and precedents which the progress of scr_ \nence has either exploded, or shown to be extremely variable in their \napplication. They cherish the opinions of their fathers as they would \ntheir family fame, and regard as their richest legacy the hereditary \nmaxims that have constituted the family creed since the days of Will- \niam the Conqueror. \n\nThe evil effect of this inundation of foreigners is next to be consid- \nered. It is a general and indisputable maxim among us, that the per- \npetuity of our republic depends upon the general intelligence of the \npeople. The well informed are not apt to become the dupes of the \ndemagogue, nor are men who are accustomed to think for themselves \nwillingly subjected to civil or ecclesiastical tyranny. For this reason \nthe diffusion of general knowledge has ever been a primary object of \nthe exertions of our government ; and the rising generation of native \nAmericans are already distinguished for education and intelligence. \nThe diffusion of general education is also among us accompanied \nwith another immediate effect ; in even our primary schools the na- \nture of the different forms of government, is fully displayed in able \ntreatises ; the tendency of each is discussed and proved from history, \nand finally a comparison is instituted between other systems and our \nown ; and thus our children early become acquainted with the ele- \nments of political science. They are born and educated republicans \nand the preservation of our system of government is to them an object \nof the dearest importance. \n\nOn the other hand the emigrants contrast with us in every point. \nIf the educated in other countries far excel us, the mass of foreign \npopulation, with perhaps a single exception, are infinitely our inferiors \nin point of education and intelligence. The emigrants are proverbi- \nally the most ignorant and degraded portion of the communities \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES. Bit \n\nwhence they came, and in point of natural talents, irom the operation \nof peculiar physical and moral causes, they are also our inferiors. It \nis true that among the crowd of emigrants we have occasionally found \nmen of learning and science ; but the fact that they are noted and \ndistinguished as being belligerent exceptions to the general rule, suffi- \niciently proves the degraded intellectual condition of the emigrants, \nand where we have received one man of distinguished intellect and \nlearning, we have been overrun with hundreds of thousands of su- \npremely ignorant and illiterate foreigners. This ignorance alone \nwould render them incapable of correctly estimating our form of gov- \nernment and our civil institutions ; for to understand their nature, \nor appreciate their value requires not only a degree of education, but \nalso a knowledge of the main features ot ancient European history. \nThus they are easily led by an artful demagogue, and after a short \nprobation, they are readily admitted to the polls, and throw the \nweight of their influence in favor of him who has best succeeded in \nflattering their national vanity or their interest. They array them- \n$5elves as the supporters of the reckless individual ambition of \nselfish politicians, thus indirectly contributing to weaken the stability \nof a system of government whose nature they do not understand, and \nwhich they view through the distorting medium of ignorance. \n\nYet the effect of extending the privileges of citizenship to such \nemigrants would be much more favorable than it is, were they mere- \nly ignorant of, or indifferent to our institutions. But this is not the \ncase. Born in countries where the many are the slaves of the few, \nwhere kings assume the throne of hereditary right, and a titled aris- \ntocracy usurp the places of honor and power, they are imbued with \na fervent admiration of the government, laws, and institutions of their \nnative country, and that admiration remains forever unimpaired. At \nfirst it appears to be consistent with the principles of our nature, that \nthose who in other countries are trampled upon by their fellows, bur- \ndened by excessive taxation, crushed by unequal laws, and ground to \nthe dust by arbitrary power, should, on their welcome reception in \nthis happy and liberal country, whose genius is in every particular the \nreverse of the despotism which they have quitted, be at once struck \nwith the excellence of our political system, and bestow upon it the \ngrateful tribute of an heartfelt admiration. We should suppose that \nthe elevation from the state of mere bondsmen, to that of independent \nfreemen, would be a transition so great that its advantages, and the \nexcellence of the principles which produce it, would be obvious to \n\n65 \n\n\n\n^14 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nthe greatest mental blindness and ignorance. Yet experience and \nobservation teach us how ineradicable are the prejudices and princi" \npies that are instilled into the mind in earl^ youth, and how easily \nthe love of one\'s native land extends itself to her political institutions \nand laws, however aristocratic or unequal they may be. The emigrant \nEnglishman as he sighs for the green fields and hawthorn hedges of \nhis native land, will also lament that our institutions forbid that his \neyes should ever be here greeted with the show} equipage and gilded \ncoronets of a wealthy nobility, or with the splendid pageantry of \nkingly power. He cannot perceive the excellence of republican \nequality, nor can he be convinced that a small minority are not born \nto command. And in like manner the oppressed Pole, who seeks in \nour country that liberty which is denied him at home, still longs for \nthe anti-republican diets of his father land. Strange does it seem \nthat men should thus sigh for the return of oppression, and hug the \nfetters that would restrain their energies and render them powerless. \nYet it is an effect whose cause lies deep in our nature, and depends \non a principle to which Britain\'s noblest poet has alluded, in the words\' \nof the prisoner of Chillon : \n\n\' My very chains and I grew fiiends \nSo much a long communion tends \nTo make us what we are.\' \n\nNor can we suppose that a large body of men, so ignorant, so lia- \nble to be misled and made the tools of factious and ambitious men, \nand especially so prejudiced against the vital and fundamental princi- \nples of our political system, on their introduction into the bosom of \nour republic, and their almost immediate admission to the exercise of \nall the rights, and the enjoyment of all the privileges of American \ncitizens, will not have some decided and permanent effect upon our \ngovernment and its institutions. In considering this branch of the \nsubject, while we adopt the cogent reasoning, we cannot do better \nthan to quote the language of one of our greatest statesmen. * It is \nfor the happiness of those united in society to harmonize, as much as \npossible, in matters which they must of necessity transact together. \nCivil government being for the sole object of forming societies, its \nadministration must be conducted by common consent. Every spe- \ncies of government has its specific principles. Ours are more pecu\xc2\xbb \nliar, perhaps, than those of any other in the universe. It is a compo- \nsition of the fieest principles of the English constitution, with those \nderived from natural right, and natural reason. To these nothing can \nbe more opposed than the maxims of absolute monarchies. YeU \n\n\n\nU N 1 T \xc2\xa3 D S T A T E S. 516 \n\nfrom such we are to expect the greatest number of emigrants. They \nwill bring with them the principles of the government they leave, im- \nbibed in their early youth ; or if able to throw them off, it will be in \nexchange for an unbounded licentiousness, passing as is usual from \none extreme to another. It would be a miracle were they to stop \nprecisely at the point of temperate liberty. In proportion to their \nnumbers they will share with us the legislation. Suppose twenty \nmillions of republican Americans, thrown all of a sudden into France, \nwhat would be the condition of that kingdom 1 If it would be more \nturbulent, less happy, less strong, we may believe that the addition of \nhalf a million of foreigners to our present numbers, would produce a \nsimilar effect here.\' And such, indeed, experience has shown to be \nthe effect. Foreigners have often set themselves above the law, and \njoining themselves into bands, whose association was cemented by \nfearful oaths, have roamed over the land to commit deeds of violence, \nand often of blood, regardless alike of the civil and military powers \nwhich have been brought to act against them The feuds of Con- \nnaught and Limerick, v/hich have poured out streams of native blood \nupon the moors of Ireland, have broken out afresh in our land, and \nwhile the republic was at peace, the wild Irish clans have fought their \nbloody battles in the bosom of our country. Foreigners, too, have \nmarched in a body to the polls, to sustain by their votes, either one \nof their own number, or some political aspirant who has professed to \nbe their especial friend. And, when enlisted to promote a favorite \nmeasure, they have often by their presence obstructed the access of \n\xe2\x80\xa2American citizens to the polls, and by their threats have intimidated \nthem from the free exercise of the elective franchise. Yet these fatal \neffects of the unrestrained immigration and naturalization of foreign- \ners, were foreseen at the birth of our constitution ; and then, as now, \nwas heard the voice of derision at what were styled the aristocratic \ncroakings of false and canting prophesy. And even now, when the \npernicious effects of this system are apparent in all their aggravated \ndeformity, there are found men in our land, and often those too, who \nare high in political station, who in the face of indisputable facts deny \nthat the evils complained of are the effects of foreign immigration. \nThey ask with accents of surprise if we shall refuse to the unhappy \nfugitives of distress, that hospitality which the savages of the wilder- \nness extended to our fathers, and if oppressed humanity shall find no \nasylum on the globe 1 They affirm that our country was settled by \nemigrants ; that their descendants fought and died to give an exis- \n\n\n\n\xc2\xbb16 POPERYINTHE \n\ntence to our republic ; and that it would be the greatest ingratituds \nand inhumanity to deny a refuge to their brethren irom abroad. And \nfinall}\', appealing to our sympathies, they inquire if our liberty is so \nprecious that we shall refuse to our fellow men a participation in \nthose blessings, without which life were miserable. \n\nSuch language is plausible, and calls loudly upon our kindly feel- \nings for a response, for such an appeal is seldom without its effect. \nYet if we dispassionately apply the test of reason and fact to such ar- \nguments, we shall find that they are founded on considerations and \npresumptions which are far more specious than true. \n\nSelf-preservation is the first law of nature ; and thus if it were evi- \ndent that the entire exclusion of foreigners from our coasts were neces. \nsary to the preservation of our liberties, though it might be the great- \nest of calamities to them, it would be supremely unjust to ourselves \nand to our children if we did not enforce it. Nor should we gain a \nreputation in the world for political wisdom, although we might for mis- \ntaken philanthropy, if we should cherish emigrants from transmarine \ncountries, until they had acquired sufficient strength to prostrate our po- \nlitical fabric, and overwhelm us in its ruins. That naturalized foreign- \ners have exercised a fearful political influence, facts clearly show ; \nthat their weight in community must be proportionate to their increa- \nsed number is equally clear ; and yet when tvs-o hundred thousand \nforeign emigrants are annually pouring into our country, there are \nthose among us v/ho would hush the voice of warning and shut out \nthe least prospect of danger. \n\nIt is true that the United States were originally settled by foreign- \ners, and that we are their descendants, but little reflection is neces- \nsary to convince us that those emigrants were entirely unlike those of \nthe present day ; that they were not worthless in point of property, \nignorant, bigoted, degraded with vice and crime, nor prejudiced in fa- \nvor of civil and religious slavery. Such were not the Puritans, those \nstern and thoughtful men who braved the winter storm of the Atlan- \ntic, and sought liberty among the free, snow clad forests of wild \nAmerica, and on the rocky shores of Plymouth laid the broad and \ndeep foundations of our civil and religious liberty. They were not \nmen who conceived liberty to be licentiousness, or ran maa in mobs ; \nnor did they glory in open defiance and violation of the laws of \nthe land. They were men of principle, who were unwilling \nto barter their dearest rights for a dram, or sacriligiously raise a par- \nricidal hand against their protectors. Nor were Penn and his follow- \n\n\n\nU N I T E D S T A T E S. 617 \n\ners a band of reckless men, life with brutal ferocity and wilder \nthan the savage children of the forest. Such is not the record of \nimpartial histor}\'. \n\nIt was well remarked by a master spirit, Burke, on the floor of the \nBritish Parliament, in one of those spiiited debates to which the dec- \nlaration of American independence gave rise, that the inhabitants \nof the colonies were republicans from the beginning, and were made \nso by the very causes that induced their emigration hither. Conse- \nquently their prejudices at the outbreaking of the war, and the preju- \ndices of their descendants of the present day, were, and are entirely \nagainst aristocratic and monarchial power, and, indeed they acknowl- \nedged no authority but that which emanated from the people them- \nselves. Yet, with an absurdity which is too gross to be attributed to \nany other cause than wilful misrepresentation, these men, pure in \nprinciple, and republicans in theory and practice, have been compa- \nred with the worthless and degraded emigrants of the present day. \n\nOnly the civil effect of foreign immigration has been thus far con- \nsidered ; and it has been discussed at some length, because combined \nwith the influence of the Catholic religion, it is the means by which \nour foreign enemies hope to eff*ect our overthrow. The protestant \nemigrant is, as has been shown, a political enemy ; but although he \ndiffers essentially from us in his estimation of our system of govern- \nment, he is, as far as respects the Protestant religion, a warm friend. \nBut it is not thus with the Roman Cathohc ; nor is his hatred to our \ncivil institutions in any degree qualified by a partiality to the prevail- \ning religion of the land. He regards us as unchristian heretics, spir^ \nitually dead in sin, doomed to eternal burnings and living in the midst \nof moral pestilence and death. We are the objects of his compas- \nsion, for he believes that the light of the glorious sun of truth has nev- \ner reached us, while he is warmed in its full and unclouded radiance. \nWe hear no masses, we receive no sacramental unctions, we employ \nno father confessors, we do no penance, we procure no priest to \npardon our past and future sins ; and if there is any thing that would \nmake a Roman Catholic a bitter enemy of our republican government, \nit is the fact that it tolerates a religion which allows such damning \nsins of omission as these. He is indeed radically inimical to it, for \nnot one republican sentiment glows in his bosom, and not one drop \nof republican blood warms his veins ; and therefore he is hostile to \nour government, and would naturally wish for its instant subversion. \nBesides this, his religion is his idol ; it prevails over gratitude and pa- \n\n\n\n618 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\ntriotism, and he well knows that his religion and republicanism can \nnever co-exist. Fie acknowledges the pope as the head of the church, \nto whom he owes obedience in all matters, both spiritual and tempo- \nral, and who possesses a jurisdiction superior to municipal authority. \nThe system of the Roman hierarchy is that of a religious despotism ; \nand it demands from its subjects the most prompt and implicit faith, \nas well as instant submission to its promulgated decrees. \n\nFrom these facts it follows that if the head of the Roman church \nshould ever exert a political influence in any state, every Catholic \nwould be at his command, and would to the extent of his influence \ncontribute to forward the papal designs, even though it might conflict \nwith his interest and wishes. The Roman Catholic may desert and \nbetray his secular king, he may fight in battle against him, and if un- \nsuccessful, the consequences of his crime are of but temporal imjpor- \ntance ; but he believes that disobedience to the Pope is treason to his \nOod, and ensures upon the perpetrator the pain of eternal damna- \ntion. The weapons of the Pope are entirely of a spiritual nature ; \nother princes are respected and obeyed only as they are in possession \nof physical power, and are thus able to enforce their wishes and com- \nmands. But the Pope of Rome, seated in the chair of Peter, fights \nhis battles with a stroke of the pen, and the thunders of the Vatican \nbursting over the head of the refractory or disobeying Catholic, make \nhim the slave of an arrogant prelate, as he is already of a degrading \nsuperstition. No civil restraints can efl\'ectually interpose ; the Ro- \nman pontiff is the self-styled representative of the Almighty, and dis- \npenses with the obligation of oaths as easily as he can forgive the most \nvenial trespass. Temporal interest, and the impulse of gratitude can \nhave but a feeble effect when weighed in the scale with excommuni- \ncation and the terrors of eternal punishment. We have heretofore, \nin the preceding portion of this volume adduced the uniform testimony \nofhistory to shew that where an individual less superstitious and \nmore daring than the rest of the world, has erected his standard in \nopposition to eccle^iiastical usurpation, the censures of the clergy have \ncaused the defection of his friends, and often his own ruin and death. \nThat the result should ever be otherwise among the votaries of the \nRoman Catholic Church, requires not only a coincidence of peculiar \ncircumstances which is beyond all probability, but also that the funda- \nmental principles of human nature itself should be changed. When \nsuch a change has been effected, a new series of historical facts will \nbe necessary to afford data for probable prediction ; but until then \n\n\n\nU N I T E D S T A T E S. 610 \n\nWe may safely content ourselves with collecting the secrets of the fu-^ \nlure from the rich treasures of the past. \n\nThus it has been shown that all foreigners, with so few exceptions \nthat the application of the rule is hardly affected, are politically disaf- \nfected towards our republican form of government, and prejudiced in \nfavor of some foreign and less liberal svstem ; that Roman Catholics, \nwho form a large proportion of emigrants,\'* are not only civilly, but \nfrom the very nature of their religion, opposed to our government; \nand that through them the Roman pontiffcan exert among us a strong \npolitical influence in favor of a return to despotism, in which the an- \nti-republican principles of the protestant emigrants would induce \nthem readily to join. \n\n\n\n*Fron-i 1812 to 1821 the foreiirn immigration of Catholics into the United States (for \nnine-tenths of the foreioneis who come here are such, or become snch) averaijed buf \neight thousand annnally. InlSSO, itwas I\'.vent;.\' thousand annually, and in 1833, it is \nshown from custom house returns. &c, to have been two hundred tliousand ! In 1834, \nforty eight thousand foreigners were landed in the city of New York alone, and in the \nsame year one hundred thousand emigrants (though not all Catholics) have settled in \nthe Staleof Illinois. Within two years, as has been ascertained from the custom hou\xc2\xbb \njesof the West, six hundred Roman Catholic Priests (chiefly from the abolis\'ied monas-- \nteries of Portugal, &c.) have come to this country, and dispersed themselves over the val- \nley of the West. \n\n\n\nCHAJPTERIli. \n\ninjluence of the Pope of Rome on the Government of the United States^^^ \nJllarming increase of this Influence through Immigraticw^ Catholic Ov \nganization and Institutions \xe2\x80\x94 Despotic character of Romanism \xe2\x80\x94 Rea- \nsons which have produced Foreign Interference \xe2\x80\x94 Attitude assumed by \nAustria\xe2\x80\x94 St. Leopold Foundation \xe2\x80\x94 Its Influence and Designs \xe2\x80\x94 Re^ \nligious Condition of Europe. \n\nThe interest that foreign despots have in the subversion of our fre6 \nInstitutions has been already fully shewn ; and it has also been in- \ncontrovertibly demonstrated, that there is, in the very midst of our \ncountr}\', a large body of men, exercising the elective franchise, and \nendowed with all the rights and privileges of native born citizens, \nwho are civilly and religiously inimical to our government, our politi- \ncal principles, and our religion. The mere existence of such a class \nof individuals in community, even supposing that there were no strong \nmotives of interest to bind them together, would be a iact of the most \nalarming nature. But if it is shewn, as it clearly can be, that a great \nmajority of these men are banded together by the strongest ties, uni- \nted with an unanimity that is possible only among those of the same \nfeelings and prejudices, and capable of being swayed by one man, \nand that man a bitter and determined enemy to our civil and religious \nliberty ; the evil at once assumes a more fearful importance, and the \ndanger is increased tenfold in magnitude. The real patriot becomes \nalarmed for the safety of our liberties, the wise statesman fears the \noverthrow of our political system, and the true and enlightened chris*- \ntian trembles for the Church of Christ, and for the enjoyment of reli- \ngious liberty. \n\nBut the picture is not yet displayed in its true and aggravated col- \nors ; for not only is there among us a large body of foreigners who \nare subject to control from abroad, but there are yet others, and \nthose, too, American-born citizens, who, however favorably they \nmay be disposed towards our political institutions, are still under the \nsame strong foreign influence, and subjected to the commands of a \nsuperior, to whom they dare not refuse implicit and ready obedi- \nence. \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. \xc2\xab21 \n\nIt is through these men, the Roman Catholics of our country, that \nforeign influence is to make itself felt, and the attack made upon our \nhappy republic. The deep plot has already been laid, the system of \noperation has long been planned, and its well jointed machinery is \nnow at work, secretly indeed, but with not less decisive effect. It \nhas extended itself into every portion of the land, and waits but for a \nfavorable opportunity to strike a fatal blow, and fetter our exertions \nforever. \n\nThe votaries of the Roman Catholic church already constitute a \nlarge proportion of our population. Every city of any magnitude \nhas its Catholic cathedral,* and often more than one ; Catholic chap- \nels are not uncommon in our smaller towns and villages, and the Ro- \n\n\n\n* It is but a little more than forty years since the first Roman CathoUc See was crea- \nted by the Pope in the United States. There are now in the United States 12 Roman \nCathohc Sees, [including an arch-diocese at Baltimore,] comprising all the states and \nthe territories in their \'jurisdiction.\'*^ There are a Catholic population of 600,000 souls, \nunder the government of the Pope of Rorre, an Archbishop of Baltimore, twelve Bishops, \nand three hundred and forty one Priests. The number of churches is 401 ; viz : \n\n\n\nLouisiana, 27 \n\n\nDelaware, \n\n\n3 \n\n\nAlabama, 10 \n\n\nNew Jersey, \n\n\n6 \n\n\nFlorida, 3 \n\n\nNew York, \n\n\n44 \n\n\nGeorgia, 21 \n\n\nMichigan, \n\n\n15 \n\n\nSouth Carolina, 11 \n\n\nOhio, \n\n\n27 \n\n\nNorth Carolina, 12 \n\n\nKentucky, \n\n\n27 \n\n\nMaryland, 56 \n\n\nMissouri, \n\n\n18 \n\n\nVirginia, 1 1 \n\n\nIllinois, \n\n\n10 \n\n\nDist. Columbia, 4 \n\n\nArkansas, \n\n\nS \n\n\nPennsylvania, 57 \n\n\nIndiana, \n\n\n9 \n\n\nConnecticut, 3 \n\n\nMaine, \n\n\n2 \n\n\nRhode Island, 5 \n\n\nVermont, \n\n\n1 \n\n\nMassachusetts, 12 \n\n\nTennessee, \n\n\n1 \n\n\nNew Hampshire, 2 \n\n\nMississippi, \n\n\n1 \n\n\nThe number of Mass Houses is about \n\n\n\n\n300 \n\n\nCathohc Colleges, \n\n\n\n\n10 \n\n\nSeminaries for young men. \n\n\n\n\n9 \n\n\nTheological Seminaries, \n\n\n\n\n5 \n\n\nNovitiates for Jesuits, \n\n\n\n\n2 \n\n\nMonasteries and Convents with Academies attached for young \n\n\nladies, 31 \n\n\nSeminaries, &c. for yovng ladies. \n\n\n\n\n30 \n\n\nSchools of Sisters of Charity, \n\n\n\n\n29 \n\n\nAcademy for colored girls at Baltimore. \n\n\n\n\n1 \n\n\nFemale Indian School, Michigan, \n\n\n\n\n1 \n\n\n\nTotal Catholic Institutes for education of Protestants and C_atholic\xc2\xbb, 1 18 \nCatholie Newspapers, \' \n\n66 \n\n\n\n522 POPERY IN THE \n\nman priesthood among us are already very numerous. But RomaH \nCatholicism did not at first, find a genial soil in America. Maryland \nis the only one of the original English colonies that was planted hy \nCatholics. To Maryland they were long confined, and it was not \nuntil after the American Revolution, that Romanism made any pro \ngress beyond its borders. But since that great political event the \nprogress of Roman Catholicism has been extremely rapid ; its genius \nis peculiarly adapted to proselytism ; it has its rewards to entice the \nthoughtless, and its fears to intimidate the weak. To such an extent \nhas it advanced, that, from being the weakest, it has already become \nin point of numbers, wealth and influence, with perhaps a single ex- \nception, the most powerfid sect in the United States ; and its num- \nbers, wealth, and power are increasing at an almost infinitely more \nrapid rate than those of any other religious denomination. Already \nthe Roman Catholics constitute the majority in the States of Mary- \nland, Louisiana and Missouri ; and they are very numerous in Michi- \ngan. Florida, Arkansas and Mississippi. This state of Catholic ascen- \ndancy in some states, and of probable numerical superiority in others, \nis in the highest degree alarming. It is inconsistent with the true in- \nterests of any state, that any particular religious sect should be supe- \nrior to all the others ; it necessarily supposes a great political influ- \nence which will exalt those who control it, at the expense of the \nweaker denominations. The only safe and rational religious system \nis that where no one sect has an entire majority in numbers, and where \neach acts as a check upon all the rest. This is the condition of the \nProtestants in relation to each other ; and from the very nature of \nthe principles on which protestantism is based, new sects continually \narise ; and even when one particular denomination has obtained an \nundue ascendancy, some schism has invariably arisen, and by dividing \nthe sect, reduced its strength. \n\nNor do protestants acknowledge any spiritual head to their various \nchurches, they are each anxious to retain the management of their \nown affairs, and indeed the system of protestantism is an adaptation \nof republicanism to ecclesiastical matters. Thus the Protestant \nchurches not only disagree with each other, but the different church- \nes of the same denomination, except in some rare and isolated instan- \nces, are not united among themselves, and choose to transact all spir- \nitual matters without the intervention of councils, synods, presbyte- \nries, and assemblies. This is in the true spirit of republicanism. \n\nBut in the Cathohc church it is far otherwise. If the spirit of \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES. 623 \n\nprotestantism be free,* that of Catholicism is despotic. The most \ntrivial affairs are not left under the direction and control of the laiety ; \nall are reserved for the decision and are transacted according to the \norders of the presiding priest ; and from whom an appeal lies through \nvarious officers of the church, to the great head of all, the Pope, and \nfrom whose decision there is no appeal \xe2\x80\x94 his tribunal is that of the last \nresort. The code of the Roman church is the canon law, which is \nbased on the civil law of the Romans, and with it maxims of politi- \ncal subserviency to the will of a superior, and the imperial system of \ndespotism, were introduced into the Catholic church. This system, \nas applied to civil government, has undergone great and permanent \nchanges ; and many of its harsher features have been removed, and \nthe experience and innovations of ages have greatly contributed to its \n\n\n\n* A brief sketch of the Roman civil law may here be necessary to a full understanding* \nof the jurisprudence of the Roman Catholic Church, and to most readers it cannot fail to \nbe interesting and instructive. \n\nWhile Rome was a Republic and her free institutions in reality existed, her laws were \nenacted by the assem\'ilies of the people, [coraitia centuriata et tributa,] and by the Sen- \nace. But when the republic had lost all but a nominal existence, and the Cesars had usur- \nped imperial power, Auguetus introduced vi\'hat was subsequently called the consistory, to \nwhich the powers of the comitia and of the senate were transferred. The members of the \nconsistory were, appointed by the emperor, consequently its enactments were the express- \nions of the emperor\'s will- Subsequently, however, when the Roman spirit was entirely \nbroken, the consistory was abolished as an use\'ess machinery, and the emperor assumed \nthe legislative powers. The laws thus enacted by successive Roman princes were called \nimperial constitutions, and were received as ordinances of unquestionable authonty. In \nthecourse of several centuries, however, these constitutions had increased to theextentof \nseveral hundred volumes, and their authority was often diminished by conflicting- decrees, \nwhich would naturally arise from the various circumstances or the caprice of different em- \nperors. Justinian, a prince of more enlightened, but no less despotic views than his \npredecessors, perceived the growing iTisgnitude of ilie evil, and- with the assistance of \nable lawyers, [A, D. 533,] digested the whole body of the Roman law, and reduced it to \na system, the most perfect of its kind. During the convulsions that attended the final \ndissolution of the Roman Empire, the pandects, the most valuable portion of the digest of \nthe civil law, were los.t, and for a long time supposed to be irrecoverable. But a copy of \nthem preserved by some rare chance, was discovered at Amalphi, in Italy, [A. D. IIBO.J \nand we may date that discovery as the epoch when the study of law, as a science, began \nin Europe, subseqnent to the overthrow of the Roman Empire, \n\nThe Canon law differs from the Civil in numerous minor particulars, but the spirit of \nboth is undeniably the same; and what that sjiirit is may be easily determined from a \nsinglesentence^of the institutes of Justinian: "The will of the prince has the force oflaw/\'> \n\nThe able annotator of Blackstone, speaking of the contest which formerly existed in \nEngland between the civil and common law, says, "Though the civil law, in matters of \ncontract and the general com.merce of !ife, may be founded in principles of natural and \nuniversal justice, yet the arbitrary and despotic maxims ivhich recommended it as afavm\'ite \nto the pope and the Romish clergy, rendered it deservedly odious to the people of England." \n\n\n\n#24 POPERY IN THE \n\namelioration. Such is the natural effect which time and the advanca \nof mankind in knowledge and science, will naturally have upon hu- \nman institutions. But in the church it is fiar different. The Roman \nchurch has adopted as its fundamental principle that it can never err, \nand the body of the civil lav/ when once chosen by the church, as the \nbasis of its system of ecclesiastical jurisprudence, partook at once of \nits infallibility, and unchangeableness and became one of its prominent \nfeatures. To change it in one of its most unimportant minutie, \nwould be to acknowledge that the church had erred, which is impos- \nsible ; and therefore this rigid system of religious despotism must go \ndown to posterity v/ith all its aggravated deformity, as long as the \nCatholic church shall exist in its present condition and shall persist in \nits infallibility. In this system the Roman pontiff occupies the place \nwhich by the civil law was conceded to the Roman Emperor ; and \nalthough he is unsupported by physical force and no invisible legions \nare ready to execute his commands, his power is yet imperial and his \njurisdiction co-extensive with the limits of the Catholic church. This \njurisdiction is among the Catholics undisputed, for the means which \nthe church has in its power for constraining its refractory subjects, \nare efficient and certain in their effect ; and the rash questioner of the \ninfinite plenitude of papal power, is almost invariably brought to a state \nof submission much more humble than before. \n\nThus the Roman pontiff is clothed with supreme authority, and \ncombines at once in his own sacred person all the functions of the le- \ngislative, the judicial, and the executive powers. He has no consti- \ntutional restraint, he is absolutely unlimited and without control. Un- \nchanged by opposing spiritual powers, and unembarrassed by legal \nrestraints, he can act with a decision and an unity that in comparison \nwith the efforts of other potentates, can produce more decided and \npermanent effects. The powers under his control, are easily brought \nto bear upon the proposed object, and unity of feeling and of action \nare the favorable characteristics of those who acknowledge his su- \npremacy. Thus the Pope is able, whenever he shall deem it expedi- \nent to exercise his authority, to comuiand the endeavors and the en- \nergies of all the Catholics in our country, for such command and the \nready obedience of all true members of that church, is an undisputed \nprinciple of Roman Catholic Christianity. Those surely are fallacious \nreasoners, who argue that because the pope has never yet exercised \nthe power that he really possesses, with evident political effect, that \nhe will never exercise it ; they cruelly and fatally deceive themselves \n\n\n\nU N I T E D S T A T E S . 625 \n\nwho indulge in pleasant slumbers when the voice of the past calls up- \non them to rouse to ceaseless watchfulness. Yet it never has been, nor \ncan it be doubted or denied, that the power of the Supreme papal \nPontiff extends to every Roman Catholic, in whatever part of the \nworld, and that in our own, as in every other country, it is propor- \ntionate to the numbers of our Roman Catholic population. The \nmeans of extending this power are therefore very obvious. \n\nThe extension of the Roman Catholic church in our land, there- \nfore, becomes an object of great importance to those v/ho wish to \nmake that religion the means of our overthrow ; and the detection \nand exposure of the means by which this is to be effected are neces- \nsary, if we wish to meet the enemies of our country with any pros- \npect of confounding their wicked and insidious designs. We may \nthwart the plans of the most powerful enemy if we know them to their \nfull extent, but the greatest strength and wisdom avail not against an \nattack when w^e know neither whence it proceeds nor what is its aim. \nOf all enemies those who aie secret and cautious in theirmode of op^ \neration are far the most formidable ; and the very idea of a conceal- \ned engine in political warfare, conveys something of dread, and infuses \nterror into the mind. \n\nBut happily through the enthusiasm and incautiousness of our po- \nlitical enemies, we are not at a loss to percieve in what quarter this \npremeditated attack may be expected, nor when we consider passing \nevents with due a ttention, can it fail to strike upon our minds witb \nthe full force of perfect conviction, that this war upon our govern-. \nment, and this herculean and desperate endeavor to subvert our insti- \ntutions, has already begun. A simple statement of admitted and un- \ndeniable facts, would convince those that the myrmidons of tyrranny \nhad already collected their forces, and the strongest energies of des- \npotism concentrated themselves to make an overwhelming and fatal \nattack upon our republic. Happy indeed it is, that the weaknesses \nof despots are the same as those of other men ; that the anticipation \nof perfect success renders them boastful and incautious, and that the \nprospect of magnificent results often induces a carelessness which de- \nranges their political machinery, and produces the abortion of their \ndearest and most perfect plans. Had not our enemies themselves \npredicted our overthrow, and pointed to the means by which it is to be \neffected, we might have remained in utter ignorance, and indeed in \nutter want of suspicion, that aught was in operation among us, that \nis hostile to our best interests. But a beneficent Providence has oth- \n\n\n\n526 P O P E R Y I N T H E \n\nervvise decreed, and the voice of v/arniDg may be heard if we will \nlisten to its dictates. \n\nThe Emperors of Austria and Russia are the t\\vo European despots \nwho are the most interested in the extermination of rational republi- \ncanism, and they are those who have sworn that the slavery of Eu- \nrope shall be hopeless and eternal. The interest of Russia in the \noverthrow of our government, is not so imm.^diate, but it is to Austria, \nproud, wealthy, despotic, Catholic Austria, that we are to look for the \nfatal assault. Russian despotism is safe, so long as the Russians are \nas ignorant and barbarous as they now are ; but the imperial dicta- \ntor of Austria trembles for the safety of his slavish system of policy, as \nlong as the happy effect of republican institutions is so beautifully illus- \ntrated to the world, in our example. The imperial government of \nAustria is therefore immediately interested in our ruin ; and feels it- \nself called upon to effect it by the strongest of ail appeals, of self- \npreservation. It is by means of the Catholic religion that our institu- \ntions are to be attacked, as the friends of despotism hope to be imme- \ndiately overthrown. An institution has existed in Austria for some \nyears, whose head quarters are at Vienna ; whose head is the Austri- \nan Emperor ; whose members are the creatures of Austrian despo- \ntism ; which has received the approbation and the consecration of \nthe Roman pontiff, has been richly endowed with constant revenues, \nand whose field of operation is the United States. Its directory is \nthe imperial council, its emissaries and its tools are Catholic priests. \nIts system of operation is perfect in hs kind, and its m.achinery is un- \nder the direction and control of able and enterprising men; It is \ncalled the St. Leopold Fou^vdatiois^ \n\nIts ostensible design is the diffusion of Catholic Christianity through- \nout the United States of America. In their communications to the \nworld, its directory assume as an undisputed truth that we are wan- \ndering in moral darkness, and that the light of true Christianity has \nnever reached us except in a few scattered portions of our land. \nThey urge with a semblance of the most disinterested benevolence, \nthat our country is the abode and the store-house of heresy, and that \nthe holy Catholic church is disrespected, and the pope ridiculed and \ncalumniated. They describe us as being in a state of the most la- \nmentable apathy in regard to the true interests of religion, as permit- \nting the toleration of all sects, and in every instance discountenancing \nthe least union of civil and ecclesiastical authority. They expatiate \nwith a great degree of feeling upon our moral darkness, and con^rat- \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. 62t \n\niilate themselves that they live in a land illuminated with the clear ra- \ndiance of popish light. In conclusion they call upon all true Catho- \nhcs for sympathy, and pecuniary assistance, and invoke the blessing \nof heaven upon their sacred enierjprise. \n\nNever was the sacred name of religion so utterly profaned ; never \nbefoie was the mantle of Christianity made a cloak to cover such \nblack and daring political designs. A brief sketch of the present reli- \ngious condition of Europe, will unveil this bold hypocrisy, and show \nthe character of the Leopold foundation in its true light. Europe was \nthe birth place of the reformation. It was there that Luther raised \nhis voice against the vices of the clergy and the corruptions of the \nchurch, and shook to its base the papal throne. The reformed reli- \ngion has there increased, and the protestants form a large proportion \nof almost every community. But the\' Catholics have ever maintained \nthe political ascendancy, and thus, although the genius of Protestant- \nism and republicanism are the same, the force of numbers and the \nsuperior advantages always possessed by those in power, have hither., \nto prevented a revolution in government as v/ell as in religion. Sta- \ntistics shov/ that there are in each Catholic country a large body of \nProtestants, and the Inquiry at once presents itself, why a despotic \ngovernment should be so anxious for the religious conversion of a peo^ \npie separated from it by a broad ocean, and unconnected with it by \nany political ties, and yet at the same time permit its own subjects, \nwhose interests should be infinitely more dear to it, to remain forever \nin moral and rehgious darkness. The answer is as obvious as the in- \nquiry ; the protestants at home are already submitted to the yoke of \ndespotism, and their conversion to Catholicism, were it possible, would \nbe of no political benefit to the imperial cause. Among us the Eu- \nropean despots hope to effect a great religious change ; they per- \nceive the impossibility of rendering Catholicism universal, but they \nconfidently endeavor to render it the prevailing religion of the land, \nand thereby assimilate our religious and political condition to their \nown. This is the real cause of the interest of Austria for our conver-^ \nsion> this is the stimulus ^vhich excites and sustains their Catholic be- \nnevolence. The prevalence of Catholicism is the first grand result \nwhich is to crown their labors with success ; but when this is attained \nIt is to be used only as the means of a still greater effect. The Pope \nwho is and has for many years been under the influence, and indeed \nthe control of Austria, will readily employ the materials, which are \nbrought, ready-fashioned to his hands, and endeavor with all his pow- \n\n\n\n628 POPERYINTHE \n\ner to aid the imperial designs. Thus it is evident that the prevalence \nof Catholicism among us might be productive of a great political ef- \nfect, and that that effect would be agreeable to the wishes and neces- \nsary to the safety of the European system of despotisms. Thus, also, \ndo the hypocritical professions of the Leopold Foundation become \ndisplayed in their true character, and the conviction forces itself upon \nthe candid mind, that our conversion to Catholicism is sought only as \na means of poUtical effect. \n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. \n\nMissionary Enterprises of the Romish Church \xe2\x80\x94 Superior means of suc- \ncess \xe2\x80\x94 Character of the Jesuits \xe2\x80\x94 Education of the Catholic Clergy \xe2\x80\x94 \nConventual Education and Discipline \xe2\x80\x94 Operations of the Aus- \ntrian Conspirators \xe2\x80\x94 Danger to be apprehended \xe2\x80\x94 Success of Catholic \neffort in the United States \xe2\x80\x94 JSTecessity of Protestant Vigilance. \n\nThe means of propagating a religious doctrine are very obvious. \nMissionary enterprises are too numerous at the present day to need \nexplanation or comment. They have, under the direction of Protes- \ntant denominations, been productive of great and permanent moral \ngood to the world. The success of Protestant missions has been tru- \nly wonderful, and clearly demonstrates that they are under the espe- \ncial guidance of Providence. But the Protestant cause is not so well \ncalculated to succeed among men, as is the Catholic. The nature of \nthe two religions is different, often to opposition Men are always \ndetermined by the strongest motive. But the inducements presented \nby the Protestant missionary are not of immediate consequence. He \npromises to the faithful a life of happy immortality, but it is to be \npurchased at the expense of a life of piety and virtue, and perhaps \nsuffering on earth. His doctrines forbid the indulgence of the vile \npassions of our nature, and require at the outset an entire renuncia- \ntion of the gross and sensual pleasures of the world ; and an appeal is \nmade, not to our present interest, but to our hopes and wishes for a \nhappy future. With the Catholic it is far otherwise. He offers to \nthe willing proselyte, not only the inheritance of the kingdom of Hea- \nven, but the full enjoyment of all the pleasures of earth. A belief in \nthe infallibility and holiness of the Pope, and an obedience to the offi- \ncers of religion, are the prime articles of his creed, and he is instruct- \ned, that if interest or inclination prompt him to the violation of the \nmost sacred ties, or the commission of the most revolting crimes, at \nthe price of a portion of his worldly substance, he can be restored to \nperfect purity by the absolution of his sins and re-admitted in full \ncommunion to the bosom of the Catholic church. Such is human \nnature, that an appeal to our passions is never unanswered ; and it is \nfor this reason that in the same circumstances, the Catholic religion, \n67 \n\n\n\n630 POPERYINTHE \n\nfrom the inducements that it holds out to its converts, will he the \nmost popular among the generality of men. Those who are educated, \nand are accustomed to think, will not be deceived by its professions, \nnor enticed by its specious allurements ; but most men are under the \ncontrol of their passions rather than their reason, and are naturally in- \nclined to listen to the voice of seduction, and are ready to be misled \nby its syren song. \n\nThe missionaries of the Catholic church, in addition to the advan- \ntage they possess in the temptations which their religion itself pre- \nsents, have other advantages in a prominent degree. They belong to \nthe order of Jesuits, an order which, from its institution by Loyola to \nthe present time, has been abundant with men of the greatest talents, \nwho were capable of planning and executing with success the \nmost magnificent and comprehensive designs. They belong to a \nbody which for more than three hundred years has been actively at \nwork in every christian kingdom of Europe, which has tried and learn- \ned from experience the application and extent of every means of po- \nlitical effect, and which has often established its supremacy on the ru- \nins of monarchies and of the civil powers. It embraces among its \nagents the highest and the humblest individual^, and its system reach- \nes the remotest corners of the country in which it is established. It \nhas in its archives the recorded experience of ages, and from this \ncause it is the less likely to mistake its means, or to fail in their appli- \ncation. In Europe the Jesuits were avowedly a politico-religious \nsect ; but their emissaries in America assume the characters and ti- \ntle of \' missionaries of the true faithJ They are men of conceded \ntalents and of undoubted learning, deeply read in the history of the \npast, and thoroughly acquainted with the most secret springs of hu- \nman action, and with the motives which act with greatest effect upon \nthe minds of men. \n\nThey are men of no moral principle, and who,. though they maybe \nanxious for the propagation of the Catholic religion, yet distrust its \norigin and disbelieve its creed. They advance yet farther : their creed \nis that of the most presumptious atheism, and deeming that a God and \nan hereafter are but fables invented to frighten the timid, they secret- \nly indulge in all the abominations of the most riotous licentiousness. \nYet they outwardly profess the greatest piety, and as far as their ex- \nternal observance, practice all the christian virtues. From tlie con- \nfidence which is reposed in them as the ministers of religion, they \nhave ample opportunity afforded for the commission of those crimes \n\n\n\nU N I T E D S T A T E S. 531 \n\nwhich are most injurious to the interests of society ; by their power \nover the consciences of their victims, they can more easily prevent ex- \nposure ; and from the celibacy to which they are enjoined by canoni- \ncal regulations, they can easily remove themselves from the civil ju- \nrisdiction and from anticipated punishment. \n\nThe first great object is the erection of Catholic churches, the \nfoundation of colleges, and the institution of convents and schools. A \nreligious denomination without churches is unheard of, except among \nthe wildest fanatics, and, indeed, could hardly be said to have an ap- \nparent existence. Roman Catholic churches are therefore to give \nthe religion a permanent establishment among us, and to afford to the \nfaithful an opportunity of listening to the recital of the Catholic creed \nand to witness as well as participate in those ceremonies which are \nso attractive to the weak, and form so essential a part of the Roman \nreligion. Forms and ceremonies are popular among the vulgar, \nand are thought to be wonderfully efficient, often more so than \nprayer and faith. Yet their full and magnificent observance requires \na church peculiar in its internal architecture, a sacristy abundant \nwith consecrated vessels, and all the paraphernalia of popish ceremo- \nnial. The church, the altar, and the crucifix, are therefore first to be \nerected ; the Roman Catholic priest, sacred by his surplice and ton- \nsure, is to chant masses in the consecrated chapel ; popery then may \nbe considered to have obtained a foothold, and the work of our con- \nversion to Catholicism to be in reality begun. \n\nConvents pffer a safe retreat to those pious females who are resol- \nved to quit the sinful society and communion of the world, and to \nrenounce all pleasures but those which flow from piety, and the dis- \ncharge of the offices of religion. Their system is ostensibly that of \nentire seclusion, of the mortification of the passions and sinful desires \nof our nature, where the time of their inmates is spent in performing \nthe duties of charity and religion, and in meditation on the attributes \nand infinite benevolence of the Deity. \n\nThey also serve as schools for female education ; and in co-oper- \nation with other and primary schools, contribute to scatter extensively \nthe seeds of Catholicism, which being sown in the minds of the young, \nfind a luxuriant soil, take deep root and become inerradicable. They \ntherefore are adopted as an efficient means for the diffusion of Catho- \nlic knowledge and faith over the land, and their institution and suc- \ncessful operation becomes an important object to the Roman Catho^ \nlie propagandist. \n\n\n\nS32 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nNo school of divinity has existed without its universities and colle- \nges ; critical learning is the basis of theological controversy, and ab- \nsolutely necessary to its success. Thus the erection and endowment \nof colleges becomes a prime feature in the Catholic system. A for- \neign clergy must on many accounts be inadequate to our conversion; \nit is by means of a native priesthood that the Leopold Directoiy hope \nfor success. Here then must the college arise for their education, \nhere must be founded their schools of theology, where the weapons \nof controversy are to be forged, and their employment learned. Al- \nthough the motto of the Roman clergy has ever been that ignorance \nis the mother of superstition,\' yet they limit its application to the laity, \nand would retain all science and learning within the limits of their \nown body. No order of men are more learned in every department \nof literature and science, than the great mass of the Catholic clergy. \nAt first thought it would seem that the learning of its priests would \nendanger the Catholic religion, but an explanation of the nature of \ntheir education will show that it rather contributes to its permanency. \nThe first step that is taken with the young Catholic neophyte, who \nin the ardor of his conversion sincerely devotes himself to the Cath- \nolic priesthood, if he exhibit promises of talent, is to gradually infuse \ndoubts into his mind, and imperceptibly persuade him of \' the fable\' \nof the Christian religion. This is accomplished with infinite art, and \nthe novice often becomes an atheist, while at the same time he is fully \npersuaded that his hypocritical preceptor, who has deluded him, is a \ndevout Christian. But this infidelity always comes too late to afford \nthe candidate for the priesthood, an opportunity to recede. He is al- \nready involved in a system from which he cannot readily extricate \nhimself, and a field so extensive is offered for the indulgence of his \npassions, and the enjoyment of sensuality and dissipation that he has \nnot the inclination, if he had the power, to withdraw himself from the \nclerical body. This very infidelity and its consequent destitution of \nmoral principle, though they are directly hostile to the interests of \nChristianit}^ yet are favorable in the highest degree to the promotion \nand the support of Catholicism. The Roman priest is fertile in ex- \npedients ; ready in devising plans, and indefatigable in their execu- \ntion ; and in all circumstances in which he may be placed, he is en, \ntirely uninfluenced by religious principle, and unembarrassed by troub- \nlesome scruples of conscience. Doomed to celibacy by ecclesiastical \nregulation, he has transferred his affections to the Catholic church, \nwedded himself to its interests, and made their advancement at once \n\n\n\nU N 1 T E D S T A T E S. 533 \n\nthe business and the pleasure of his life. Conscious that his impor- \ntance is in proportion to the extent of the church, and flattered with \nthe reverence of the multitude, he is seized with a selfish desire for \nthe conversion of community, and exerts his influence to proselyte the \nworld. \n\nSuch is the institution which has been organized tor our destruc- \ntion, such are the means to produce it, and such the men who are \nto use those means with an effect fatal to our liberty. The St. Leo- \npold Foundation, stripped of its borrowed character, thus stands ex- \nposed in its true light, and appears as the engine of a deep and ex- \ntensive pohtical plot. The absurdity of its pretensions to the char- \nacter of being simply an association for the promotion of missionary \nenterprises, is too barefaced to stand the test of scrutiny. And if we \nconsider the institution as it is, whose object is civil and not religious, \nand yet that object disavowed with the most hypocritical insinceri- \nty, we shall have reason to tremble for our safety and for our liberties. \nIt is an institution formed- in a foreign country, whose rulers are \nthe avowed enemies of repubhcanism, and who have confidently and \nexultingly predicted the speedy downfall of ouj* government. It has \nreceived the sanction of the Pope, and he has added to its respecta- \nbihty and influence by his benediction, and by the imposing ceremo^ \nnies of religious consecration. It is directed by those who in another \nscarcely different capacity, constitute the council and ministry of the \nAustrian Emperor, and is thus avowedly under the control of the \nbitterest enemies of civil and religious liberty. It is enriched not on- \nly by the voluntary"^obligations of the laity and the clergy,* but it is \nalso munificently endowed with a portion of the imperial revenues ; \nand thus, as from a common mother, it derives its sustenance from \n\n\n\n*In the Roman Catholic Magazine\'and Review for April 1835, published in Birming- \nham England, (a copy of which is before us,) under the head of * Monthly Intelhgence\' \nof the\' United States,\' is an article headed, The Leopold Foundation, for aiding thg \nCatholic Missions in America by contributions in the Austrian Empire. \n\nThe first object of this institution is declared to be \' to promote the greater activity of \nCatholic missions in America.\' Every member engages to contribute a crucifix every \nweek in promoting the true faith. \\ A collector is appointed for every ten members ; the \ncollectors pay over monthly to the parish priest, the priests to the deacon, and he to the \nReverend Ordinary. \' The most-illustrious and reverend Lords Bishops of the whole \nempire aie authorized to forward the alms to the central power at Vienna, (which is prince \nMetternich, under the protection oi the Emperor of Austria,) who \' undertakes thegrate- \nftd office of carrying into effect this pious work in connection with Frederick Rese, now \nvicar general of the Cincinnati Bishopric in North America,\' the funds to be applied \' to \nthe urgent wants of American missions.\' \n\n\n\n534 POPERYINTHE \n\nthe same source with imperial despotism. It professes to be a reli- \ngious institution, but its directory have incautiously avowed it as a \nmeans of the execution of a great political design. It employs as \nits agents a body of men who are proverbially unprincipled and rapa- \ncious, and who are swayed only by motives of private interest or \nambition. It introduces into our country a large class of foreign ec- \nclesiastics, who are prejudiced against our government, and attached \nto our soil by none of the ties of birih, kindred, or ambition. It rears \nin our midst a physical power which can be swayed by the will of a \nforeigner and an enemy, and which by the promulgation of a bull or a \ndecree would rise against us in formidable and perhaps in fatal oppo- \nsition. It inculcates upon the minds of its converts false doctrines in \npolitics as well as religion ; and prepares them for the ascendancy of \na civil as well as religious tyranny. It even declares in relation to \nits avowed object, that our civil institutions are such a% to impede the \nprogress of popery among us, and thatour conversion to Roman Cath- \nolic Christianity, cannot be reasonably hoped for as long as our re- \npublican government exists.* Yet it dares not openly to exhibit the \nobject at which it aims, but is obliged to wear the veil of the most de- \ngrading hypocrisy. It sends its emissaries amung us, enjoining them \nto secresy, and directing them and their operations with unlimited \nauthority and control, f It transmits to its agents large sums of mon- \ney and thereby enables them to purchase that influence which belongs \nto exhorbitant wealth ; and enjoins upon them to derive revenues \nfrom the fears and consciences of the laity. It assumes the excel- \nlence of the imperial system, and directs to it the attention of those \nwho are under its influence, and demands their admiration of its prin- \nciples. It avows the superiority of the Papal to the civil authority, \nand teaches us one of the first and most vital principles of religion, \nthat temporal as well as spiritiual supremacy belongs to the pope. It \n\n\n\n*One of the obstacles to the propagp^ndism of Papacy, according to Bishop Flaget, of \nBardstown, Kentucky, is our republican form of government. Speakir^gof the difficul- \nties the Catliolic missionaries have in converting the Indians, he closes with this as the \nprincipal obstacle \xe2\x80\x94 \' their continual traffic among the whites, which cannot be hindered \nas long as the republican government shall subsist. \n\nSo likewise Mr. Boraga, a German Catholic irrissionary in Michigan, complaining of \nthe refusal of some parents to have their child I en baptized, attributes it to om\' too free \ngovevv.nxent.\'\' \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2fit is estimated that this society sent to the United States in 1834 the sum of one hun- \ndred thousand dollars, and six hundred Catholic Priests .\' Over eight hundred convents \nhave recently been abolished in Spain, and the funds of this society will doJibtless \xc2\xa3 end \nall the disbanded Priests and Monks to the United States .\' This is no fiction. Bishop \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES. 635 \n\ninculcates upon the minds of its converts, that the Scriptures are not \ninfallible as a rule of conduct, and a guide of faith, but that the opin- \nions of the Fathers, and the decrees of the councils, are of equal and \noften oi paramount authority. It discourages the free exercise of rea- \nson, and assumes the power of prescribing the religious tenets, and \ngoverning the consciences of men. It discountenances the perusal of \nthe sacred Scriptures, and substitutes in their place the lives of Ro- \nmisb saints, and the fabulous legends of barbarous and superstitious \nages. It pretends to be instituted for the dltfuslon of education and \nreligious knowledge, but it prostitutes each of these noble enterprises \nto the dissemination of civil and religious bigotry. It pretends to be \nthe means for the promotion of our eternal salvation, but it is the in- \nstrument cunningly devised for the destruction of our liberties, and \nour subjection to a political and ecclesiastical tyranny. \n\nSuch is the institution which is to diffuse Roman Catholicism over \nour land. If it succeeds in this, its ultimate object is already attain- \ned. It has already established its convents, its schools, and its well \nendowed colleges ; already has it divided our country into bishoprics, \nand placed in the episcopal chair its chosen creatures, who are work- \ning for its interests in our very midst. If it proceeds farther and suc- \nceeds in the conversion of Protestants to Catholicism, it will become \nformidable to our institutions in the highest degree. And this it has \neffected. The change from the Protestant to the Catholic faith, is as \ngreat as from light to darkness ; yet it has of late often taken place, \namong the Protestant laity, and stranger still, among their clergy. \nThe progress of Catholicism has been rapid, astonishingly so, and the \nCatholic cause is still advancing with an effect that those alone know, \nwho are thoroughly acquainted with the extent of the designs and op- \nerations of the Leopold Foundation. The number of Catholic priests \ncannot be easily estimated, for most of them traverse the land in se- \ncret, and are known onlv to the faithful. The number of Catholics \n\n\n\nEngland, of South Carolina, who has recently returned from a Catholic Mission to iho \nPope, s lys of his labor? in Europe, \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\' I have endeavored to interest several eminent and dignifiti personages, and have ccn- \ntinued to impress with a conviction of the propriety o<^ continuing their generous aid, the \nadministration of those socief/es from which [this diocese] has previously received valua- \nble succor. In Paris and at Lyons I have conversed with tliose excellent men wlio manage \nthe affairs of the Association for propagating the Faith. This vear their grant to this di- \nocese [Charleston] has been larger than usual. I have also tad an opportunity of com.rnu- \nnication with some of the council which administer the Austrian Jissociaiion. They contiU\' \n\nUe TO FEEL AN INTEREST \'N OUR CONCERNS ." \n\n\n\n536 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\ncannot be ascertained, for many make their professions in secret \nwhere they have no facilities for open worship. But that many of \nthe Roman clergy are among us is undeniable, and it is equally so \nthat the increase of Catholics among us, arising from immigration, has \nbeen truly unprecedented. That this increase, which is so dispro- \nportionate to that of other denominations, must still progress is clear- \nly evident, unless some cause shall arise to check the influence on \nwhich its success depends. And that a Catholic majority in our land \nmight speedily lead to an union of church and state, a brief consider- \nation of this branch of the subject will clearly shew. \n\nThe several republics which compose the American union, are \nmost of them founded on democratic principles. E^^ery citizen has \ntherefore the same weight and influence in the government. Popular \nas our institutions are, and guarded from innovation by the necessity \nof a constitutional majority, it is highly improbable and even absurd \nto suppose that the free spirit of our government could be entirely \nchanged unless by some great political convulsion. Such a change \ncould be effected only by physical force, which should disregard all \nlegal and constitutional restraints. A majority in numbers are there- \nfore equal to the commencement and successful termination of a po- \nlitical revolution, and such is human nature that unless controlled by \na military power they will always effect this, and institute a govern^ \nment of their own. Should the Catholics then obtain a bare majori- \nty in our country, they will of consequence be superior in physical \nforce, and be capable of overturning our government and substituting \nany other in its stead. \n\nThe Pope is the creature of Austria, and the willing tool of despo- \ntism. With a Catholic majority, he wonld direct and accomplish our \noverthrow. The command of Austria is but to be issued under the \nPapal seal, and it is readily obeyed by the votaries of Popery here. \nIf it should enjoin resistance to the civil magistrate, the catholic im- \nmigrant, prejudiced against our civil institutions, would obey it with \nalacrity, and even the true Catholic republican, if such an anomaly \nexists, would be constrained by his belief in the papal supremacy to \nobey the edict of the Roman Pontiff. Painful as it might be for men \nto act against what they believed to be the best interests of their \ncountry, there are few Catholics that would brave anathemas and ex- \ncommunications for the accomplishment of their dearest plans. The \nexperience of every age shows that there are many who dare to risk \nevery earthly good and even life itself, for the deliverance of their \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. 687 \n\ncountry from slavery, or its preservation from destruction. But his- \ntory also shews that there have been few, probably none, of those who \nwere true Catholics, that have dared to resist the encroachments and \nusurpations of the clergy or of the civil power, when consecrated \nand sanctioned by the Pope. Men often brave the power and the \nvengeance of their fellows ; but probably there has never lived one \nindividual who has truly believed in the existence and omnipotence \nof a God, that has resisted his commands and defied his vengeance. \nBut the Catholic acknowledges the Pope as the earthly vice-gerent \nof his God, and yields him the same obedience in conscience and in \naction, that he would yield to the visible Deity ; and to his ear the \npromulgated decrees, and the thunders of the Vatican sound as the \nvoice of God himself. This obedience to the Pope cannot be too \nstrongly insisted on, or too forcibly represented in all its bearings, for \nit has been a strong and efficient engine of papal power, and has of- \nten brought as humble penitents to the foot of the apostolic throne, \nthe most powerful kings and emperors of Europe. No cause can be \nassigned to restrain its operation on the Catholics among us ; immu- \ntability is written on the front of the Catholic edifice ; the creed of \nthe Catholic church has remained the same for more than a thousand \nyears, and the papal supremacy and the implicit obedience of the lai- \nty are now as they have been for ages its most important articles. \n\nThe power of the Roman pontiff to effect a revolution in our coun- \ntry being thus manifest, unless the present progress of Romanism be \nchecked, it cannot be doubted that he will at once avail himself of the \nadvantages which he shall possess, and endeavor to destroy our insti- \ntutions. Were personal inclination wanting, such are the relations of \nthe Pope with the Austrian Emperor, that he would willingly give \nhimself a ready instrument to the will of the imperial council. In the \nconclave of cardinals, by which the Pope is elected, the influence of \nAustria is superior to that of any other nation. The Pope is there- \nfore a creature of Austria, often an Austrian by birth, and connected \nwith the imperial despot by the strongest ties of gratitude, allegiance \nand interest. Besides this, Italy has recently attempted the restora- \ntion of her ancient republics, and as the frequent insurrections of the \npeople have been quelled, and quiet is now preserved by the interven- \ntion of Austrian troops, the Pope is dependent upon the Emperor for \nthe preservation of his dominions.* \n\n\n\n\xe2\x99\xa6 * Lest the charge often made in these chapters should seem gratuitous, of the Pope \nbeing the creature of Austria, and entirely subservient to the Imperial Cabinet, it may \n68 \n\n\n\n638 POPERYINTHE \n\nWhat the will and the intentions of Austria are in relation to our \ninstitutions, is perfectly evident. The means which the imperial \ncouncil have employed, the agents whom they have chosen, the plan \nwhich they have adopted and the success which has hitherto crowned \ntheir efforts, have been fully and extensively detailed in these pages ; \nand their future plans, and the fatal object at which all their power- \nful exertions are aimed rise upon the view clearly and distinctly. It is \nshewn that the enemy has already commenced the attack, and that \nthe extensive preparations for the war upon our liberties have already \nbeen made ; that his spies are traversing our country, and his agents \namong us are working the will of their imperial master ; that the at- \ntack upon our freedom has already commenced, and our enemies are \ndestructively at work in the very citadel of our liberties. \n\nYet such has been the secrecy of the agents of the Leopold Foun- \ndation in executing its designs, such the bold hypocrisy with which it \nhas disclaimed all political intentions, and professed that hs object \nwas exclusively of a religious nature, and such the specious appear- \nances vrhich have corroborated these false and Jesuitical professions, \nthat those who are most nearly concerned have been deceived, and \nstill slumber unconscious of the coming, and as long as this confidence \nof security exists, the inevitable danger which impends over them^ \nand their liberties. History records the sad fate of several cities of \nancient Italy, who laid their foundations on the bosom of a slumbering \nvolcano. At length, after a long period of quiet, dark volumes of \nsmoke began to roll from the mountains, the deep groaning of the \nearth sounded a loud alarum, and sulphuric fires illuminated the dark- \nness of night. But the citizens neglected these repeated warnings, \nand in a fatal hour the long pent volcanic flames burst forth \xe2\x80\x94 the \nmolten lava rolled in huge billows over the land ; and those cities \n\n\n\nbe as well t6 state that the writer was in Rome during the deliberations of the Con- \nclave, respecting the election of the present Pontiff. It was interesting to him to hear \nthe speculations of the Italians on the probability of thrs or that Cardinal\'s elec- \ntion. Couriers were daily arriving from the various despotic powers, an J intrigues were \nrife in thn anti-chambers of the Gluirinal palace ; now it was said that Spain would \ncarry her candidate, now Italy, and now Austrii, and when Cardinal Capelliai was pro- \nclaimed Pope, the universal cry, mixed with low^muttered curses, was that Austria had \nsucceeded. The new Pope had scarcely chosen his title of Gregory XVI. and passed \nthrough the ceremonies of coronation, before the revolution in his states, gave him the \nopportunity of calling in Austria to lake possession of the Patrimony of St. Peter, which \nhis own troops could not keep for an hour, and at this moment Austrian soldiers hold the \nRoman Legations in submission to the cabinet of Vienna. Is not the Pope a creature o^ \nAustria ?\' \xe2\x80\x94 Prof. Morse. \n\n\n\ni \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. 639 \n\n* now live but in story and in song.\' Their lamentable example \nmay warn us not to rest in fancied security, when the foundations of \nour polity are being consumed by hidden fires, and the destructive \nelements of our subversion are actively at work. \n\n\n\nC H A P T E R V. \n\nGeneral Apathy of the Jlmerican Churches on the Catholic Question-^ \nNecessity for its immediate removal \xe2\x80\x94 Danger of Procrastination \xe2\x80\x94 - \nDeleterious influence of intolerant Publications \xe2\x80\x94 Want of Authentic \nInformation \xe2\x80\x94 Manner in which it can be supplied \xe2\x80\x94 Investigation the \nduty of the Patriot and Christian, \n\nIt is of little benefit to man to know that he is surrounded by ene- \nmies, unless he has the means of counteracting their efforts. It is \nworse than useless to forewarn him of his danger if he will not em- \nploy the means which he has of averting the impending calamity, for \nin this case he is guilty of self-destruction, and what would have oth- \nerwise been his misfortune, becomes an aggravated crime. These \nreflections naturally arise from the consideration of the designs of \nRoman Catholicism in our land, and they force upon the mind the \nconsideration of the means of defeating the insidious designs of politi- \nco-religious despotism, and of rendering null that deadly attack which \nwe have but too surely seen has already commenced upon our insti- \ntutions. \n\nThe importance of this subject has not been exaggerated, nor can \nit be. The bare idea of a conspiracy of foreign despots and ecclesi^ \nastics being formed against our liberties, and uniting themselves in \na body cemented by the ties of bigotry, religion and policy, causes the \nmind to shrink back upon itself with real horror. But when facts \nare exhibited to the eye, and the means of our enemies are detailed \nwith the accurate certainty of arithmetical calculation, the mind is no \nlonger filled with vague and uncertain terrors \xe2\x80\x94 its fears are stamped \nwi:h certainty, and the triumph of our foes appears inevitable, unless \nthe consummation of their designs is speedily impeded. \n\nIt cannot be doubted that the American people can effectually \ncheck the progress of Popery among themselves, and thereby defeat \nthe political plans which are concealed under an ostensibly religious \ndesign. Nor can it be supposed that the few, when openly combat- \nted should prevail over the many, nor that when their object is fully \ndiscovered, a foreign priesthood can attain to that success which has \nhitherto attended upon secrecy and Jesuitical policy. In cases like \n\n\n\nU N I T E D S T A T E S. 641 \n\nthe one under\'present consideration, secrecy is essentially necessary \nto the successful execution of the plan, and exposure impedes its op- \nerations, and emasculates their vigor. Yet there are causes which \nwill tend to aid the designs of the Leopold Foundation, that now ex- \nist, and until the public mind shall have been changed, will still exist \namong us. Allusion has been made to some of these causes ; some \nof them have been discussed at length, and others have been reserved \nfor their more appropriate place. \n\nThe Christians of America are in a state of religious apathy in rela- \ntion to this subject. The precepts of the Gospel inculcate a spirit of \nkindness and charity to our fellow men ; but toleration among us \nhas lost its specific nature, and degenerated into indifference, which is \nnot only sinful in itself but highly dangerous. It leaves each sect \nfree from all scrutiny and without any immediate danger of the dis- \ncovery of its designs, however ambitious they may be. In the politi- \ncal world long and unvarying experience has shown that parties, as \nlong as they do not degenerate into faction, are highly beneficial to \nthe interests of the stale. They guard each other from obtaining an \nentire ascendancy, expose ambitious designs, and watch all attempts at \ninnovation with an active jealousy that is constantly stimulated by in- \nterest and fear. Thus should it be in the religious world. Each \nsect should indeed allow to all others freedom of faith, and the exer- \ncise of its pecuhar ecclesiastical polity ; but it should also watch all \ntheir operations with untiring carefulness. It should ever be ready \nto give the alarm, and to act in opposition to the endeavors of any \nsect ambitious of power or wealth. \n\nEspecially should this be the case where the natural tendency of \nany religious denomination is so clearly established as is that of Ro- \nman Catholicism by the testimony of all history. Other denomina- \ntions may change, but the infallibility to v/hich the Roman Church \npretends, involves it in many difficulties and absurdities, and renders \nit an exception to almost all general rules that apply to politics and re- \nligion. Yet we are apt to forget this, and in present security to lose \nsight ol the certain past and probable luture ; and if we think at all of \nwhat is to come, we anticipate naught but happiness and peace. We \nsuppose that because the Roman Catholics do not now persecute us, \nthey will never do so ; forgetting that although they may have the in- \nclination they have not now the power. We forget the terrors of the \ninquisition, the plains of Germany and France stained with the blood \nof Protestants, and the fires of Smithfield cease to glow in our memo- \n\n\n\n542 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nries. Reflection should teach us that the tiger may be chamed, but \nnot subdued, and that the spirit of Roman Catholicism is not changed, \nbut for a while suppressed. \n\nMany, too, v/ith that spirit of procrastination which is natural to \nman, and so often fatal to his peace, although they see the danger \nwhich threatens then civil and religious liberties are inclined to defer \nto some future period those energetic measures which should be ta- \nVen at once, and are disposed to repose in fancied security, until the \nictual struggle shall come. Inaction and irresolution are interwoven \n. n our nature ; but to oppose the progress of Popery their contraries \nare required in their highest perfection. Acuteness and close obser_ \nvation are necessary to detect the designs and the operating means of \nthe Leopold Foundation ; judgment and deliberation to devise plans \nof counteraction, and decision and untiring ability to carry them into \neffect. But such is the natural indolence of man, such his aversion \nto mental and physical action, that he will exert a wonderful ingenui- \nty in lulling his well founded fears to rest, wilHngly become the dupe \nof partial sophistry, and submit to voluntary blindness. We are often \nconvinced because we wish it \xe2\x80\x94 we believe because we hope. When \nthe mind has once become thus habituated to self-deception, truth can- \nnot, without great difficulty, produce conviction. If propositions are \nto be tested by argument, the reasoning powers of the mind are al- \nready warped ; if facts are presented, they are met with doubts, and \nfinally discredited, and without their proper effect. By this class of \nindividuals, who are very numerous, present action is deferred, and the \nfuture is left to contend with the dangers which hang over it ; nor could \nany probable motive be presented to rouse them from their present inac- \ntivity. They imitate in their lamentable self-delusion, the folly of \nthose, who, floating on a smooth and unrippled stream, approach the \nbrink of a cataract, and blindly neglect to provide for the future, un- \ntil they are whirled in the foaming eddy of dashing waters, and exer- \ntion is entirely unavailing. \n\nThere is yet another class of individuals, and those are by far the \nmost intelligent, who disbelieve that the cause of Popery is advancing \namong us. They acknowledge that the inevitable consequence of a \nRoman Catholic ascendancy, would be the downfall of our political \ninstitutions, and the establishment of a civil and rehgious despotism \nin our land. They admit that if the objects of the Leopold Founda- \ntion were such as they are represented to be, and the success of their \nplans as rapid and extensive as reported, the Christian world should \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES. 543 \n\nunite in preventing the consummation of their plans. But at the \nsame time they deny that any real danger exists from the Roman \nCatholics in our country , they admit the existence of the Leopold \nFoundation, and the despotic character of its Directory, but they will \nnot acknowledge that its object is any other than a religious one, nor \nwill they believe that Roman priests are able to make any considera- \nble number of proselytes in these United States. \n\nThis unhappy state of inciedulousness and ignorance, is the effect \nof several combined causes. The chief of these is the hostile influ- \nence of intolerant publications. There has never since the invention \nof printing been any subject of permanent interest to the public mind \nwhose discussion has not brought into existence a large number of \n\xe2\x80\xa2publications, relating to peculiar portions of history, to statistical de- \ntail, and to controversy. Religious polemics may date their origin \nfrom the era of the Reformation, and since that time they have raged \nwith extraordinary fury. Political contests, from their very nature, \nare transient, and expire w^ith the failure or success of a particular \nmeasure; but religious controversy weakens not with age \xe2\x80\x94 it strength- \nens by opposition, and becomes more enduring with the lapse of years. \nThe public mird having been once agitated with rehgious disputes, sei- \nzes with avidity, the food to which it has been accustomed, and de- \nvours it without taste or discrimination. This gives rise to great im- \nposition; for in all ages there havt, been those who are willing to \nprofit by the Nveaknesses and follies of their fellow men. In conse- \nquence, the press has ever teemed with controversial productions and \nextravagant narrations, which have been manufactured for the ex- \npre"ss purpose of pecuniary speculation, and calculated with almost \nmathematical precision, for the intellectual capacity of their readers^ \nThese publications have been universally remarkable for their alm.ost \nentire want of truth and candor, and for being written in a style of \nextravagant exaggeration and enthusiasm, which although it may add \nto the interest of the narration, is totally unsuited to the calm and so- \nber tone of impartial history. The success of such w^orks has gene- \nrally exceeded the anticipations of their publishers, for those who \npander for the gratification of the multitude are seldom unrewarded \nfor their venal abuse of virtue and truth. Yet among the intelligent \nthese publications have wrought infinite mischief. To them, their \ndisregard of truth has been apparent, and has not only caused them to \nbe discredited, but has also brought disgrace upon the cause of truth \nitself. The falsehood of some of these works has been manifest, and \n\n\n\n544 P O P E R Y 1 N T H E \n\nthose who have once judg\'ed of this class of publications, by one of \nthese pseudo-narratives, will be likely to reject the authentic history \nand the true relation, which will be supposed to be tales of the same \nspecies, but only put more artfully together. It is for this reason that \nthere are so many talented and well informed men in our country who \nare sceptics m regard to the designs and progress of Roman Catholi-^ \ncism in the United States. From an acquaintance with the general \ncharacter of these untrue incenoiary publications, they have found it \nalmost impossible to separate the false from the true, and as the safer \ncourse prefer to distrust and discredit the whole. Nor can blame be \nimputed to them for this error, though it may eventually be productive \nof the most fatal consequences. The evil is chargeable upon those \nwho have given currency to palpable falsehoods, and have so artfully \nmingled authentic narrative with fabulous narration, as to have pro- \nduced such confusion in history as can be reduced to order and truth \nonly by those who have time and opportunity for deep and learned \ninvestigation. \n\nThus these extravagant and intolerant publications, though they \nmay deeply prejudice the common mind, have none but an unfavora- \nble effect upon the intelligent ; they cause the vulgar to credit fables, \nand the learned to reject facts. In relation to the present subject, \nthey have produced an alarming state of ignorance in regard to the \nmeans and the prospects of Popery in our land for those authentic \nstatistical publications which have been scattered through the country \nfor the purpose of diffusing knowledge on this subject, have been but \nlittle read, and less credited, and from this cause also has arisen that \nalmost utter indifference to the progress of Romanism which so gene- \nrally prevails ; for men are prone to disregard what they believe to be \nimpotent and insignificant. While, therefore, the Roman Catholics \nare considered a sect that ranks among the weakest in point of num- \nber and wealth, and has as yet hardly obtained a foothold on our soil, \nit cannot be expected that men will endeavor to prevent the increase \nof a denomination from which no danger is to be appehended. That \nthis is the prevalent idea in relation to the Roman Catholics is amply \nproved by the experience of every day ; they are regarded as a peace- \nable class of Christians who have left behind them in the old world the \nspirit of intolerance and persecution, and have here, in a land of liber- \nty, became at once imbued with the true spirit of the Gospel, and are \nfilled with peace and good will towards all men. That this view is er- \nroneous is undoubted; but to convince the more intelligent portion of \n\n\n\nUNITEDS TAXES. 646 \n\nchristians that this is the case, is from the effect of the causes which \nhave been considered, a task of no small difficulty. \n\nThere are yet others, who perceive the full extent of the growing \nevil, and are entirely convinced of the true spirit of Popery, and can \ndiscover its deformity under the most impenetrable disguise. These \nhave been instructed by the voice of history, and have not forgotten \nthe loud warnings which yet echo in their ears. But with the most \nperfect conviction of the tendency of Roman Catholicism, and with \na knowledge of its designs in our country, they are yet unable to de- \nvise means for counteracting its operations, and to expose it in its \ntrue character to the world. The machinations of the Leopold \nFoundation are well known to them, they are acquainted with the \ncharacter of its secret emissaries, and can trace their progress from \nstation to station through the United States. They have received \nfull and autheutic accounts of the pecuniary appropriations which \nhave been made to sustain Catholic missionaries in our land ; and \nthey have often, by fortunate accidents been put in possession of re- \nports from the Catholic clergy here, to their employers abroad. \nWith a knowledge of these facts, and with the sad lessons of history \nbefore them, the conviction has forced itself indelibly upon their \nminds, that the Roman Catholics are from the nature and the spirit \nof their religion the enemies of our government; that their increase \nin numbers is sought by the despots of Europe as the means of its \nsubversion ; that if they should ever obtain a majority, our free insti- \ntutions would be at once overthrown ; and finally, that if their pres- \nent rapid progress is not impeded by vigorous exertions, their ultimate \nsuccess is inevitable. \n\nNo condition could possibly be more fatal to the happiness of a pa- \ntriot and a christian ; it is similar to that of him who is the victim of \nsome deep seated disease, which baffles at once the knowledge and \nthe remedies of the medical art, but whose progress, though slow, is \ncertain, and whose fatal consummation, though it may be remote, is \ninevitable. It is as though we were tasting of the sweets of happi- \nness and liberty, with the certain knowledge that the cup might at \nthe next moment be dashed from our lips, or tilled to overflowing \nwith the waters of bitterness. Providence has benevolently veiled \nfrom our knowledge the secrets of the future; but in view of this sub- \nject the curtain appears to be raised, and the subversion of our dear- \nest rights and privileges to be clearly disclosed. Yet the remedy is \n\n69 \n\n\n\n\xc2\xab46 \n\n\n\nPOPERY IN THE \n\n\n\nobvious, and the success of Roman Catholic despotism appears to be \nas certain as its designs are hypocritical and insidious. \n\nAt this stage of the consideration of this subject, the inquiry arises, \nwhether the designs of Roman Catholic emissaries against our liber- \nties are necessarily successful; whether they are not like all other \nhuman designs liable to be impeded in their execution by strenuous \nopposition; and whether they may not be rendered entirely nugatory, \nand even made to react disa<lvantageously upon their promoters, if \ncounteracted by equal exertions. These considerations here rise nat- \nurally and in their proper order: the interest that foreign despots have \nin the overthrow of our free institutions; their avowed determination \nto effect it; the institution of the Leopold Foundation as the means of \nthis overthrow; the arrival of its emissaries in our land; their opera- \ntions among us; their success and their demoniac exultation in con- \nsequence of it, have been detailed and proved with a clearness and \ncertainty that are rarely a.ttainable by the essayist or the historian. \nThe probability of defeating these projects of despotism, now therefore \nremains for discussion, and from its importance demands attentive \nconsideration. \n\nIt has already been observed that one great cause of the success \nwhich Roman Catholicism has hitherto experienced in our country, \nwas the secrecy of its operations. Secrecy was the motto of the Jes- \nuits, and this principle alone was the basis of their power. From the \nJesuits, the emissaries of the Leopold Foundation are selected; an(J \nthey are men too wise, and too well skilled in policy, to throw aside \nthe means and v/eapons to which they hB.ve become accustomed by- \nuse, and whose power is amply exhibited in the recorded history of \nthe last three centuries. They are men who, although they have \ntransferred their allegiance and their services to the Leopold Directo- \nry, are still, and ever must be Jesuits, in the widest acceptation of the \nterm; and this word alone conveys to the instructed mind an idea of \nall that is artful and unscrupulous in policy, together with the utmost \npromptitude, perseverance and untiring exertion in execution. The \none universal principle of the order, that the means are justified by \nthe end, shews that the whole body, without exception, may, for the \nadvancement of policy, make use of the most wicked means ; and his- \ntory, as far as it throws any light upon the subject, also shows that \nthey have not in any recorded instance scrupled so to do. This want \nof principle in the employment of means, joined to the unparalleled \nsecrecy which they have used in their application, in the old world \n\n\n\nU N I T E D S T A T E S. 547 \n\nrendered the Jesuits the most formidable body of men, whether con- \nsidered as forming a political or religious institution, that is mentioned \nin the annals of time. From these two causes, but principally from \nsecrecy, we have most to apprehend. Evidently an unknown design \ncannot be defeated except by mere accident ; nor can an unknown \nagent be rendered powerless unless by a like casualty. From what \nhas been said it therefore follows, that if means can be devised to raise \nthe veil which has hitherto blinded the eyes of Christian eommunities \nin the United States, it would, in a great degree, weaken the plans, \nand enervate the powers of the Leopold Roman Catholic Foundation. \nAnd that this is the only primary means to be employed for this pur- \npose, is equally evident. \n\nThat this veil of secrecy can be entirely removed is not to be doubt- \ned. It is comparatively easy to detect what we already strongly sus- \npect, and where human ingenuity is opposed to human sagacity, there \nare {ew and probably none who can conceal from detection the real \nobject of their endeavors. A slight accident may betray the most \ncomplicated system, and a fiingle instance of momentary carelessness \nderange the nicest political machinery. But in a system so vast and \ninvolved as that devised by the Leopold Foundation, whose directing \ncenter is so remote from the field of its operations, whose communi- \ncations with it are so liable to interruption by accident, whose secrets \nare necessarily confided to the confidence of so many minor agents, and \nare therefore liable to be exposed by casualty, carelessness and \ntreachery, it is rot wonderful that many extraordinary facts have \ncome to light, which, taken together, and considered in connection in \nall their bearings, have developed the plot, and proved its objects \nwith all the certainty that could be desired. Yet these facts have fall- \nen under the observation of but few, and by those these discoveries \nhave been made at the expense of long study and close scrutiny. A \nboastful report published by authority in the Austrian Empire, an in- \ntercepted letter, and a threat from an enraged papist have not been with- \nouttheir value ; and indeed, pride and anger, in this instance as in many \nothers, have been more fatal to the studied secrecy of the designs of the \nLeopold Foundation, than the operation of any other cause, it has \nbeen necessary to make use of a variety of facts, somic of them appa- \nrently of a very trivial nature, yet remotely of importance, and each \nforming a part of that unbroken chain which binds together ihc ir.ass \nof argument that weighs with the force of conviction Men of learn- \ning have opened correspondence with each other from the most re- \n\n\n\n548 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nmote portions of the Union; and their united observations and indus- \ntry has collected a mass of curious facts so similar and concordant, \nthat they are indisputably the like effect of the same systematic cause. \nMany of these facts and circumstances have been already fully de- \ntailed; and the great and important conclusions vi^hich they have \ntended to establish have been clearly and distinctly stated. To re- \ncapitulate them here would be to repeat what has already been else- \nwhere detailed in its natural order; and to endeavor to substantiate \ntheir truth in this place would imply a doubt that enough had been al- \nready said to command our conviction. It suffices to say that the \ntruth has disclosed itself to those who have devoted themselves to its \ninvestigation, and through their instrumentality is finally presented to \nthe world. In connection with the designs and progress of the Leo- \npold Foundation in our country, a series of other facts has been dis- \ncovered which are well worthy of the attention of the statesman and \nphilanthropist; and political causes have been found at work in the \nbosom of our republic, which, unless restrained in their operation must \nultimately work great injury, and perhaps prove destructive to our lib- \nerties. Yet as these causes are not immediately connected with the \nsubject under present consideration, they have been alluded to only \nincidentally, and those facts only have been fully stated, which have \nhad a direct bearing upon the history of the designs and tendency of \nRoman Catholicism in the United States. \n\n\n\nC H A P T E R V I. \n\nJsTecessity of a change in the Religious Feelings of Community \xe2\x80\x94 ToU" \nration carried too far by American Christians-^-JHeans of awakening \nchurches to Vigilance\xe2\x80\x94 Organization of an Anti- Catholic Society \xe2\x80\x94 \nIts system and operations \xe2\x80\x94 Home JMissions \xe2\x80\x94 The Press \xe2\x80\x94 Foundation \nof Colleges \xe2\x80\x94 Probable effects of this Plan \xe2\x80\x94 Conclusion, \n\nThe first step necessary to be taken before any thing of importance \ncan be successfully accomplished, to arrest the progress of Romanism in \nthis Republic, is to rouse the public mind, and effectually awaken it \nfrom its present slumber and fatal dream of fancied security. The \nstate of apathy in regard to this subject which so generally prevails \namong christians of all denominations has been already described ; \nthe causes to which it may be directly referred have been fully dis- \ncussed, and nothing now remains for particular consideration, but \nthe means which are to be employed to effect a change in the pub- \nlic mind. This can be produced by nothing but a plain and can- \ndid statement of well authenticated facts, and by fair, logical, and \ndispassionate argument ; for false statements and gross sophistry, when \nonce detected produce not conviction, but indifference and disgust. \nReason and passion cannot consist; men give to the enthusiast full \ncredit for sincerity, indeed, but with reason are apt to suspect \nhim of credulity and to distrust his judgment ; and for this very rea- \nson warmth and excitement should be discarded from the publications \nproduced by religious controversy. An exhibition of sectarian spirit \nwill bring discredit upon the most authentic relation of facts, and \ntherefore a spirit of candor, impartiality and truth should not only in \nreality exist, but manifest itself even in the language and tone of the \nwriter on this subject ; until, therefore, publications relating to this \nsubject shall have entirely changed their nature, and become calm, \ndispassionate, candid, tolerant, and christian in their spirit, and cor- \nrect and credible in their statements, it cannot be presumed that they \nwill produce any favorable effect upon unprejudiced and impartial \nminds. \n\nYet it is not easy to devise means to effect so important and radi- \ncal a change in works of this nature ; indeed it would probably be \n\n\n\n650 POPERYINTHE \n\nimpossible to prevent their coin position and publication. But a class \nof publications might be introduced into society whose character \nwould be such as is requisite in such works ; bearing upon their title \npages the names of men of worth, learning, and talent, and stamped \nwith character and authority by the recommendations of men cele- \nbrated for purity and candor. They should give undisputable author- \nity for the statement of facts, and throughout preserve that openness \nand candor which it is so difficult to counterfeit, and which are inju- \nrious to falsehood only. They should be mild and charitable in their \ntone, and avoid in their slightest manifestation, bigotry and intoler- \nance. Such a class of publications would be remarkable for their \nrespectability, and would, in every particular, strongly and ad- \nvantageously contrast with the fictitious and extravagant works \nwhich load the shelves of speculating publishers. Should such a \nchange be ever effected, and such publications diffused over the land \nthe prevailing apathy would at once disappear as if touched with the \npotent magic wand of truth. Men will start at once from their men- \ntal lethargy, when that is forced upon their attention clad in the real- \nity of truth, which they now regard as the chimera of bigotry, or the \nstimulated fantasy of enthusiasm. This then is all that appears to be \nnecessary to produce the desired change in the public mind, and to \ngive to works on Roman Catholicism that character, respectability, \nand consequent authority which are so necessary to works on other \nless important subjects. That the means of effecting this, to which \nallusion has already been made, are adequate, experience has already \nm some measure shewn; for in a few, though almost isolated instances \nworks of standard authority have been given to the world. And that \nthe desired revolution can in a comparatively short time be effected, \nmay rationally be hoped, since its necessity is not only perceived, \nhut openly avowed by the more learned and pious among the clergy \nand laity. \n\nIt being then presumed that the attention of the public generally, \nand especially of Christians will be speedily turned to this subject, \nand it is equally certain that a conviction of the necessity of action \nmust follow, the important inquiry at once arises, what are the means \nto be employed, and the course to be pursued in order to thwart the \npresent success of the plans of Popery, and indirectly, of despotism \nin the United States, and thereby render impossible the designs of \nimperial tyranny upon our liberties. \n\nThe progress of the world in civilization, and the prevalence of the \n\n\n\nUNITED STATES. 561 \n\ntrue spirit of the gospel has changed the character of the relations \nwhich diiferent Christian denominations formerly sustained towards \neach other, and by consequence their mutaal toleration has been \ngreatly advanced. Formerly, and especially at that period, immedi- \nately subsequent to the Reformation by Luther, the idea of toleration \nwas considered an heretical absurdit}^ ; and the reasoning by which \nits practice was controverted, although now its pernicious fallacy can \nbe easily exposed by vulgar mediocrity, was then considered unan- \nswerable, and founded on true construction of the Scriptures. This \nfierce spirit of sectarian intolerance, raged with unextinguishable ar- \ndor in the breasts of the most pious and virtuous men of the age ; \nand the natural and indeed the unavoidable consequence was, that \nfor differences of opinion which were merely technical, all the vari- \nous Christian sects and denominations, with equal rage and piety de- \nvoted their polemical opponents to the flames. But time has buried \nthis absurdity ; and with the single, and therefore the more remark- \nable exception of the Roman Catholics, all Christian denominations \nhave concurred in adopting the precept of Christ enjoining us \' to \ndeal kindly with our brethren\' as one of the fundamental maxims of \ntlieir policy. \n\nThis principle of toleration now extends so far that no other means \nof checking the progress of false doctrines are sought to be employed,, \nthan the means of argument and rational conviction. In the United \nStates in particular, this beautiful theory has been demonstrated to be- \nsuccessfully practicable. Among us, no one particular sect can \nboast that it is sustained by the strong arm of the law, and that its \nsystem and peculiar policy is interwoven with that of the government \nand encouraged by its special approbation ; and thus no denomina- \ntion could constrain those of a different creed by physical com- \npulsion if it wished so to do. Thus the very genius of our country is \nunfavorable to intolerance, and extends a protecting hand to all re- \nligious sects alike. Nor is the principle of toleration adopted by each \nsect, the dictate of selfishness alone ; it is with them more than a \nmatter of mere policy, it is a principle founded on the precepts, and \nimbued with the spirit of Christianity itself ; and although it may not \nbe expressly insisted on as an article of faith, it may yet be regarded \nas a tenet com.mon to all Protestant denominations. Such being the \nfeelings of Christian communities on this subject, the project of sup\xc2\xab \npressing Roman Catholicism by the terrors of legal penalties, or by \nphysical force, even if it were practicable, would be at^once rejected \n\n\n\n552 POPERYINTHE \n\nwith horror. But were it otherwise, policy would discourage the use \nof such means ; for it has ever been found that persecution is entire- \nly inadequate to suppress the most pernicious heresy ; that it only \n"adds vigor to weakness, and obstinacy to error ; and that by identify- \ning the cause of delusion with that of suffering humanity, it often \ngives to it an increase of popularity, and throws a shade upon truth \nitself. Happily however, such an expedient would never be proposed \nin our country ; and other means must therefore be devised, or none \ncan be successfully employed. \n\nThe most probable means of successfully opposing the progress of \nRoman Catholicism in the United States, consists in voluntary asso- \nciations among the various Protestant denominations. The results \nthat have been produced by associations of individuals for the accom- \nplishment of a given object, have indeed been extraordinary. The \nwonderful success of Christian missions in foreign lands, the aboli- \ntion of negro slavery in the British dominions, and the advancement \nof the temperance reformation in our own land may be numbered a- \nmong its grand consequences. It acts by moral means, but its ef- \nfects are not the less certain and important. It operates silently but it \nappeals to the judgment, and its success is such as physical force and \ncompulsion could never produce. \n\nAn organization among the different sects might easily be effected, \nand without difficulty sustained. Such associations as the one propo- \nsed already exist for other purposes, and their duration has been pro- \ntracted beyond all expectation. There is no obstacle to the desired \nunion ; the almost total want\'of bitter sectarian feeling which is so \nremarkably observable in the United States, and the sympathy and \nChristian unity which have arisen in its stead, all conduce directly to \nthis object ; and nothing seems wanting but the attention of the pub- \nlic mind to this subject ; and an efficient organized action by means \nof a general society. Such a society would require an inflexible sys- \ntem for its operations, and to be reduced to the same order and regu- \nlarity which are necessary to the existence of similar institutions. It \nshould possess an efficient executive, and an active and intelligent di- \nrectory ; and have under its control a well filled treasury. In this \nstate it would be ready for active operation. Should an association \nof this nature ever be formed, truth, and even policy would require \nthat its objects and means should be fairly stated to the world. The \ncause of truth needs not to be supported by deceptiun, and candor \nin a public undertaking can be prejudicial to the interests of error on- \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. 553 \n\nly. The world should be explicitly informed that to check the in- \ncrease of Roman Catholics, and to diffuse light throughout the land is \nto be the object of the institution, and that through these the preser- \nvation of our liberties is contemplated as the remote effect. This \nopen declaration would cause fear to none but to the Catholics \nthemselves, while to the friends of liberty and enlightened Christian- \nity it would bring a bright promise of lasting benefits to the human \nrace. A declaration of this nature, determined, yet temperate in its \ntone, Protestant, yet not bigoted, and an ti- Catholic, yet not unchris- \ntian, would rank among the most celebrated productions to which \nthe exigencies of affairs have ever given rise, and even with that pa- \nper which sealed our existence as an independent nation. Having \nthus publicly professed its object, and arranged its plan, the society \nshould then proceed to immediate and efficient operation. \n\nProbably the most successful mode that could be devised for coun- \nteracting the plans of the Leopold Foundation, would be to pursue \nthe same course which it has adopted, and on which it is acting by \nmeans ot its numerous agents. The probable result of such a policy \nis obvious ; for if measures which are attempted are opposed by \ncounter-measures equally well devised, and as well supported in their \nexecution, and devised too, with a perfect knowledge of what is ne- \ncessary for the purpose, it is evident that the original plan cannot pos- \nsibly be productive of any important or permanent advantage to its \ncontrivers. \n\nBut in the present instance, this course, however specific and ben- \neficial it might be as a remedy, cannot be thoroughly pursued without \na violation of the fundamental principles of truth and morality. \nIt cannot be supposed that the Protestant cause will ever be necessi- \ntated for its support, to adopt the Jesuitical policy of its bitter ene- \nmies, the Romanists ; and it is equally absurd to believe that the pious \nclergy who exercise a peculiar influence over the laity of their respec- \ntive denominations, would ever countenance such an adoption. It \nwould pre-suppose a recklessness of principle, and an almost utter \ndestitution of morality, such as are not common, at least among the \nProtestant clergy ; nor can it ever be effected until the Protestants \nrecognize as true the fundamental principles inculcated by the disci- \nples of Loyola, that the end justifies the means. The agency of se- \ncret missions and of intriguing emissaries would therefore be con- \nsidered unworthy of the cause, and improbable to be adopted by \na general society of the proposed nature, should such an association \n\n70 \n\n\n\n554 POPERYINTHE \n\never be organized. And in the rejection of those means which are the \npeculiar effects of the system of Jesuitism, would the poHcy and the \noperations of the Protestants differ from those of the Leopold Direc- \ntory. Openness and dissembling- secrecy would therefore be oppo- \nsed to each other, candor to hypocrisy, and truth to falsehood. \n\nThe first great means to be employed is the press. The art of \nprinting is the most powerful moral agent that ever has influenced the \nminds of communities and nations ; and its triumphs are more splen- \ndid than those of arms. It was this which so rapidly and permanent- \nly advanced the Protestant Reformation ; and it has ever been the \nready and efficient friend of liberty and truth. It has indeed also \nlent its influence to falsehood and religious deception, but with a dis- \nadvantage plainly perceptible, and an effect which from the very na- \nture of the case, has always been feeble and transient. It must ever \nbe thus ; for error and falsehood are always ultimately detected and \nexposed, and by this art their confusion is perpetuated. The estab- \nlishment of presses for the publication of periodicals and other works \nexclusively devoted to this subject, and filled with authentic facts in \nrelation to it, should therefore be the first care of the supposed institu- \ntion. The advantages of such publications are too obvious to need \nrecapitulation or illustration ; and the diffusion of correct and recent \nknowledge is evidently highly important to the success of the plan. \nStandard publications embracing the subjects of Roman Catholic his- \ntory, religious statistics and controversy, would also be necessary, and \nwould contribute greatly to enlighten the minds of the people, and \nprepare them to aid in accomplishing the proposed result. A series \nof popular treatises in the form of tracts might also with advantage be \ndistributed through the land, and succeed in drawing the attention of \nindividuals to this, as they have already done to kindred subjects. \nTogether with these another class of publications might be employed \nwhose effect would not be less favorable. Nothing is more injurious \nto a theory, or a religious sect than an exposure of its enormities and \nabsurdities ; and for this reason a series of works comprehending the \nhistory of various Roman Catholic councils, the lives of some of the \nPopes, and an account of scholastic theology, drawn up and com- \nmented upon by able writers, would subserve an important purpose. \nIn connection with these, works of avowed and canonized Roman \nCatholic authorship should be published, such as the various creeds ; \nthe bulls of Popes ; the constitutions of various orders of religious \nmonks ; fotms of anathema, excommunications, indulgence, and ab- \n\n\n\nU N 1 T E D S T A T E S. 555 \n\nsolution; Roman Catholic legends, and lives of the Saints ;* accounts \nof modern Roman Catholic miracles, ceremonies and sentences of pe- \nnance. The dark ages produced innumerable works, which, though \nthe composition of highly venerated Catholic Saints, are yet too gross- \nly fabulous, and often too indecent for the credulity and refined taste \nof the present day ; so that those very works which once wrought \ninfinite honor to the Roman Church, now reflect upon it only ridicule \nand contempt. Men may read a pious and extravagant legend with \nthe same pleasure that they would derive from the perusal of a ro- \nmance of the age of chivalry ; but when called upon to give it that \ncredence which is due to revelation only, they reject it with disgust. \nWorks of the specified nature, if given to the world and bearing^upon \nthemselves all the authority that can be derived from the sanction of \nthe Pope, will therefore contribute greatly to overthrow those doc- \ntrines whose offspring they are, and which they were intended to \nstrengthen. \n\n* \' Those wild, ludicrous, but often stupid histories entitled Legends, are said to have \noriginated in the following circumstance. \n\nBefore colleges were established in the monasteries where the schools were held, the \nprofessors in rhetoric frequently gave then- pupils the life of some saint for a trial of their \ntalent at amphfication. The students, being constantly at a loss to furnish out their pa- \nges, invented most of these wonderful adventures. Jortin observes, that the Christians \nused to collect out of Ovid, Livy, and other pagan poets and historians, the miracles and \nportents to be found there, and accommodated them to their own monks and saints. The \ngood fathers of that age, whose simplicity was not inferior to their devotion, were de- \nlighted with these miraculous compositions ; not imagining that, at some distant period, \nthey would become matters of faith. Yet, when James de Voragine, Peter Nadal, and \nPeter Ribadeneira, wrote the lives of the saints, they sought for their materials in the li- \nbrarieg of the monasteries ; and, awakening from the dust these manuscripts of amplifica- \ntion, imagined they made an invaluable present to the world, by laying before them these \nvolumnious absurdities. The people received these pious fictions with all imaginable \nsimplicity, and as the book is adorned with a number of cuts, these miracles were per- \nfectly intelligible to their eyes. Tillemont, Fleury, Baillet,Launoi, and BoUandus, clear- \ned away much of the rubbish; the enviable title of Golden Legend, by which James de \nVoragine called his work, has been disputed ; iron or lead might more aptly express the \ncharacter ol this folio. \n\n* Baronius has given the lives of many apocryphal saints ; for instance, of a saint Xino- \nris, whom he calls a martyr of Antioch ; but it appears that Baronius having read in \nChrysostom this loord, which signifies a couple or pair, he mistook it for the name of a \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2Saint, and contrived to give the most authentic biography of a saipt that never existed ! \nThe Catholics confess this sort of blunder is not uncommon, but then it is only fools who \nlaugh/ As a specunsn of the happier inventions, one is given, embellished by the dic- \ntions of Gibbon \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\'Among the insipid legends of ecclesiastical history, I am tempted to distinguish the \nmemorable fable of the Seven Sleepers, whose imaginary date corresponds with the reign \nof the younger Theodosius, and the conquest of Africa by the Vandals, \xc2\xa5/hen the Em- \n\n\n\n566 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nAnother means to be employed is home missions. Societies for \nforeign missions have been in successful operation for many years - \nbut it is not until recently that missionaries have been sent to the re- \nmote and destitute portions of our own land. These latter have not \nbeen in existence for a sufficient length of time to afford means of \npredicting their success with entire certainty \xe2\x80\x94 but there is no appa- \nrent obstacle to the complete accomplishment of their design. Such \nmissions so far as they have been carried into effect, have been more \nformidable to the cause of Romanism than all other causes combined i \nthe simplicity, the self-denial, and above all, the candor of the Prot- \nestant missionaries have contrasted strongly with the formalities, the \narrogance, and the craftiness of the Roman clergy, and have favora- \nbly affected the minds of those whom the ministers of each religion \nhave endeavored to convert. Home missionaries seem, therefore, \nagents peculiarly well fitted for this v/ork, and by their presence on \nthe field of action, are capable of rendering important services to the \ncause of Protestantism and true Christianity. If their respective lo- \ncal stations, and those of the Roman Catholic missionaries are the \nsame, as they evidently should be, the two religions will conre at once \ninto collision ; controversy v/ill be the inevitable result \xe2\x80\x94 and from en- \nlightened religious controversy the Protestants have every thing to \nhope, and the Romanists every thing to fear. \n\n\n\nperor Decius persecuted the Christians, several notable youths of Ephesus concealed \nthemselves in a spacious cavern on !he side of an adjacen\' mountain ; where they were- \ndoomed to perish by the tyrant, who gave orders that the entrance should be firmly secu- \nred u ith a pile of stones. They im mediately fell into a deep slumber, which was mirac- \nulously prolongs d wit;:0Ut inju/ing the powers of life, durinji a period of one hundred \nand eighty-seven years. At the end of that ime the slaves of Adoliiis, to whom the in- \nheritance of the mountain had descended, removed the stones to supply materials for \nsome rustic edifice. The light of the sun darted into the cavern, and the Seven Sleepers \nwere permitted to awake. After a slumber ar they thought of a few hour?, they were \npressed by the calls of hunger ; and resolved that J^mblichus, one of their number, \nshould return to the city to purchase bread for the use of his companions. The youth, if \nwe may still employ that appellation, could no longer recognize the once familiar aspect \nof his native country ; and his surprise was increased by the appearance of a large cross \ntriumphantly erected over the principal gate ot Ephesus. His singular dress and obso- \nlete language confounded the baker, to whom he offered an ancient medal of Decius as \nthe current coin of the empire, and Jamblichus, on the suspicion of a secret treasure, was \ndrao-<7ed before the judge. Their mutual inquiries produced the amazing discovery, that \ntwo centuries were almost elapsed since Jambichus and his friends had escaped from ihe \nrase of a Pagan tyrant. The bishop of Ephesus, the clergy the magistrates, the people^ \nand, it is sail, the Emperor Theodosius himself, hastened to visit the cavern of the Seven \nSleepers\xe2\x80\x94 who bestowed their benediction, related their story, and at the same instant \npeaceably expired.\'\xe2\x80\x94 D\'/srae^j" \n\n\n\nU N 1 T E D S T A T E S. 667 \n\nSecret political emissaries have ever been the favorite tools of Jes- \nuitism ; and a favorable result is to be expected from the labors of \nthose whose mission is avowed and whose object is the diffusion of \nlight, and not the increase of darkness. Home missions, then, should \nbe the cherished means of the Protestants in accomplishing the propo- \nsed result. Men are required who are endowed with learning and \ntalents, but who are not destitute of worldly cunning, and have ac- \nquired that sagacity which is the fruit of experience only. The cause \nalso demands the sacrifice of many of the enjoyments of life \xe2\x80\x94 but the \nprotestant ranks abound in men every way qualified and willing to \nforego all earthly pleasures for the advancement of so noble an object. \nNothing more would be wanting but the means of supporting such \nmissions, and these would be found in the treasury of the supposed \nassociation of united Protestants. \n\nThe foundation of colleges, and theological and primary schools, \nwould be a prominent feature in the plan for the check of Roman \nCatholicism. College should be placed by the side of college, and \nschool with school ; and where the Roman Catholics offer gratuitous \ninstruction, the Protestants should do the same ; and thereby prevent \ntheir enemies from obtaining any advantage that might otherwise re- \nsult to them from an ostentatious appearance of liberality. From such \ninstitutions would flow not only religious knowledge and the pure \nlight of Christianity, but also general science and education ; and \nthus, although instituted for a particular purpose, such colleges and \nschools will be productive of other great benefits to the world. \n\nIf the proposed plan be adopted, and these means steadily pursued, \nit cannot be doubted that they will ultimately be attended with \ncomplete success. They seem to be the very means which the \nnature of Roman Catholicism and its designs among us require. The \ndiffusion of general education is what the Romanists have most to \ndread ; and the exposure of the designs of the Leopold Foundation \nwill operate far to render them of no effect. In the event of a suc- \ncessful organization among the Protestant denominations for the pur- \npose of checking the progress cf Roman Catholicism in the United \nStates, a fairer scene would soon greet the eye of the Christian phi- \nlanthropist, and a different state of religious feeling would soon arise. \nMen of all ranks and conditions of life, and of all the various Chris- \ntian sects would unite in one general opinion of the character of the \nLeopold Foundation, and agree in appreciating the pernicious nature \nof its operations in the United States. The prevaiHng indifference \n\n\n\n558 P P E R Y I N T H E \n\nwould cease \xe2\x80\x94 men would review the progress of the Roman church, \nand as its past history inspired a feeling of horror, its increasing \nstrength among us would cause present fear. Correct knowledge on \nthis subject would be diffused over the land \xe2\x80\x94 men would then be able \nto deduce conclusions with more certainty, for their data would be \ninfinitely more true. The cause of humanity would also be rapidly \nadvanced \xe2\x80\x94 benevolent institutions would arise and obtain a perma- \nnent establishment, which after the immediate object of their founda- \ntion was accomplished, would still remain in operation ; and thus the \njustly founded fears of community would give that assistance to the \ncause of philanthropy and religion which mere benevolence would \nnever afford. \n\nNor are these effects the only ones which would result from such \ninstitutions. Roman Catholicism would be stripped of the garb with \nwhich our indifference and its own hypocrisy have clothed it \xe2\x80\x94 it would \nnot appear to have changed its nature and softened its harsh and in- \ntolerant features as many suppose that it has, nor would its opera- \ntions in our country be ascribed merely to a spirit of Christian benev- \nolence \xe2\x80\x94 but it would exhibit the growing delormities of more than \na thousand years \xe2\x80\x94 in its nature stern, intolerant and bloody, and from \nits recent designs among us, it would be clearly revealed the implaca- \nble enemy of our liberties. A reaction would take place, which \nwould not only defeat the immediate plans of the Romanists, but \nwould load the Catholic cause and its agents with an increasing \nweight of opprobrium and unpopularity, such as would impede its \noperations and render them ineffectual. It would receive such a \ncheck as would in the event determine its existence ; it might exist \namong us as a religion for many years \xe2\x80\x94 but it would gradually decline \nin numbers, and finally, Hke French Jacobinism, be known among us \nonly by name. Such was the history of Roman Catholicism in Eng- \nland \xe2\x80\x94 from the reign of Henry the Eighth to that of the Second \nCharles its numbers continually decreased, and its altars were dese- \ncrated \xe2\x80\x94 the mad bigotry of James the Second, threw upon it an infi- \nnite weight of public opprobrium, and it was in fact exterminated from \nthe land ; and not until recently has it revived under the fostering \nprotection of experimental laws. And as from like causes we may \npredicate like effects, it may be affirmed as with demonstrable cer- \ntainty, that a Protestant organization of societies for the specified ob- \nject, pursuing a plan of efficient operations of the proposed nature, \nwould not only defeat the designs of Romanism among us, but also \n\n\n\nUNITEDSTATES. 659 \n\nendanger, and eventually terminate the existence of American Popery. \nOn the other hand if we neglect the repeated warnings which have \nbeen so providentially afforded to us \xe2\x80\x94 if we supinely indulge in pleas- \nant anticipations of the perpetuity of our noble and free institutions, \nwhile we suffer the work of their destruction to go on \xe2\x80\x94 the triumph \nof Romanism, and through it ot Imperial Despotism, appears as inev- \nitable as its consequences would be tremendous. Our present equal \nlaws would be abrogated \xe2\x80\x94 our constitutions subverted, and the rights \nof freemen denied to our citizens. Roman Catholicism would be \nestabhshed by law as the religion of the land \xe2\x80\x94 the despotism of the \nold world would be transplanted to America, and perhaps in \nthe very capitol of our republic an emperor would promulgate his im- \nperial mandates, and the myrmidons of a Papal Pontiff howl forth \ntheir anathemas and excommunications. A long and dark night of \nPopery would settle down on our land, and the American republic \nwould I epose in the same tomb with the old republics, whose epU \ntaph is *\' they were, but are not !" \n\n\n\nSKETCHOFTHE LIVES \n\n\n\nOF THE \n\n\n\nPOPES OF ROME, \n\n\n\ne\xc2\xab^MMENCING ACCORDING TO CATHOLIC HISTORIANS, WITH ST. PE- \nTER, WHO IS CLAIMED AS THE FOUNDER OF THE \nPAPAL CHURCH. \n\n\n\nL St. Peter, was crucified at Rome, with his head downwards, and \nwas buried near the Vatican, in the Aurelian way, not far from the \ngardens of Nero, having sat (saith Platina) in that see, twenty-five \nyears. He, together with the apostle Paul, was put to death in the \nlast year of Nero\'s reign, A. D. 67^ and was succeeded by \n\nII. Linus, by nation a Tuscan, who continued from the last year of \nNero, to the tim3s of Vespasian, the emperor, and was martyred by \nSaturnius, the consul, A. D. 78. He sat 11 years. \n\nIII. Cletus, (or Anacletus)a Roman ; He was martyred under Domi- \ntian, A. D. 91, and his body laid in the Vatican, near that of St. \nPeter, after he had sat 12 years, 1 month, and 11 days. \n\nIV. Clement, a Roman, a modest and holy man ; he was thrown in- \nto the sea with an anchor tied about his neck, in the third year of \nTrajan, A. D. 100, having sat 9 years, 2 months and 10 days. \n\nVI. Euaristus, a Grecian : he ordained that the people\'s accusation \nshould not be received against a bishop. He sat 8 years, 10 months, \nand 2 days, and died A. D. 116. \n\nVII. Sixtus, the first, a Roman, ordered that holy things and vessels \nshould be touched by none but ministers ; and that priests should \nminister in linen surplices. He was buried in the Vatican, A. D. \n126, having sat 10 years, 3 months, and 21 days. \n\nVIII. Telesphorus, a Grecian, instituted the Lent of seven weeks be- \nfore Easter, and the celebration of the masses in the night of our \n\n71 \n\n\n\n662 POPESOFROME. \n\nSavior\'s birth. He sat 7 years, 3 months, and 22 days, and died, \nA. D. 137. \n\nIX. Hyginus, a Grecian of Athens ; he ordained that one god-father \nor god-mother, at least, should be present at the baptism of a child. \nHe sat 4 years, 3 months, and 4 days, and died, A. D. 141. \n\nX. Pius, the first an Italian ; he ordained that none of the Jewish \nheresy should be received to baptism ; that the feast of the passo- \nver should be on Sunday. He sat 16 years, 4 months, and 3 days, \nand died, A. D. 157, \n\nXL Anicetus, a Syrian, was crowned with martyrdom, A. D. 168, \nand buried in the church yard of Calistus, in the Appian way, hav- \ning sat 11 years, 4 months and 3 days. \n\nXII. Soter, a Campanian, sat 9 years, 3 months, and 21 days ; A\xc2\xbb \nD. 177. \n\nXIII. Elutherius, a Grecian, of Nicopolis ; he sent Fugatius and \nDamianus into Britain, at the request of King Lucius, to baptize \nhim and his people. He sat 15 years, 3 months, and 2 days, and \ndied, A. D. 192. \n\nXIV. Victor, the first, an African ; in his time was the controversy \nabout keeping the Easter. He sat 9 years, 3 months, and 10 \ndays. \n\nXV. Zephyrinus, a Roman succeeded him, A. D. 201. He ordained \nthat wine in the sacrament should be consecrated in a vessel of \nglass, and not in wood as before. He sat 18 years, 7 months and \n10 days. \n\nXVI. Calixtus, the first, suceeded Zephyrinus, A. D. 219, a native of \nRavenna, ordained a three-fold fast in the year, in the fourth, sev- \nenth, and tenth months, beginning the year as the Jews do. He \nsat 5 years, 10 months and 10 days. \n\nXVII. Urban, the first, a Roman, ordained that churches should re- \nceive farms and lands, given by devout persons, and the revenues to \nbe parted among the clergy. He was martyred, A. D. 231, hav- \ning sat 6 years, 10 months and 12 days. \n\nXVI I I. Pontianus a Roman, was banished into Sardinia, where he \nsuffered great torments for the faith of Jesus Christ, and died, A. \nD. 235, having sat 4 years, 5 months, and 2 days. \n\nXIX. Anteras, a Grecian ; he ordered that the noble acts of the mar- \ntyrs should be recorded, and kept in the treasury of the church. \nHe was martyred, A. D. 250. having sat only 1 month and 12 \ndays. \n\n\n\nP P E S O F R M E. 663 \n\nXX. Fabianus, a Roman ; he ordained that the chrism in the Lord\'s \nsupper should be renewed every year, and the old one burnt in the \nchurch. He was martyred, A D. 250, having sat 14 years, 11 \nmonths and 11 days. After him was a vacancy of 18 months. \n\nXXI. Cornelius, a Roman, obtained the see, A. D. 251. He was \nbanished and then beheaded, having sat 2 years, 2 months and 3 \ndays. \n\nXII. Lucius, the first a Roman, succeeded, A. D. 253, and was \nmart3Ted ; having sat 2 years, 3 months and 3 days. \n\nXXIII. Stephen the first, a Reman ; a controversy arose between \nhim and St. Cyprian, concerning the re-baptising of those baptised \nby hsretics, which Cyprian would not allow, but Stephen was stren- \nuous for. He was beheaded, A. D. 257 ; having sat 2 years, 5 \nmonths and 2 days. \n\nXXIV. Sixtus, the second, an Athenian ; while he endeavored to re- \nfute and extinguish the Chiliasts, was taken, accused, and martyred \nA. D. 256. He sat 2 years 10 months, and 23 days. \n\nXXV. Dyonysius, withstood to his power the pride and heresy of Pau- \nlus Samosatinus. He is said to have converted the wife and daugh- \nter of the emperor Decius. He died, A. D. 271, having sat 12 \nyears, 2 months, and 4 days. \n\nXXVI. Felix, the first ; he appointed yearly sacrifices in memory of \nthe martyrs ; that no mass should be said, but by sacred persons, \nand in consecrated places, except upon pressing necessity. He \ndied a martyr, A. D. 265, and sat 4 years, 3 months, and 15 \ndays. \n\nXXVII. Eutychianus, a Tuscan ; he is reported to have buried with \nhis own hands, three hundred and forty two martyrs, and to have \nblessed grapes beans and other fruit upon the altar, and would \nhave the martyrs buried in purple. He was martyred, X. D. 283, \nhaving sat 9 years, 1 month, and 1 day. \n\nXXVIII. Caius, of Dalmatia, was a kinsman to Dioclesian the em- \npcjror ; his brother Gabinus had a daughter called Susanna, who \nwould have married the emperor Galerius ; but all these were \nmartvred. Caius sat 13 years 4 months, and 11 days ; he died \nA. D. 296. \n\nXXIX. Marcellinus, a Roman, out of fear, offered incense to Mars, \nfor which he was questioned by the council ot Sinuesa, but no man \ncondemned him. Repenting his fear, he reproached iliQ tyrant \n\n\n\n664 POPESOFROME. \n\n\\o his face, and was martyred A. D. 304. He sat 8 years, % \nmonths, and 16 da^s. \n\nXXX. Marcellus the first a Roman ; Maxentius was incensed against \nhim, because Lucina, a noble matron, had made the church her \nheir, hereupon the holy man was doomed to keep beasts in a stable \nand was choaked by the stench and filth, A. D. 309. He sat 5 \nyears, 6 months and 21 days. \n\nXXXI. Eusebius, a Grecian, (His father a physician ;) the cross of \nChrist was found in his time, by Judas, a Jew, and adorned and \nhonored by Helena, the mother of Constantine. He died. A. D. \n311, having sat 2 years, 1 month, and 3 days. \n\nXXXII. Melchiades, an African ; Constantine gave him the house of \nPlautinus Lateranus, proscribed by Nero, which hath continued to \nthis day by the name of the Lateran palace. He died A. D. 314, \nhaving sat 3 years, 7 months and 9 days. \n\nXXXIII. Sylvester, the first a Roman, is said to have baptised \nConstantine the Emperor, others say it was Eusebius of Nicodemia. \nConstantine appointed this man to wear a crown of g^old. He sat \n22 years, 10 months, and 11 days, and died, A. D. 336. \n\nXXXIV. Marcus, the first, a Roman, introduced the singing of the \nNicene creed, and the giving of the pall to the bishop of Ostia, \nHe sat 8 months and 20 days. \n\nXXXV. Julius, the first, a Roman ; Athanasius made his creed in \nhis time at Rome, which was then approved by Julius and his \nclergy. He ordained prothonotaries to register the acts of the \nchurch. He sat 16 years, 2 months, and 6 days, and died, A. De \n367. \n\nXXXVII. Felix, the second, a Roman, was intruded on the see, by \norder of the emperor Constantius, during the exile of Liberius, in \n355. Felix condescended to communicate with the Arians, \nthough not one of them ; but afterwards in a tumult, A. D. \n358, he was driven away by them, and Liberius re-instated. He \ndied, A. D. 375. \n\nXXXVIII. Damasus, the first, a Spaniard, succeeded Liberies, A. D \n367. He accursed usurers, and appointed Gloria Patri, &c. to \nclose up every psalm. He sat 18 years, 3 months, and 11 days \nand died, A. D. 385. \n\nXXXIX. Syricus, the first, a Roman ; he excluded those that were \ntwice married, and admitted monks into holy orders. In his time \n\n\n\nPOPES OF ROME. 666 \n\nthe temple of Serapis was demolished and the idol broken. He \nsat 13 years, 11 months, and 25 days, and died, A. D. 398. \n\nXL. Anastasius, the first, a Roman ; he was careful to repress the \nerrors of Origen, and was the first that required the people to stand \nup at the reading of the gospel. He sat 4 years and 10 days, and \ndied A. D. 402. \n\nXLI. Innocent, the first, an Alban, a great stickler against the Pela- \ngians ; in nis time, Alaric plundered Rome ; Innocent being \nthen at Ravenna. He sat 15 years, 2 months, and 25 days, and \ndied, A. D. 417. \n\nXLI I. Zosimus, who brought the use of tapers into the church, and \nforbade priests to drink in public, or servants to be admitted into \nthe priesthood. He sat 1 year, 3 months, and 12 days, and died, \nA. D. 418. \n\nXLIII. Boniface, the first, a Roman, the son of Jocundus, a priest ; \nhe was chosen in a tumult and sedition of the clergy ; was oppo- \nsed by Eulalius, the deacon, but at last carried it against him. He \nsat 5 years, 8 months, and 7 days. \n\nXLIV. Celestine, the first, a Campanian ; he sent Germanus and \nLupus into England, Paladius into Scotland, and Patrick into Ire- \nland. He first caused the psalms to be sung in Antiphony. He \nsat 9 years, 10 months, and died, A. D. 432. \n\nXLV. Sixtus, the third ; he was accused by one Bassus for seducing \na nun, but was acquitted by the synod, and his accuser sent into \nexile. He built much, and therefore had the title of enricher of \nthe church. He sat 8 years, and died, A. D. 440. \n\nXLVI. Leo, the first, dissuaded Attalla from sacking Rome, Peter \nand Paul terrifying the Hun, while Leo spake to him. In his time \nthe Venetians settled themselves in the gulf, now so celebrated. \nHe sat 21 years, 1 month, and 13 days, and died, A. D. 461. \n\nXLVII. Hilarius, the first ; in his time was the rectifying of the gol- \nden number, by Victorinus of Aquitian, and the introduction of the \nLitany, by Mamerius Claudius, of Vienna. He sat 6 years, 3 \nmonths, and 10 days, and died, A. D. 467. \n\nXLVI 1 1. Simplicius, the first, a Tibutine ; he took upon himself the \njurisdiction of the church of Ravenna ; decreed that none of the \nclergy should hold the benefice of a layman. He sat 16 years, 1 \nmonth, and 7 days, and died, A. D. 483. \n\nXLIX. Felix, the third, son of a Roman priest, decreed that no church \nshould be consecrated but by a bishop ; opposed the proposal of \n\n\n\n666 P P E S O F R O M E. \n\nunion by the emperor Zeno, to the great confusion of the Eastern \nand Western churches ; sat 9 years, and died, A. D. 492. \n\nL. Gelasius, the first, an African, ordered the canon of Scripture, \nbranding as counterfeit books, some that before passed for canon- \nical or authentic ; banished the Manichees, and burned their books. \nHe sat 4 years, 8 months, and 17 days, and died A. D. 496. \n\nLI. Anastasius, the second, a Roman, excommunicated Anastasius \nthe Greek emperor, for favoring the hei\'etic Acatius, whose heresy \nhe afterwards himself favored. He sat 1 year, 10 months, and 24 \ndays, and died, A. D. 498. \n\nLH. Symmachus, the first, a Sardinian, succeeded in opposition to \nLaurentius ; he was a lover of the poor, and bountiful to the exi- \nled bishops and clergy. He sat 16 years, 6 months, and 22- days, \nand died, A. D. 514. \n\nILHI. Hormisdas, the first ; the Emperor Justinian sent him his am- \nbassadors with the confirmation of the authority of the apostolic \nsee. He condemned the Eutychians in a provincial synod , sat \n9 years and 18 days, and died, A. D. 523. \n\nLIV. John, the first, a Tuscan, a man of great learning and piety ; \nwas cast into prison by Theodoric, and there killed by the stench \nand filth of it, A. D. 52G. He sat 3 years and 8 months. \n\nLV. Felix, the fourth, a Samnite, excommunicated the patriarch of \nConstantinople ; divided the chancel from the church ; command- \ned extreme unction to be used to dying men. He sat 4 years, 2 \nmonths, and 13 days, and died, A. D. 530. \n\nLVI. Boniface, the second, a Roman, decreed that no bishop should \nchoose his successor ; and that no pope (if it might be) should be \nchosen within three days after his predecessor\'s death. He sat 2 \nyears, and 2 days, and died A. D. 532, \n\nLVII. John, the second, a Roman, condemned Anthemius, the pa- \ntriarch of Constantinople was surnamed Mercury lor hiseloquence. \nHe sat 3 years, and 4 months, and died, A. D. b\'65. \n\nLVIII. Agapetus, the first, a Roman; sent an amba-^sador, by king \nTheodatus, to pacify Justinian the emperor, for the death of the \nnoble and learned queen Amalasuntha. He sat 11 months and 19 \ndays, and died, A. D. 536. \n\nLIX. Sylverius, a Campanian ; was deposed by the empresn, for re- \nfusing to put out Menna and restore Anthemius, her favorite. He \ndied in exile, A. D. 540, having sat 1 year, 5 months, and 12 days ; \n\n\n\nJ \n\n\n\nPOPESOFROME. 667 \n\nand his death was in the third year of his exile ; in the isle of Cal- \nmaiia. \n\nLX, Virgilius, the first was made pope by the empress and Belisarius, \nduring the life of Sylverius ; but for breach of promise, to the em- \npress, was\' brought to Constantinople, there, with a halter about \nhis neck, drawn about the streets and banished by Justinian ; but \nsoon after he was recalled to Rome ; and died on his journey to \nSyracuse, A. D. 555. He sat 15 years, 7 months, and 20 days \nafter the death of Sylverius. \n\nLXI. Pelagius, the first, ordained that heretics and schismatics should \nbe punished with temporal death ; and that no man, for money, \nshould be admitted into orders. He sat 4 years, 10 months, and \n28 days, and died, A. D. 559. \n\nLXII. John, the third ; in his time the Armenians received the faith \nof Christ. He was settled in his chair by Narses ; and sat 13 \nyears, 11 months, and 26 days, and died, A. D. 573. \n\nLXIII. Benedict, the first, a Roman ; in his time the Lombards \nravaged Italy ; the grief of this, and other calamities in Italy, occa- \nsioned the death of this pope, A. D. 577. He sat 4 years, 1 \nmonth, and 28 days. \n\nLXIV. Pelagius, the second, a Roman ; was made pope during the \nseige of the city by the Lombards, without the emperor\'s consent, \nwhich election he sent Gregory to excuse. He sat 13 years, ^ \nmonths, and 10 days, and died, A. D. 590. \n\nLXy. Gregory the first, surnamed the Great, called himself Servus \nServorum Dei; sent Austin into England to convert the Eastern \nSaxons; and claimed to be Universal bishop, or Head of the church. \nHe ruled the church 13 years and died A. D. 604. \n\nLXVI. Sabinianus, the first, the last of the Roman bishops, who de- \nclined the arrogant title of Universal Bishop, or Head of the \nchurch; he declined the usurpations of Gregory, and died A. D. \n606 after a pontificate of 1 year and 5 months. \n\nLXVII. Boniface the third: obtained of Phocas, the murderer of his \nlord, that popish supremacy which has ever since been claimed; \nand volumus andjubemus were the terms used by this aspiring priest. \nHe enjoyed his pomp but a short time; for he sat but 9 months \ndying in 606. \n\nLXVIII. Bonaface, the fourth: he instituted All-hallow-day; dedica- \nted the temple of Pantheon to the Virgin Mary; made his father^s \n\n\n\n568 POPESOFROME. \n\nhouse a monastery, and died A. D. 614; having sat 7 years, 8 \nmonths, and 13 days. \n\nLXIX. Deodatus, the first, a Roman:\' he loved and enriched the \nclergy; is said to have cured a leper with a kiss. He died having- \nsat only 3 years, A. D. 617. \n\nLXX. Boniface, the fifth, a Campanian; he privileged murderers and \nthieves that took sanctuary in the churches, and decreed that the \nhands of justice should not pluck them thence. He died A. D. \n625; having sat 8 years and 10 days. After his death there was \na vacancy for one year. \n\nLXXI. Honorius the first: he covered the church of St. Peter, with \nbrazen tiles taken from the capitol. He also instituted the feast of \nthe exaltation of the cross, and died A. D. 639; having sat 12 \nyears and 1 1 months. \n\nLXXII. Severinus, the first, a Roman: In his time Isaac the exarch \nof Italy, took away the Lateran treasure, to pay his soldiers, for \nwhich the Pope dared not excommunicate him; he sat 2 months \nonly. \n\nLXXI II. John the fourth, a Dalmatian; with the remainder of the \ntreasure redeemed some exiles of his countrymen; he busied him- \nself about the celebration of Easter and translation of the bones of \nmartyrs; sat upwards of 2 years, and died, A. D. 641. \n\nLXXIV. Theodore, the first, a Grecian, son to the bishop of Jerusa- \nlem; he deposed Pyrrhus, patriarch of Constantinople for the her- \nesy of the Acephali; died A. D. 649, having sat 8 years, 5 months \nand 18 days. \n\nLXXV. Martin, the first, an Italian; ordained priests to shave their \npolls and keep themselves; he excommunicated Paul, patriarch of \nConstantinople, for which he was banished into Pontus, where he \ndied, A. D. 655. \n\nLXXVI. Eugenius was less active but more prudent; he ordained \nthat bishops should have prisons for their priests, to repress their \ninsolence. After a brief pontificate of 6 months he died A. D. 655. \n\nLXXVI I. Vitalianus, the first, brought the first organ into the divine \nservice of the church of Rome; he excommunicated Marus the \narchbishop of Ravenna. Theodorus and Adrian were sent by him \ninto England to introduce the Latin service. He sat 14 years and \ndied A. D. 669. \n\nLXXVI I. Adeodatus the first, was formerly a monk : earthquakes, \ncomets, and tempests, such as never were before seen, amazed man- \n\n\n\nPOPESOFROME. 569 \n\nkind, in his time. He died, A.D.676 ; having sat 7 years, 2 monthi \nand 5 days. \n\nLXXIX. Domnus, the first, had the church of Ravenna subjected to \nhim, by Theodorus the archbishop, which before that time had pre- \ntended equality with that of Rome. He adorned the church porch \nof saint Peter with marble ; sat two years, and died, A. D. 678. \n\nLXXX. Agato, the first, a Sicilian ; ordained that the pope\'s sanctions \nshould be as firmly kept as those of the apostles. He sent John, \nabbot of St. Martins, into England, to regulate the church ser- \nvice, and with other superstitious injunctions. He is said to have \ndied of the plague; sat 5 years, 6 months, and 15 days, and died, \nA. D. 683. \n\nLXXXI. Leo, the second, a Sicilian, skilled in Greek, Latin, and mu- \nsic : he ratiSed the sixth synod to confirm the mass, and restrain \nthe western priest\'s marriages ; and introduced the kissing of the \nslipper. He sat only 10 months. \n\nLXXXII. Benedict, the second, a Roman: he first styled himself \nVicar of Christ, and decreed that the popes should be freely elect- \ned by the clergy, without the consent of the exarchs or emperors : \nthis pope also sat 10 months. \n\nLXXXin. John, the fifth, a Syrian, was consecrated by the three \nbisops of Ostium, Portus and Valiturnum. He died in the first \nyear of his popedom, the manner of his consecration being observed \nby his successors. \n\nLXXXIV, Conon succeeded John in 686. He ruled the church but \none year, and his pontificate was undistinguished by any remarka- \nble event. \n\nLXXXV. Sergius the first. During his reign a council was convo- \nked by the Emperor Justinian 11. called Quini-Sextura, as being \nsupplementary to the fifth and sixth general councils, for the cor- \nrection of church discipline. He sat 14 years and died A. D. \n701. \n\nLXXXVI. John the sixth, next occupied the papal chair; a bigotted \nprelate who made unremitted efforts for the extension ol church \nauthority. He sat but 3 years, dying A. D. 704. \n\nLXXXV II. John the seventh, like his predecessor, was a man of \n\nsordid disposition, and grovelling passions. Like nearly all the \n\nprelates of the seventh and eighth century, his vices recommended \n\nhim for spiritual promotion. He sat 3 years and died A. D. 707. \n\n72 \n\n\n\n570 POPESOFROME. \n\nLXXXVIII. Sisinnius, a Roman; He sat but one year, and his death \n\nwas supposed to have been procured by poison. \nLXXXIX. Constantine was next elevated to the prelacy by a tumul- \ntuous election. Numerous rites and ceremonies were introduced \nby Constantine, who exhibited a great fondness for pomp and dis^ \nplay. He sat 7 years, and died A. D. 714. \nXC. Gregory the second, succeeded Constantine. St. Boniface the \nApostle of Germany, flourished during his reign, and the dispute \nconcerning images which had raged for a long time in the eastern \nchurches, agitated the west. Gregory also sat 7 years, dsing \nA. D. 731. \nXCI. Gregory, the third, a Syrian; espoused the quarrel about im- \nages ; excommunicated the emperor; drove the Greeks out of It" \naly by the Lombards, and afterwards checked the Lombards by the \nassistance of the French under the conduct of Charles Martel. \xe2\x80\x94 \nHe sat ten years : died. A- D. 741. \nXCIL Zachariah, the first, a Grecian, deposed Childeric, king of \nFrance, and by the same authority changed Raches, king of Lom- \nbardy, and Carloman, of France, from kings to monks. He held \nthe chair for 10 years and 3 months, and died, A. D. 751. \nXCHL Stephen, the second, a Roman ; he excited Pepin, of France, \nto turn Astolphus out of Lombardy, and bestow it on the pope, for \nfreeing him of his oath ; for this success he was the first that was \ncarried on men\'s shoulders. He sat 5 years and 1 month ; died, \n\nA. D. 5Wr iXu \n\nXCIV. Paul, the first, a Roman, and brother of Stephen ; excom- \nmunicated Constantine Copronipus, the emperor, upon the old quar- \' \nrel ; he was an honorer of saint Petronella, the daughter of saint \nPeter. He sat 10 years and 1 month, and died, A. D. 766. \n\nXCV, Stephen, the third, a Sicilian ; he introduced the worship of \nimages, and subjected Milan to his see. He sat 5 years and five \nmonths : died, A. D. 772. \n\nXCVL Adrian, the first: this pope having done Charles the Great a \npiece of service, he, to reward him, confirmed the gift of his father \nto the Roman see ; adding the dukedoms of Spoleto and Benevento \nunto it : this has been called Constantine\'s donation. He sat \n23 yrs. 10 months, and died, A. D. 795. \n\nXCVn. Leo, the third, to gain the favor of Charles the Great, prof- \nfered him his keys and the liberties of Rome ; for this act of degra- \ndation the Romans dragged him from his horse and scourged him \n\n\n\nPOPES OF ROME. 671 \n\nwith severity ; Cliailes coming to Rome to protect the pope, was \ndeclared emperor. He sat 21 years, and died, A. D. 816. \n\nXCVIII. Stephen, the fourth, decreed it should be in the power of \nthe clergy to elect the pope, but not to consecrate him, only in the \npresence of the emperor\'s ambassador. He sat but 6 months and \nsome days. \n\nXCIX. Paschal, the first, caused certain parish priests to be called \ncardinals ; they were companions for kings, ; nd about 70 in num- \nber, but more or less at the pleasure of the popes. He sat 7 years \n3 months, and died. A. D. 724. \n\nC. Eugenius, the second, took the authority, in the territories of the \nchurch, to create dukes, earls, and knights, as the exarchs of Ra- \nvenna used to do. He was called "the father of the poor," and \nsat 3 years. Died, A. D. 827. \n\nCI. Valentine, the first, was a man of great accomplishments, and \nexemplary life; but he lived but a short time, dying the 40th day \nafter his election. \n\nCII. Gregory, the fourth ; in his time the luxury of the clergy was \nvery great, against which a synod was held at Aquisgrave. This \npope sat almost 18 years, and died, A. D. 844. \n\nCIII. Sergius, the second, was the first that changed his disgraceful \nname, Bocca di Porca, or swine\'s mouth, into Sergius ; which \nprecedent his successors have since followed, at their creation \nchanging their names. He died, A. D. 847. \n\nCIV. Leo, the fourth, a Roman monk ; he compassed the Vatican \nwith a wall ; gave a dispensation to Ethelwolfe to leave his mon- \nf stery, and reign in England ; for which he gratified his holiness \nwith yearly Peter-pence. He sat 7 years, 3 months, and 6 days, \nand died, A. D. 854. \n\nCV. Joan, is by most confessed to be a woman, and is usually called \npope Joan. To avoid the like disgrace, the porphyry chair was \nordained. She died in child-birth in going to the Lateran, A. D. \n854 ; having sat only a f^w months. \n\nCVI. Benedict, the third, a Roman, was opposed by one Anastasius, \nbut to no purpose. He made a show of great humility, and there- \nfore would not be buried in, but without the threshold of St. Pe- \nter\'s church. He sat 3 years, 6 months, and 9 days, and died A. \nD. 858. \n\nCVIl. Nicholas, the first, was tbe first that prohibited by law mar- \nriage to the Roman clergy. He deprived Joan, of Raveftiia, for \n\n\n\n672 P P E S O F R M E. \n\nnot stooping to him. He sat 9 years, 9 months, and 13 days, and \ndied, A. D. 868. \n\nCVIII. Adrian, the second ; the emperor\'s ambassador excepted \nagainst his election, but had a delusive answer. The emperor Lo- \ntharius came to Rome to receive absolution of him, which has \nbeen much insisted upon. He sat upwards of 5 years, and died \nA. D. 874. \n\nCIX. John, the eighth, crowned three emperors, Charles the Bald, \nCharles the Gross, and Lewis. He held a council at Trecas, \ndrove the Saracens out of Italy and Sicil}^ and died, A. D. 882 ; \nhaving sat 10 years and 2 days, and was buried in St. Peter\'s. \n\nex. Martin, the second, a Frenchman; died, A. D. 884 ; having \nsat 1 year and 5 months. \n\nCXI. Adrian, the third, ordained that the election, or confirmation of \nthe pope should no longer depend on the emperor, but, that it should \nbe left wholly to the Roman clergy. He died in the second month \nof his popedom, A. D. 885. \n\nCXII. Stephen, the fifth, a Roman ; he abrogated the purging of \nadultery and witchcraft, by going over burning coals, and casting \nthe suspected into water. He died, A. D. 891 ; having sat 6 years \nand 11 days. \n\nCXIII. Formosus, the first, was so hated, that pope Stephen, the \nsixth, caused his body to be unburied, all his acts reversed, two of \nhis fingers to be cut off, and then buried among the lait}^ Sergius, \nthe third took him up again, caused his head to be cut off, and \nthe body to be thrown into the Tiler. He sat 5 years and 6 \nmonths, and died, A. D. 897. \n\nCXIV. Boniface, the sixth, a Tuscan, is inserted in the catalogue on- \nly because he was rightly elected. He died 26 days after his elec- \ntion. \n\nCXV, Stephen the sixth, a Roman, abrogated all the acts of Formo- \nsus, his predecessor ; which atterwards became customary, from \nhis example, the following popes infringing, if not fully cancelling \nall the acts of their immediate predecessors ; this pope died, A. D- \n991 ; the 3d year of his popedom. \n\nCXVII. Theodore, the second, a Roman, restored the acts of For- \nmosus, and his followers were in great esteem with him. In his \ntime the Saracens broke into Apuha, and made great spoil, but were \nrepelled by the Italians. The pope died, A. D. 901, having occu- \npied his chair only 20 days. \n\n\n\nP O P E S O F R M E. 673 \n\nCXVIII. John the 9th, a Roman, restored the acts of Formosus ; and \nbein^ therein opposed by the people, he fled to Ravenna, summon- \ned a council of seventy-four bishops, who restored the acts of For- \nmosus, and rescinded those of Stephen. He died A. D. 904, hav- \ning sat 3 years. \nCXIX. Benedict, the fourth, a Roman, for his humanity and clemen- \ncy was created pope. Platina says, that in adverse times he preser- \nved much gravity and constancy in his life, and died, A. D. 905, a \nfew months after obtaining his chair. \nCXX. Leo, the fifth, historians give no account of his country ; he \nwas made prisoner by his familiar friend, Christopher, and thereup- \non is thought to have died of grief, on the 40th day after receiving \nthe popedom. \nCXXI. Christopher, the first, was so base that his country was not \nknown ; having obtained the chair by evil arts, he soon lost it \xe2\x80\x94 \nwas thrust into a monastery, then the only refuge for the miserable ; \nand this, in the 7th month of his usurpation of the seat whereof he \nhad deprived his friend. \nCXXII. Sergius, the third ordained the bearing of candles at the feast \nof the purification of the Virgin Mary, from thence called candle, \nmass day ; he imprisoned Christopher, rescinded the acts of For- \nmosus, and died, A. D. 909, having sat 3 years and 4 months. \nCXXIII. Anastasius, the third, a Roman, affixed no marks of igno- \nm.iny upon any of his predecessors, and lived himself with that \nmodesty and integrity, that there was nothing reproachful in his \nlife. He died in the third year of his popedom, A. D. 912. \nCXXIV. Landus, the first, a Roman, his life is so obscure that some \nwill not allow him a place among the popes. Nothing is said of \nhim but that he is reputed to have ruled the church but 6 months, \nand died, A. D. 912. \nCXXV. John, the tenth, the bastard of pope Sergius, overthrew the \nSaracens. In a sedition he was taken and put in bonds, where he \nwas smothered with a pillow, A. D. 228, having sat 15 years, 2 \nmonths, and 3 days. \nCXXVI. Leo, the sixth, a Roman, a modest, and honest man ; he \ntook care of the service of God, as much as the corruption of that \ntime would admit of. He died A. D. 928 having sat 7 months and \n15 days. \nCXXVII. Stephen, the seventh, a Roman ; in his time Sperencus, \nduke of Bohemia, received the christian faith. The pope himself \n\n\n\n574 POPESOFROME. \n\nwas a man of much meekness and religion ; he died, A. D. 831, \nhaving sat 2 years, 1 months and 12 days. \nCXXVIII. John, the eleventh, a wicked, cruel, and libidinous man ; \nwas taken in adultery, and slain, by the husband of the woman, A. \nD. 936. He was supposed to have poisoned two hundred persons, \namong whom were Leo and Stephen, his predecessors. He sat 4 \nyears and 10 months. \nCXXIX. Leo, the seventh, a Roman ; in his time Boson, bishop of \nPlacentia, Theobald bishop of Milan, and another great prelate, \nwere all bastards of king Hugh, by his concubines, Resola, Rosa, \nand Stephana. He sat 3 years, 6 months, and 10 days, and died \nA. D. 939. \nCXXX. Stephen, the eighth, a German ; vexed with seditions, and \nin them so deformed with wounds, that he was ashamed to be seen \nin public. He died in the 4th year of his papacy, A. D. 943. \nCXXXI. Martin, the third, a Roman, a man of peace and piety, re- \nbuilt the ruinous churches, and gave great alms to the poor. He \ndied in the 4th year of his papacy, A. D. 946. \nCXXXII. Agapetus, the second, a Roman, in his time the Hungari- \nans broke into Italy, and were overcome, in two set battles by \nHenry, duke of Bavaria. The pope was a man of great innocence, \nand died in the tenth year of his papacy, A. D. 955. \nCXXXHH. John, the twelfth, a man, Irom his youth, polluted with \nall kinds of viliany and dishonesty ; he was deposed by Otho, in a \ncouncil, and slain in the act of adultery, A. D. 964, in the 9th year \nof his papacy. \nCXXXIV. Leo, the eighth, crowned Otho emperor ; he remitted un- \nto him the right of choosing popes, which had been for some time \nin the hands of the clergy and people, for which was ratified unto \nthe papacy, Constantine\'s (or lather Pepin\'s) donation. He \ndied in his tirst year, A. D. 964. \nCXXXV. Benedict, the fifth, a Roman, from a deacon, advanced \nto the papacy ; but the emperor did not approve oi the election, he \ntherefore took the pope wi h him into Germany, who died of grief \nat Hamburg, his place of banishment, A. D. 864, having sal only \n6 months, and 5 days. \nCXXXVi* John, the thirteenth, bishop of Narnia, was also wearied \nwith seditions, and imprisoned, but freed by the emperor Otho. \nIn his time bells began to be baptised, and had names given them. \nHe sat 8 years, and died A. D. 973. \n\n\n\nPOPESOFROME. 575 \n\nCXXXVII. Donus, the second, a man of great modesty ; he died \nin the first year of his papacy, and was buried in St. Peter\'s A. D. \n972. \n\nCXXXIII. Benedict the sixth, a Roman, first imprisoned, and then \nstrangled in the castle of St. Angelo, by Centius, a powerful citi- \nzen, A. D. 975. Platina fears Benedict, deserved all he suffered, \nbecause none stirred in his quarrel. He sat 2 years. \n\nCXXXIX. Bonifacius, the seventh ; the citizens opposed him, he \ntherefore stole the church ornaments and treasure, and fled to \nConstaptinople : he afterwards returned and recovered his place, \nbut soon after died of an apoplexy, A. D. 947, having sat only 7 \nmonths and 5 days. \n\nCXL. Benedict the 7th, a Roman ; he turned out Gilbert, the conju- \nrer, from the archbishop rick of Rheims, and restored Arnulphus. \nHe sat 10 years, and died, A. D. 984. \n\nCXLI. John, the fourteenth, was. taken by the Romans, and im- \nprisoned by Ferrucius, the father of Boniface. He died in his \n3d month, with famine, grief of mind, and the filth of his prison, A- \nD. 984. \n\nCXLH. John, the fifteenth, a hater of the clergy, and hated by them ; \nhe was all for enriching his kindred. He died in his 8th month, \nsaith Platina ; by others he is supposed to have died before his ordi- \nnation, and omitted in the catalogue of the popes. \n\nCXLH I, John, the sixteenth, reputed to have been a great scholar ; \nhe was driven from Rome into Hetruria, by Cresentius, the Ro- \nman consul, but he submitting himself, John returned. He died \nA. D. 996, in the 11th year of his papacy. \n\nCXLIV. Gregory, the fifth, projected the election of. the future empe- \nrors by the princes of Germany, by which the Germans were dis- \ntracted into factions, and the Romans weakened, by this means \nthe popes were ultimately exalted above kings or emperors. He \nsat 3 years, and died, A. D. 999. \n\nCXLV. Sylvester, the second, a Frenchman, first called Gerbetus, a \nmagician. He is said to have contracted with the devil for the pa- \npacy, of which he afterwards repented. He died, having sat 3 \nyears and 10 days, A. D. 1003. \n\nCXLVI. John, the seventeenth, was given to magic. He took the \nchoice of the popes from the people, appointed the feast of AH \nSouls, and died, the 20th day of the 4th month of his papacy, A. \nD. 1003. \n\n\n\n676 - POPESOFROME. \n\nCLXVII. John, the eighteenth, crowned the emperor Conrade, \nand was also protected by him. He died in his 7th year A B \n1009. . \n\nCXLVIII. Sergius, the fourth, was the first, that on Christmas night, \nconsecrated swords, roses or the like, to be sent as tokens of love \nand honor, to such princes as deserved best, and whom he desired \nto oblige. He died, A. D. 1022. \n\nCXLIX. Benedict, the eighth, a Tuscan ; he crowned the emperor \nHenry. In his time there was so great a plague, that the living \nscarce sufficed to bury the dead. He died in his 13th year A D \n1024. \' \xe2\x80\xa2 \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nCL. John, the 19th, son to the bishop of Portua; some say not in or- \nders, before he took the popedom. Platina says he was a man of \nexcellent life, and died upon the Bth day of the 1 1th year of his pa- \npacy, A. D. 1034. \n\nCLI. Benedict, the ninth, a conjuror, was wont, (with Laurence and \nGracean, conjurors also, whom he had made cardinals,) to wander \nin the woods to invoke devils, and bewitch women to follow them. \nHe sat 10 years, 4 months, and 9 days, and was deposed, A. D. \n1045. \n\nCLII. Sylvester, the fifth, was made pope while Benedict was living, \nbuf^the other soon recovered his seat. When Sylvester had sat \nbut 49 days, he created Casimer, a monk, king of Poland. He is \nseldom esteemed as pope. \n\nCLIII. Gregory, the sixth, received the keys when there were three \npopes extant at one time ; but Henry, the emperor, expelled Ben- \nedict, Sylvester, and Gregory, (this last having sat 2 years and 7 \nmonths,) A. D. 1046. \n\nCLIV. Clement, the second ; he made the Romans renounce, by \noath, the right they claimed of choosing popes ; but Henry, the \nemperor being gone, they poisoned this pope, A. D. 1047, when \nhe had sat not full 9 months. \n\nCLV. Damasus, the second, a Bavarian, without consent of the clergy \nor people, seized^on the popedom ; but he enjoyed it only a short \ntime, for he died upon the 23d day after his usurpation. \n\nCLVI. Leo, the ninth, a German, a man of great piety, innocence \nand hospitality to strangers and the poor. At Versailles he held a \ncouncil against Berengarius. He sat 5 years, 2 months and 6 \ndays, and died, A. D. 1054. \n\nCLVII. Victor, the second, a Bavarian, made pope by favar of Hen- \n\n\n\nPOPESOFROME. 677 \n\nry, the emperor. He held a great council at Florence, deposed \ndivers bishops for fornication and simony, and died in his third year, \nA. D. 1055. \nCLVIII. Stephen, the ninth, brought the church of Milan under the \nobedience of the popes of Rome, which to that time professed an \nquality with them. He died at Florence, having sat 6 months and \n8 days, A. D. 1057. \nCLIX. Benedict, the tenth, a Campanian, made pope by the faction \nof nobles ; but he was deposed and banished by a council held at \nSutrinum, having sat 8 months and 20 days. \nCLX. Nicholas, the second, took from the Roman clergy the elec- \ntion of the popes, and gave it to the college of cardinals ; he cau- \nsed Berengarius to recant his opinions against transubstantiation, \nand died A. D. 1461, having sat 3 years. \nCLXI. Alexander, the second, a Milanese, being in favor of the em- \nperor\'s right to choose popes, was imprisoned and poisoned by Hil- \ndebrand. A, D. 1073 : having sat 12 years, and 6 months. \nLCXII. Gregory, the seventh, commonly called Hildebrand, a turbu- \nlent man, excommunicated the emporor, Henry IV. but after ma- \nny vicissitudes, the emperor compelled him to fly from Rome. He \ndied in exile, in his 13th year, A. D. 1085. He was the last pope \nwhose election was sent to the emperor for confirmation. \nCLXIII. Victor, the third, an Italian, defended all the acts of Grego- \nry ; but, not long after he was poisoned, by his sub-deacon, having \nsat 10 months. \nCLXIV. Urban, the second, a Hetrurian, excommunicated the em- \nperor, set all Christendom in commotion, and thence was called \nTurbulens. He sat 12 years, and died A. D. 1099. \nCLXV. Paschal the second, obliged the emperor, Henry IV. to sub- \nmit to him, and attend barefoot, at his door ; he also excommunica- \nted Henry V. and interdicted priests\' marriages. Il^e sat 19 years, \nand died A. D. 1118. \nCLXVI. Gelasius, the second, a Campanian, was vexed with sedi- \ntions all his time ; some say the order of knights templars was es- \ntablished during his papacy. He sat 1 year and died A. D. 1118. \nCLXVII. Calixtus," the second, a Burgundian ; he appointed the four \nfasts, decreed it adultery for a priest to forsake his see, and inter- \ndicted priests marriages. He sat 6 years, 1 1 months, and died, \nA. D. 1124. \nCLXVII I. Honorius the second a lover of learned men. Arnulf, an \n73 \n\n\n\n678 P P E S F R O M E. \n\nEnglishman was murdered in his time for taxing the vices of the \nclergy. He died, much lamented, A. D. 1130 ; having sat 6 years \nand 2 months. \n\nCLXIX. Innocent the second, ordained that none of the laity should \nlay hands on any of the clergy, and died A. D. 1143, having sat 14 \nyears, and 6 months. \n\nCLXX. Celestine, the second, was a man of bad habits and hved a \ndegraded life. He sat 5 months. \n\nCLXXI. Lucius, the second, was highly in favor of the Crusades. \nHe sat 11 months and 4 days, and died A. D. 1145. \n\nCLXXII. Eugenlus, the third, a Pisan, a monk of the abbey of St. \nBernard ; he would not permit the Romans to choose their own \nsenators; and died A. D. 1153; having sat 8 years and 4 \nmonths. \n\nCLXXIII. Anastasius the fourth, a Roman ; in his time there was a \ndestructive faniine in Europe. He died A. D. 1154, Imving sat 1 \nyear. \n\nCLXXI V. Adrian, the fourth, an EngHshman, (the only one who ev- \ner attained this station) he forced the emperor Frederick to hold his \nstirrup ; and finally excommunicated him for claiming his right to \nsign his name before the popes. He was choked by a fly, at Anag- \nni, A. D. 1159; having sat 6 yeais. \n\nCLXXV. Alexander the third, excommunicated the emperor Freder- \nick I. and obliged him to prostrate himself at his htt, when the \npope trod on his neck. He sat 22 years, and died A. D. 1181. \n\nCLXXVI. Lucius the third, strove to abolish the Roman consuls\', for \nwhich he was forced to quit Rome, and retire to Verona, where he \ndied A. D. 1185 ; having sat 4 years and 2 months. \n\nCLXXVII. Urban the third, a Milanese ; in his time Jerusalem was \ntaken by Saladin. He died A. D. 1186, having sat 1 year and 9 \nmonths. \n\nCLXXV 1 1 1. Gregory the eighth, incited the Christian princes to the \nrecovery of Jerusalem, m which endeavors he died, having sat but \n57 da\\-s. \n\nCLXXIX. Clement, the third, excommunicated the Danes, for main- \ntaining the marriages of their clergy ; composed the differences at \nRome, and died A. D. 1191, in the 4th year of his papacy. \n\nCLXXX. Celestine, the third, put the crown on the emperor\'s head \nwith his feet, and then struck it off again, saying, " per me reges \nregnant." He sat 7years, and died A. D. 1198. \n\n\n\nP O P E S F R M E. 679 \n\nCLXXXI. Innocent the third, introduced the doctrine of transubstan- \ntiation. He sat 18 years, and died A. D. 1126. \n\nCLXXXII. Honorius, the third, confirmed the orders of Dominic \nand Francis, and encourag-ed the perseciitioa of the Waldenses* \nHe sat 12 years and died A. D. 1227. \n\nCLXXXni. Gregory, the ninth, thrice excommunicated the emperor \nFrederick. In his time began the deadly feuds of the papal Guelphs \nand the imperial Ghibelines. He sat 14 years and 3 months, and \ndied A. D. 1241. \n\nCLXXIV. Celestine, the fourth, a rrnxn of great learning and piety ; \nhe sat but 18 days, having been poisoned. \n\nCLXXXV. Innocent the fourth, deposed the emperor Frederic in a \ncouncil at Lyons. Terrified by a dream, of his being cited to judg- \nment, he died A. D. 1253, having sat 11 years and 6 months. \n\nCLXXXVI. Alexander the fourth, condemned the book of William \nde Sancto Amore, sainted Clara, pillaged England of its treasure, \nand died at Veterbium, A. D. 1180, in the 7th year of his papacy. \n\nCLXXXVII. Urban, the fourth, formerly patriarch of Jerusalem ; he \ninstituted the ieast of Corpus Christi day, being urged to do so by \nEva, an anchoress. He sat 3 years^ 1 month and 4 days, and \ndied A. D. 1264. \n\nCLXXXVIII. Clement, the fourth, the greatest lavv3-er in France, \nhad, before his election, a wife and three children ; sent Octobe- \nnus into England to take the value all church revenues. He sat \n4 years, and A. D. 4268. \n\nCLXXXI X. Gregory, the tenth, an Italian, held a council at Lyons, \nat which Michael Paliologus, the Greek emperor, acknowledged \nthe procession of the Holy Ghost from Father to Son. This pope \nsat 4 years, 2 months and 10 days, and died A. D. 1276. \n\nCXC. Adrian, the fifth, a Genoese, before called Octobenus, and le- \ngate in England, in the days of Henry HI. He died before he \nwas consecrated, having sat 40 days. \n\nCXC I. John, the twentieth, a Spaniard ; by profession a phj\'sician, \nand though a learned man, was unskilled in affairs, and sat but 8 \nmonths. \nCXC II. Nicholas the third, was anxious to enrich his kindred. He \ninstituted a quarrel between the French and Sicilians, which occa- \n\xc2\xa3ioned the massacre of the Sicilian vesper. He sat 3 years, and \ndied, A. D. 1281. \n\nCXCIII. Martin, the fourth a Frenchman. He kept the conc-ibine \n\n\n\n680 [P PE S F RO ME. \n\nof his predecessor, Nicholas ; he sat 4 years, and died A, D. 1285. \n\nCXC IV. Honorius the fourth, established the Augustine fiiars, and \ncaused the Carmelites to be called " our Lady\'s brethren;" He \ndied A. D. 1287, having sat 3 years and 1 day. \n\nCXCV. Nicholas the fourth, preferred persons solely out of respect \nto their virtue, and died of grief to see church and state in a remed- \niless confusion ; having sat 4 years, and 1 month, A. D, 1292. \n\nCXC VI. Cjelestine, the fifth a hermit, vi^as easily prevailed on to quit \nthe chair, the cardinals persuading him that it was above his ability, \nhe therefore resigned, v/as imprisoned, and died ; having sat but 5 \nmonths. \n\nCXCVII. Boniface the eighth, by his general bull, exempted the \nclergy from being chargeable v/lth taxes and payments to temporal \nprinces ; first set forth the decretals, and established the feast of \nJubilee. He sat 9 years and v/as succeeded A. D. 1303. \n\nCXCVIil. Benedict, the tenth, a Lombard, was a man of great hu- \nmility, and desired to settle all broils ; but was poisoned by a fig, \nA. D. 1303 having sat 9 months. . \n\nCXCIX. Clement, the fifth, first made indulgences and pardons sale- \nable. He removed the papal see from Rome to Avignon in France, \nwhere it continued for seventy years. He sat 8 years and died A. \nD. 1315. In his time the order of knight templars was extinguish- \ned, and the grand master with many of the brethren, were burnt \nat Paris. \n\nCC. John, the twenty-first; he sainted Thomas Aquinas, and Thom- \nas of Hereford ; challenged supremacy over the Greek church, \nand died A. D. 1234, having sat 18 years, and 4 months. \n\nCCI. Benedict, the eleventh, a man of great firmness and decision of \ncharacter. He died A. D. 1342, in the 9th year of his papacy. \n\necu. Clement the sixth. A dreadful pestilence desolated Italy du- \nring his prelacy, so that scarcely a tenth of the population remain- \ned. He died A. D. 1352, having sat 10 3^ears, 6 months, and 28 \ndays. \n\nCCIV. Urban, the fifth, was a great stickler for popish privileges ; he \nconfirmed the order of St. Bridget. Being poisoned, as it is \nthought, he died A. D, 1370, having sat 8 years and 4 months. \n\nCCV. Gregory, the eleventh, returned the papal chair to Rome ; he \nexcomnmnicated the Florentines ; sat 7 years and 5 months, and \ndied A. D. 1377. \n\nCCVL Urban the sixth. Gunpowder was invented In his time. He \n\n\n\nP P E S F R M E. 681 \n\nmade 54 cardinals, held a jubilee to gather money, and died A. D. \n\n1389, having sat 11 years and 8 months. \nCCVII. Boniface, the ninth, scarce thirty years old when made pope, \n\nvery ignorant, and distinguished for his sale of church benifices. \n\nHe sat 14 years and 9 months, and died A. D. 1403. \nCCVII I. Innocent, the seventh, demanded the money of ecclesiasti- \ncal benefices, both in France and England ; but was refused. He \n\nsat 2 years and died A. D. 1406. \nCCIX. Gregory, the twelfth, swore to resign for the peace of the \n\nchurch, but a collusion being discerned between him and Benedict, \n\nboth were are arrested A. D, 1409. \nC ex. Alexander the fifth, a Cretan, a man of great sanctity and \n\nlearning ; he deposed Ladislaus, king of Naples and Apulia, and \n\nsat but 8 months. \nCCXI. John the twenty second of Naples, by his consent a council \n\nwas assembled at Constance, v/here he himself was deposed, A. D. \n\n1414. \nCCXII. Martin the fifth, condemned Wickliff, burned John Huss, and \n\nJerome, of Prague, his followers. He sat 14 years, and died A^ \n\nD. 1431. \nCCXI 1 1. Eugenius the fourth, a Venetian, refused to appear at the \n\ncouncil of Basil, which thereupon deposed him, A. D, 1447. He- \n\nsat 16 years. \nCCXIV. Nicholas the fifth, of Genoa: in his time tiie Turks took \n\nConstantinople. He built the Vatican, and died in the eighth year \n\nof his papacy. \nCCXV. Calixtus the third, a Spaniard, sent preachers throughout \n\nEurope, to animate princes to war against the Turks. He sat but \n\nthree years, and died, A. D. 1458. \nCCXVI. Pius the second, an Italian, approved of the marriage of the \n\nclergy; and turned out numerous cloistered nuns. He sat 6 vears \n\nand was succeeded, A. D. 1464. \nCCXVI. Paul the second, he exceeded all his predecessors in pomp \n\nand show ; enriched his mitre with all kinds of precious stones \xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nhonored the cardinals with a scarlet gown, and reduced the jubilee \n\nfrom fifty to twenty-five years. He sat 7 years, and died, A. D. \n\n1471. \nCCXVIII. Sixtus,the fourth,procured a guard to attend his person; \n\nsat 13 years, and died A. D 1384. \nCCXIX. Innocent the eighth of Genoa, a man licentious in his habits \n\n\n\n682 P P E S F R M E. \n\nand of morose disposition. He sat 7 years, and 10 months, and \ndied, A. D. 1492. \n\nCCXX. Alexander the sixth, first acknowledged his nephews (as they \ncalled their natural^sons) to be his sons ; was incestuous with his \ndaughter, and died, A. D. 1503, of poison, which was given him in \nmistake, by his servants, instead of some cardinals, whom he had \ninvited to an entertainment, and for whom he had prepared it. \n\nCCXXI. Pius the third, proposed to compel all Frenchmen to leave \nItaly ; but died, in the interim, of an ulcer on his leg ; having sat \nbut 25 days. \n\nCCXXII. Julius the second, more a soldier than a prelate, excom- \nmunicated Lewis, of France, sat 10 years, and died, A. D. 1513, \n\nCCXXIII. Leo the tenth, burnt Luther\'s book\xc2\xab, declaring him a her- \netic ; Luther did the same at Wirtemberg, with the pope\'s canon \nlaw, and proclaimed him a persecutor, tyrant and the very anti- \nchrist. Leo died, A. D. 1522. \n\nCCXXIV. Adrian the sixth, a Low-countryman, made at his eleva- \ntion great promises of reformation, but being diverted, the Luther- \nans spread and the Turks approached. He died in his second \nyear, A. D. 1523. \n\n\xe2\x80\xa2CCXXV. Clement the seventh, of Florence, in his time Rome was \nsacked, and the pope made prisoner, by the duke of Bourbon; and \nthe pope\'s supremacy was rejected, in England, by Henry VHI- \nHe died, A. D. 1534. \n\nCCXXVI. Paul the third, called the council of Trent; prostituted \nhis sister ; committed incest with his daughter, and poisoned her \nhusband ; attempted the chastity of his niece, with other equally \nheinous crimes, and died A. D. 1549. \n\nCCXXVI I. Julius the third ; in his time, England under the reign of \nqueen Mary was reconciled to the mother church. He died, \nA. D. 1555. \n\nCCXXVIII. Marcellus the second, a Hetruscan, he esteemed the \nLutherans worse than Turks, and persuaded Charles V. and Fer- \ndinand to turn their forces against them. He sat but 23 days. \n\nCCXXIX. Paul fourth, the Neapolitan, a great patron of the Jesuits \nand their inquisition. Being hated for his crueltyj after his death \nA. D. 1569, his statue was cast into the Tiber. \n\nCCXXX. Pius the fourth continued the council of Trent, brought \nit to an end, and thereby settled and confirmed the interest of the \nchurch of Rome. His legates were forbid footing in England, by \n\n\n\nP P E S F R M E. 583 \n\nQueen Elizabetl. Venery and luxury shortened this pope\'s days, \nhe was succeeded, A. D. 1566. \nCCXXXII. Gregory the thirteenth, a Bononian. The massacre at \nParis was by this man\'s procurement ; he altered the calender to \nthe new style, which anticipates the old account ten days; he \nexcommunicated and ousted the archbishop of Coollen because he \nmarried ; would have deposed the king of Portugal, but was pre- \nvented. He sat 13 years, and then was succeeded, A. D. 1585. \nCCXXXIII. Sixtus the fifth, of Marca Ancona , He gave it as his \nopinion that there were but three potentates at that time, capable of \ngoverning; Sixtus V., Queen Elizabeth, and Henry lY., of France \nand Navarre ; although he had excommunicated them both. Six- \ntus died, A. D. 1590. \nCCXXXIV. Urban the seventh, a Genoese, ascended the chair after \nhim : he enjoyed his popedom but one fortnight, dying before his \ninauguration. \nCCXXXY. Gregory the fourteenth, of Milan: he held a jubilee, \nand exhausted all the treasury of the church, which Sixtus had \nsworn to expend in the recovery of the Holy Land; he pronounced \nkmg Henry, of Navarre, a relapsed heretic; his bulls were burnt \nby the hands of the hangman. He died of the stone, in the first \nyear of his pontificate. \nCCXXXVI. Innocent the ninth, a Bononian, ruled the church but \ntwo months. 1 year, 4 months, and 3 da3^s terminated the reign \nof four popes, A.* D. 1592. \nCCXXXVII. Clement the eighth, converted Henry, of France, to \nRomanism: was much troubled with the gout, but eased as he \nsaid, when the archduke Maximilian kissed his gouty toes. He \nwas succeeded, A. D. 1604. \nCCXXXVIII. Leo the eleventh, he came in with this motto over his \ntriumphal pageant, ^\'Dignus est Leo in virtute agni acciperi librum \net solveri septem signaeuli ejus , but a fever terminated his reign \nbefore he had sat twenty eight days. \nCGXXXXI. Paul the fifth, an Italian, promoted the powder plot ; \n\nand interdicted the the state of Venice. He sat 1 6 years. \nCCXL. Gregory the fifteenth, a Bononian, elected by way of adora- \ntion, sainted Ignatius Loyola, and quarrelled with the Venetians. \nHe sat two years. \nCCXLI. Urban the eighth, a Florentine, was elected A. D. 1623. \n\n\n\n684 P P E S F R M E. \n\nHe was more distinguished for scholarship than most of his prede- \ncessors; died A. D. 1644. \nCCXLII. Innocent the tenth, sat 11 years. \n\nCCXLIII. Alexander the seventh was chosen A. D. 1655, sat 12 \n3^ears, and was then succeeded A. D. 1667, by \n\nCCXLIV. Clement the ninth who sat three years. \n\nCCXLV. Clement the tenth obtained the chair in the year 1670, and \nsat six years. \n\nCCXLVI. Innocent the eleventh, was elected in 1675, and ruled 13 \nyears. \n\nCCXLVII. Alexander the eighth elected in 1689, and sat 2 years. \n\nCCXLVIII. Innocent the twelfth, was elected in 1691, and sat up- \nwards of 8 years. \n\nCCXLIX Clement the eleventh succeeded in 1700, and ruled 21 \nyears. \n\nCCL. Innocent the thirteenth, elected in 1741. He sat 3 years. \n\nCCLI. Benedict the thirteenth ruled five years. \n\nCCLIII. Clement the twelfth obtained the pontificate, which he held \nten years and was succeeded by \n\nCCLIII. Benedict the fourteenth who sat 18 years; died in the year \n1758. \n\nCCLIV. Clement the thirteenth, died, A. D. 1769. \n\nCCLY. Clement the fourteenth, died, A. D. 1775. \n\nCCLVI. Pius the sixth; he visited Vienna, 1732, to solicit the empe- \nror in favor of the church; took shelter from the French in Naples, \n1796; quitted Rome when the French took possession, Feb. 1793; \ndied the prisoner of Bonaparte, Sept. 1709. \n\nCCLVI I, Pius the seventh; crowned Bonaparte emperor of the \nFrench, Dec. 2d, 1804; deprived of all his territories by Bonaparte \n1808; made prisoner of Bonaparte, 1811, died August 14, 1823. \n\nCCLVIII. Leo the twelfth succeeded Pius and died in 1831. \n\nCCLIX. Gregory the sixteenth, reigning pope. \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nINDEX. \n\nAbsolution, nature of 226 \nAlexander IV., unites several societies of monks into one \n\nbody under the title of Hermits of Saint Augustine, 405 \nAlexander VI., infamous character of, 2 J \ndeath by poison 204 \nAlbert, Elector ot Metz, agent of Leo X. for the sale of indul- \ngences, 225 \nAistulphus, vanquished by Pepin, 48 \nAlembert, publishes the Encyclopedia in France, 57 i \nAlbigenses, persecuted by the church of Rome, 307 \nprotected by Raymond of Toulouse, 308 \ncaptured and massacred, 309 \nAll Saints, feast of, 58 \nAmbrosias of Candoli, attempts to reform convents, 448 \nAmerican ecclesiastical History, 500 \nAmerican Revolution, its effects on religious toleration, 503 \nAngelo Corrario, elected Pope, 161 \nAnagni, papal residence, 130 \nAnti- Catholic Society, its necessity, 552 \nits objects, 553 \nits means and operations, 554 \nApostolic Chamber, 193 \nApocryphal books, declared authentic by the council of Trent, 237 \nArnold of Brescia, is arrested at Rome, S6 \ntried and burnt, 87 \nAthenasius, 32 \nAuricular confession, origin of, 100 \nAuto da Fe\'s, their introduction, 331 \ncelebration before Philip H., 332 \nbefore Charles H., 338 \ncelebrated annually in the reign of Philip V., 333 \nmanner of celebration, 381 \nAugustine, misssion to England, 41) \nAugsburg confession of, 233 \nAvignon, residence of Clement V., 133 \nBarnabites, order of, 41$ \nBassi, Matthew de institutes the Capuchin order, 432 \nBaltazar Cossa, distinguishes bim?elf at the council of Pisa, 165 \nsucceeds Alexander V. as John XXHl. 166 \n3asle, council of, object of its convocation, 19,6 \n74 \n\n\n\nINDEX. \n\n\n\nattempts a reformation of the church abuses, 198 \n\ndeposes Eugenius III., I99 \n\nBaldwin, chosen king of Jerusalem, 84 \n\nBad Faith, 95 \n\nBartholomew Massacre of 252 \n\nBarzozowski Taddeo, General of the order of Jesus, 290 \nBerthold of Calabria, founds the Carmelite order of Monks, 404 \n\nBernardins, of La Trappe, 432 \nBenedict oi Anaine, assists in reforming the morals of the \n\nmonks, and restores the monastic discipline, 398 \n\nBacket, Thomas assassination of, 89 \n\nBenedict XII., attempts the reformation of the monastic orders, 140 \n\nBenedict XIII., election of, I55 \n\nreceives a deputation from Paris at Avignon, 156 \n\nblockaded in his pontifical palace, 158 \n\neffects his escape, 159 \n\ndeposed, 173 \n\nBernard de La Sale, 149 \n\nBesma, murders Admiral Coligni, 252 \n\nBishops, rise of power, 27 \n\nBishop of Rome, superiority of rank, 28 \n\nsuccessor of St. Peter, 29 \n\nbecomes, a temporal prince, 48 \n\nBishops of Alexandria and Antiocb, 37 \n\nBlood of Christ, worship of, 218 \n\nBoniface VII, succeeds Pietro di Mirone, 124 \n\nconvenes a council at Rome, 127 \n\nBonifice IX authorizes the sale of indulgences, 154 \n\ndeath of, 160 \n\nBohemia, civil war in, 189 \n\nBorgia, Roderic elected Pope as Alexander VI. , 203 \n\nBorgia, Caesar, 204 \n\nBook of conformities, 218 \n\nBonner, inhuman character of, 247 \n\nBossuet, bishop of Meaux, 284 \n\nBonaparte, Napoleon, suppresses the Inquisition, 338 \n\nBonaparte, Joseph orders the archives of the Inquisition to be \n\nburned, 339 \n\nBraquemont, Robert de liberates Pope Benedict XIII., 158 \n\nBull Clericis Lacois, 120 \n\nBull Unum Sanctum, 129 \n\nBull Unigenitus issued by Clement XI. 240 \n\nBurke, his character of the American colonists, 517 \n\nCarthusian monks, their institution, 400 \n\nCapuchin monks, order of 417 \nCarmelites, monastic order, 403-415 \n\n\n\nINDEX. 687 \n\nCatherine of Sienna, canonization of, 218 \nCaesarina, Julian, maintains the supremacy of the council of \n\nConstance, 197 \n\nCajetan, cardinal, summons Luther to trial for heresy, 229 \n\nCalvin, John advocates the reformatian in Switzerland 232 \n\nCardinals, College of condemn Luther\'s writings, 231 \n\nCeremonies, increase of 69 \n\nCelibacy of the elergy ordainedj 79 \n\nCeremonies of inducting a nun, 450 \n\nCenobites, primitive order of monks, 394 \n\nCharles V. enjoins his son to maintain the Inquisition, 331 \n\nopposes the progress of the Reformation, 233 \nCharles II., of Spain, requests the Inquisition to celebrate an \n\nAuto da Fe, 338 \n\nChastel, John attempts the life of Henry IV, of France, 487 \n\nChurch possessions, tenure of 27 \n\nChrysostom, John, 31 \n\nChilderic, dethroned by Pepin, 47 \n\nCharlemagne, 48 \n\nChurches, magniticence of in the 9th century, 58 \n\nCharles, of Anjou, 117 \n\nCharles IX., of France, persecutions of, 250 \n\nClergy, how supported in the primitive church, 27 \n\ncharacter of in the 10th century, 66 \n\nin the 14th century, 192 \n\nClovis, conversion and baptism, 39 \n\nClermont, council of, 83 \nClothildis, Queen of France, procures the conversion of Clovis, 39 \n\nClement XIV. suppresses the order of Jesuits, 491 \n\nClerks of St. Paul, 419 \n\nClerks of St. Maieul, 419 \n\nCongregation of St. Maur, 431 \nCortes of Spain concur in the suppression of the Inquisition, 338 \n\nConstantine, conversion of, 25 \n\ndefeats Licinius and becomes sole monarch, 26 \n\nConstantinople, Bishop of, 30 \n\nConsubstantiality, doctrine of, 32 \nConversion of European nations, 38-40-41-52-53-60-61 \n\nColonna Scianna, 1^30 \n\nConstance, council of, 167 \n\nConde, Prince of heads the Protestants in France, 251 \n\ntaken prisoner, recants his heresy, and receives absolution, 252 \n\nCohgni, murder of, 252 \nConstitution Ecclesiastic, made to approximate to tLe political, 28 \n\nCongregation for the propagation of the faith, 264 \n\nCongregation of the Holy Sacrament, 365 \n\n\n\n688 INDEX. \n\nCorgregation of the priests of foreign missions, 265 \n\nConfucius, Chinese philosopher, 266 \n\nControversies of Romish church, 273 \n\nConcordat, 288 \n\nCologne allowed to hold a jubilee, 153 \n\nCranmer, arrested by Queen Mar}\', 248 \n\nsubscribes a recantation of heresy, suffers death, 249 \n\nCrusades, origin of, 81 \n\nCrusade second, 91 \n\nCrusade third, 92 \n\nCrusade fourth, 112 \n\nCromwell, Thomas, appointed Vicar General of England, 473 \nemploys commissioners to investigate the condition of the \n\nmonasteries, 423 \nCromwell, Oliver demands the release of an English consul \n\nfrom the Spanish Inquisition, 351 \nDamietta, taken by the Saracens, 101 \nDaughters of Charity, an order of nuns, \xe2\x80\xa2 433 \nDeacons, their original office and duties, 27 \nDecretal epistles, 56 \nDestruction of the world, expected at the close of the 9th cen- \ntury, 68 \nDefender of the faith \xe2\x80\x94 title given to Henry VII. of England, 232 \nDeparted souls, feast of, 69 \nDellon, his narrative, 344 \nimprisoned by the inquisition at Goa, 344 \ncondemned to be burnt, but released, 348 \nDictates of Hildebrand, 77 \nDiderot, promulgates infidel sentiments in France, 278 \nDissensions of the eastern Roman missionaries, 266 \nDiet of Worms, 85 \nDyonysius, the Areopagite, 36 \nDominicans, order of monks, 403 \nDruid, ancient religion, 46 \nEclipse, on the day of Huss\' sentence, 185 \nEdwardVIL, reformation during his minority^ 245 \nEmigrants to America, their character, 511 \nEremites, order of primitive monks, 394 \nEthelbert, king of Kent, 40 \ntusebius attends the council of Nice^ 33 \nEugenius IV. accidental election of 195 \ntransfers the council of Basle to Cologne by papal edict, 197 \nattempts a reconciliation with the Greek church, 200 \nExcommunication, form of 208 \nExemption oi the clergy from taxation, 94 \nFathers of the Oratory \xc2\xa9f the Holy Jesus, 432 \n\n\n\nINDEX. 689 \n\nFerdinand VII., King of Spain re-establishes the Inquisition, 339 \n\nFerrari, council of excommunicates the fathers at Basle, 199 \nFerrar, Bishop of St. David\'s burned for heresy in the reign of \n\nqueen Mary, _ 247 \n\nFieschi Sinibaldo, 112 \n\nFlorence, council of, 200 \n\nFrederick Barbarossa, 88 \nFrederick V., electoral prince Palatine, defends the Austrian \n\nProtestants, 256 \n\nFrench Revolution, its effects on Monachism, 436 \n\nFranciscans^ order of, 403 \nGallican Church, denies the supremacy of the council of Trent, 238 \nGallileo, accused of heresy for maintaining the Copernican system, 320 \ncondemned by the Inquisition, and obliged to renounce \n\nthe truths of astronomy, 322 \n\nGardener, Queen Mary\'s minister, 244 \n\nGaietano, Benedict, 121 \n\nGeddes, Dr. observations on the Portuguese Inquisition, 341 \n\nGerman order of knights, 410 \n\nGerson, John, exposes the vices of the church, 193 \n\nGishela, espouses Rollo, the arch pirate of Nc^mandy, 60 \n\nGodhead, persons of, 32 \n\nGodfrey of Bouillon, leads the Crusade, 84 \n\nGoa in the East Indies, seat of the Inquisition^ 344 \n\nGregory IX. election and coronation, 117 \n\ncontest with the emperor Frederic, 114 \n\nerects the Inquisition into a tribunal, 310 \n\nissues a general bull against heretics, 311 \n\nGregory X., encourages a Crusade, 118 \n\nGregory XIL, defection of, 161 \n\nresigns the pontificate, 172 \n\nGuise, duke of commands the French Papists, 251 \n\nHawks, Thomas constancy of, 248 \n\nHermaiidad and Cruciata, a branch of the Holy office, 351 \n\nHenricans, origin and rise of, l02 \n\nHeresy of Arius, presbyter of Alexandria, 31 \n\nHermits of St. Augustine, 405 \n\nHelvitic Canton, proclaim hostility to the Roman Church, 232 \n\nHeresies, Bohemian origin and progress of, 181 \nHenry VIII. of England, renounces the authority of Rome, \n\nand places himself at the head of the English church, 232 \n\nappoints commissioners to investigate the monasteries, 425 \n\ndestroys the shrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury, 427 \n\nsuppresses the monasteries and Catholic Colleges, 427 \n\nis excommunicated by the Pope, 429 \n\nHildebrand, ambitious and turbulent character of, 74 \n\n\n\n590 INDEX- \n\nelected pope, 7g \n\nHonorius III,, sanctions the order of St. Augustine, 310 \n\nHoly Trinit}^, nuns of the. 41 5 \n\nHoly Alliance, its war against liberal priiiciples, 506 \n\ndetermination to exterminate republicanism, 506 \n\nHoly Sacrament, celebration of, 218 \n\nHooper, bishop of Gloucester, burnt for heresy, - 246 \n\nHome missions, their object, 55g \n\nHuss, John character of, ^ 181 \n\nelevated to the Rectorship of the university of Prague, 184 \n\nsummoned before the council of Constance, 183 \n\ncharged with heresy and sentenced to be burnt, 18& \n\nis executed, 187 \n\nHunter, martyrdom of in queen Mary\'s reign, 248 \n\nIglau, compact of, 190 \n\nImages, worship of, in the Eastern Churches, 49 \n\nordered to be burned, 50^ \n\nworship condemned and again restoredj. 51; \n\nImmaculate Conception, celebration of, 218 \n\nfeast established in honor of. 219 \n\nIndulgences, sale of bylBoniface IX., 154 \n\nnature and object of, 215 \n\nInfidelity, rise of in France, ^ 278 \n\nInterdict^ placed on FrancCy 96 \n\nIngerburge or Isemburg, divorced from Philip Augustus,, 96 \nInvestiture, dispute concerning the right of, 84-85 \nInscription, original, on the cross of Christ discovered, \' 220 \n\nInduction of Nuns, description of, 450 \n\nInnocent I., enjoins perpetual chastity upon Nuns, 413 \n\nInnocent 111., elected Pope, 94 \n\nInnocent IV., deposes the Emperor Frederic^ 113 \n\ndeath and character of, 116 \n\nInnocent YII., inefficient rule of, , 160 \nInquisition, origin and first establishment, 222-303 \nInquisition permanently established by the organization \n\nof the Augustine order, 310 \n\nIntroduced into Italy, 310 \ninto Syria, Palestine, and Spain, 312-313 \nattempts the extirpation of the Jewish and Mooritsh heresy, 316 \n\ngeneral operations, in the kingdom of Spain, 316 \ndisastrous consequences to that kingdom, *. 317 \n\nunsuccessful efforts for its introduction into England 322 \n\nobject of its proposed establishment there, 323 \nestablished in Portugal by Juan de Saavedra, and eon- \nfirmed by the Pope, 324-326 \n\npersecution of the Jews and Nevr Christians, 337 \n\n\n\ni \n\n\n\nINDEX. 691 \n\nresults of its introduction into Portugal, 327 \n\nnumber of courts, officials, and familiars in Spain, 330 \n\ninfluence on the national character, 330 \nInquisition under Philip III., Charles II, Philip IV. and \n\nFerdinand VI., 338 \nsuppressed by Bonaparte, 338 \ndeclared unconstitutional by the National Cortes, 338 \nrestored by Ferdinand VIL, 339 \nofficers of the Inquisition, their qualifications and powers, 349 \nauthority superior to municipal power, 250 \nits prisons, 354 \ningenious cruelties practised on prisoners, 357 \ndifferent methods of torture, 359 \nnumber of victims of the Inquisition, 389 \nIrene, Greek Empress infamous character of 49-51 \nIrish rebellion, massacre of Protestants, 257 \nIsabella, Queen of Spain approves the establishment of the In- \nquisition, 316 \nJansenists, conter.tion with the Jesuits, . 487 \nJames II., reign and flight of, . 259 \nJapan, dissemination of Christianity, 267 \ncontention between the Franciscans and Jesuits, 268 \nexpulsion and destruction of the Japanese Christians. 269 \nJerome of Prague, summoned to Constance, 188 \nconvicted of heresy and burnt, 188 \nJews persecuted by the Inquisition, 317-327-328 \nJerusalem, falls into the hands of the Crusaders, 84 \nretaken by Saladin, 91 \nJesuitism founded by Ignatius Loyola, 463 \nreceives the sanction and patronage of the pope, 469 \nobject of its institution, 470 \ns)^stem and policy of the order, 471-472 \nsecreta Monita, or Secret Rules, 473 \nincrease of the Jesuits in influence, numbers and wealth, 485 \npossessions in South America, \' 485 \nJesuitism in France favored by Richelieu, 487 \nCondemned by Parliament, and decline of, 489 \nJesuits banished from France and Spain, 490 \nfrom, England, Naples, and Portugal, 491 \nsuppression of the order by a Papal bull, 491 \nrestoration by Pius VIL, causes of its revival, 493 \nliterary and scientific character of the order, 493 \nlicentiousness and immorality of the Jesuits, 494 \nJoachim of Sora, publishes his Everlasting Gospel, 407 \nJoseph, Emperor of Austria, 279 \nJohn, king of England, deposed by Innocent III., 98 \n\n\n\n692 INDEX. \n\nJohn XXII., contends with Louis of Bavaria, 138 \n\ncharged with Heresy, 139 \n\nJohn XXXIII. , election and character of, 100 \n\nabdicates the papal chair at the council of Constance, 168 \n\ndeposed and imprisoned, 172 \n\nrestored to liberty and re-created cardinal by Martin V., 177 \n\nJohannes Scotus, 101 \n\nJoppa reduced by Richard I. of England, 92 \n\nJubilee celebrated bv Clement VI., 141 \n\nby Leo XII., " 293 \n\nJoan, pope, 55 \n\nKnights of St. John, order of, 409 \n\nKnights Tem.plar, 410 \n\nLa Chaise, letter of, 259 \n\nLatimer burnt at Oxford, 247 \n\nLateran council, the first, 85 \n\nthe fifth, 305 \n\nLa Trappe, monks of, 432 \n\nLeopold Foundation, its object influence, and designs, 526 \n\nLegends, their origin and character, 555 \n\nLeo X., authorizes the sale of indulgences, 224 \n\nprodigality of, 225 \n\nLeo the Isaurian, 49 \n\nLithgow, William, narrative of, 375 \n\nLlorente, secretary of the inquisition, 326 \n\nLoyola, Inigo de his birth, 463 \n\nperforms a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, 465 \nfounds the order of the Jesuits with the sanction of the \n\npope, 469 \n\nLouis the monk, reforms the monastic orders, 397 \n\nLouis XVI., opposes the progress of infidelity, 279 \n\nLuther, Martin declaims against the vices of the church, 228 \n\nelected professor in the University of Wittcmburg, 227 \n\ndenounces Tetzel and his associates, 228 \n\nincurs the displeasure of Leo X. 229 \n\nsummoned before cardinal Cajetan at Augsburg, 229 \n\nis pronounced a heretic and excommunicated, 231 \n\ndenounces the Pope as anti-Christ, and burns the papal \n\nbull at Wittemburg, 231 \n\ndeath and character of, 231 \n\nManfred, submits to Innocent IV., 155 \n\nMagdeburg permitted to celebrate jubilees, 153 \n\nMartin IV., election and pontificate of, 120 \n\nMartin V,, elected pope at the council of Constance, 174 \n\nMaynard, leader of the Bohemian reformers, ^ ^ 189 \nMaynard, Thomas English consul imprisoned in the Spanish \n\n\n\nINDEX. \n\n\n\n59S \n\n\n\nInquisition, SoO \nPv-^leased at the instance of Cromwell, 351 \nMartin, Isaac sufferings in the Inquisition of Malaga, 363 \nMonachism, its origin, 393 \nextends itself over the eastern world, and into Italy, 394 \ndifferent orders of original monks, 394 \ninstitution of the Benedictines in Italy, 395 \nrules of the order, and their adoption by the western monks, 396 \nmonkish kin\'j:s, and temporal ministers, . 397 \nmorality of the monastic orders, 397 \nattachment of the monks to the Papal throne, 398 \ninstitution of the mendicant monks, 402 \nenumeration of the several mendicant orders, 403 \nprivileges of these monks, 405 \ndissensions between the Dominicans and FrEnciscans, 406 \ndegeneracy and licentiousness of the monks, 4118 \norders of military monks, 409 \norigin, revenues, and rule? of the order of St. John, 410 \norigin of societies of female recluses, 413 \nrules for the regulation of convents, 413 \nincrease of nuns, 414 \nEnglish monasteries, 422 \nInquisition instituted by the Vicar General and his com- \nmissioners, 423 \nthe Lesser Monasteries abolished by act of Parliament, 424 \nentire suppression of religious houses, 425 \nmeans employed to reconcile the people to the change, 428 \nreformation among the continental monks, 430 \nMonachism in the United States, 438 \ngeneral review of the history and character of Monachism, 440 \nits hostile tendency and debasing influence, 441 \nis injurious to the national prosperity and wealth, 444 \nceremonies attending an initiation into a monastic order, 450 \nduties and occupations of monks and nuns, - 453 \nimpure practices prevalent in monasteries, 459 \nMissionaries of the Roman church, 530 \nMaris of Chalcedon, sustains Arius in the couiicil cf Nice, 32 \nMessiah, incorrect notions of! 14 \nMaxentlus, vanquished by Constantine, 25 \nMarcella, a Roman lady, suffers martydom, 20 \nMorigia, assists in the foundation of the Barnabitcs, 419 \nMaurus, introduces the rules of St. Benedict into Gaul, 396 \nMendicants, monkish order of, 402 \nMetropolitans, origin of power, 28 \ndeprived of the right of investiture, 208 \n75 \n\n\n\n694 INDEX. \n\nMelanctlion, drafts the Augsburg Confession, 232 \n\nMedicis, Catharine de, 250 \n\nMary, Queen of England, restores the Catholic religion, 345 \n\n. bigoted character of, 345 \n\nvictims of persecution during her reign, 250 \n\nNantz, edict of, 254 \n\nrevocation of the edict, . 255 \n\nfatal consequences of, 256 \n\nNarrative of a lady seduced by an inquisitor, 368 \n\nNavarre, marriage of the king of, 251 \n\nNew Christians, in Portugal and Spain, their sufferings, 327 \n\nNeri, Philip de founds the order of Priests of the Oratory, 420 \n\nNogaret, William of, seizes the papal palace at Anagni, 130 \n\nexpidsion and death of, 131 \nNepotism of Calixtus III., 111-201 \n\ngeneral practice of, by the Roman pontiffs, 207 \n\nNesmes, molestation of the Protestants at, 292 \n\nNice, council of, 31 \n\nNicene creed, 32 \n\nNicene council, the second, 51 \n\nNicholas 1, obstinacy of, 57 \n\nNicholas V., election and death of, 211 \n\nNormans, origin of, 61 \n\nNuns of the Holy Trinity, order of, 415 \nNero, fires the city of Rome, and charges the Christians with \n\nthe act, 18 \n\ncommences a persecution, 18 \n\nNormans, pay homage to Nicholas X. 74 \n\nmasters of the world, papal title, 77 \nOdi\'lo, abbot of Clugni, institutes the festival of all departed \n\nsouls, 69 \n\nOfficers of the Inquisition, their powers, 349 \n\nsuperior to civ^il authority, 350 \n\nOrdeal of Justice, 58 \n\nOrder of Cluojni, foundation of, 399 \n\nOrphans of Bohemia, destruction of, 190 \n\nOtho, the Great, g3 \nPaleareo, Aoneo, arrested by the Inquisition on the charge of \n\nheresy, ^ 319 \n\nescapes, is retaken and executed, 320 \n\nPaul HI., restricts the duration of torture, 360 \n\nParaguay, government of the Jesuits, 486 \n\nPastor, term of office and duties, 27 \n\nPanduiph, papal legate to England, 98 \n\nPcvleologus, John attends the council at Ferrara, 199 \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nINDEX- 695 \n\nPapal residence removed to Avignon, 1^3 \nrestored to Rome, 145 \nPascal assails the Jesuits, 4 57 \nPendulum, reath by, in the inquisition, 3^0 \nPeter the Hermit, 81 \nconceives the idea of rescuing Palestine from ihe infidelsj 8i \nexhorts the Princes of Europe to action, 82 \neloquence at the Council of Clermont, 83 \ndisastrous expedition of, 83 \nPeter, the apostle, claimed as the first Pope, 29 \nPeter-pence, its origin, 78 \nPeter, of Luna, chosen Pope, 155 \nPerpignan, retreat of Benedict XII., 163 \nPeter, of Caroza, elected Pope, 104 \nPepin, dethrones Childeric king of France, 47 \nPhilip Augustus, divorced by Innocent, 96 \nravages Piedmont, 107 \nPhilip the Fair, contest with Boniface, 12 3 \nPietists, order of founded 433 \nPius VII., restores the order of Jesuits, 491 \nPius II., asserts the supremacy of the papal power, 202 \nretracts his opinions, 202 \nPisa, council of summons the rival popes to attendance, 1 63 \nsecond council of, 205 \npronounces their condemnation, and declares the see va- \ncant, 164 \nPius VI., election of misfortunes and death, 285 \nPius VII., 286 \nofficiates at the coronation of Napoleon, 287 \nPicts and Scots embrace the Gospel, 41 \nPierre de Bruys, 101 \nPietio di Mirone, elected Pope, 121 \nilliterate character of, 122 \nresigns the pontificate and is imprisoned, 124 \nPlacentia, council of, 80 \nPhilip II., extends the inquisitorial jurisdiction, 332 \norders an auto da fe to be celebrated for his amusement, 332 \nPhilagathus, obtains the papacy, 65 \narrested and imprisoned by Otho III., 65 \ndeposed by the populace, and the former pontiflf restored 73 \nPetrobrussians, followers of Pierre de Bruys, 102 \nPopery in the United States, 499 \nPopular commotions at Rome, in the ] 1th century, 86 \nPope, origin of the term, 29 \ntitle assumed by the bishops of Rome, 71 \nPluralities, indulgence of, 136 \n\n\n\n096 \n\n\n\nINDEX". \n\n\n\nJpryrard, his account of the inquisition at Goa, 344 \nPrisons of the inquisition, description of, 352 \nPriests of the Oratory, order of, 420 \nPrivileges, demanded by the monks, 444 \nPoppo, bishop of Brixen, elected pope, 73 \nProvincial letteis of Pascal, publication and effect of, 487 \nPoland, king of assassinated by the Jesuits, 489 \nPierre de Chateneuf, death of, 208 \nPiccolomini, Eneas Sylvius, elected pope, 202 \nPatmos, isle of, retreat of St. John the Evangelist, 19 \nPliny, his account of the primitive Christians, 19 \nParaguay, establishment of churches in, 17 \nPharisees, Jewish sect opposes the religion of Jesus, 14 \nPontimaenn, suffers death in the reign of Nero, for the Chris- \ntian faith, 21 \nPlacidiis, introduces the rules of St. Benedict into England 396 \nPythagoras, claimed as a C arm. elite, 405 \nPort Royal, Convent of, 432 \nPlatonic Philosohy, prevalence in the Christian Church pre- \nvious to the reign of Constantine, 34 \nPagan Rites, imitation of, in the primitive Church, 34 \nPaliadius , mission to Ireland, 40 \nPella, retreat of the first Christians, 16 \nPopular Superstitions prevalence of, " 16 \nPlatonists, doctrines inculcated 13}% 23 \nPolycarp, suffers martydom in the reign of Nero, 20 \nPurgatory, Catholic doctrine of, 215 \nRaymond, Earl of Toulouse, refuses to join in the crusade \n\nagsiinst the Albigenses, 307 \n\nis excommunicated and charged with murder, 308 \n\ncompelled to yield to the church, and scourged in public, 308 \n\nReform, proposed at the council of Constance, 178 \n\nReformation, commencement of, 224 \n\nprogress of, through the agency of Luther and Calvin, 231-232 \n\nadvance in England, Spain and Bohemia, 232 \n\nchecked in England, by Queen Mary, 245 \n\nopposed by the French government, 250 \n\nin Austria and Ireland, 257 \n\nRegular Clerks of St, Paul, a species of monks, 419 \n\nReed, Rebecca Theresa narrative of, 452 \n\nRegalia, 45 \n\nRites and Ceremonies, institution of, 57 \n\nRichard I. of England, leads the Crusaders to Palestine, 92 \n\nRelics, veneration and worship of, 318 \n\nRing and crosier, investiture by abolished, 85 \n\n\n\nINDEX. 697 \n\nRidley, martyrdom of, 247 \n\nRichelieu, Cardinal persecutes the French Protestants, 255 \n\nfavors the Jesuits, 487 \n\nRicci, Lorenzo de imprisoned in the Castle of Angelo, 277 \n\nRollo, the arch pirate of Normandy, concession of, 60 \n\nRosary, institution of, 70 \n\nRokysan, conducts the Bohemian heretics, 190 \n\nRogers, John persecution and martyrdom of, 246 \n\nRochelle, protracted seig-e of, 254 \n\nRovera, Julian della intrigues of at the pontifical court, 204 \nRood of Grace, destroyed by bishop Hilsey at St. Pauls Cross, 426 \n\nRobert ofMoleme, founds the Cistertian order of monks, 399 \n\nRoman Catholicism, its designs in the United States, 500 \n\nRule of Faith, established by the council of Trent, 238 \n\nRainer, Saccho description of the Waldenses, 104 \n\nRules and penances of St. Augustine, 453 \n\nRules of the Ursuline order, 452 \nSaavedra^ attempts the introduction of the Inquisition into \n\nPortugal by means of forged bulls, 395 \nhis success, and approval of the pope, 326 \npensioned by Charles V., 32g \nSanders, burnt for heresy in the reign of Queen Mary, 246 \nSarpi, Paul defends the Venetians against the attacks of Rome, 271 \nSaladin, emperor of the East, character of, 91 \ndefeated by Richard I., 92 \nSchism, in the Romish Church, J49 \nScholasticism, prevalence of, 240 \nSchaffhausen, residence of John XXII. ]7q \nSchools of Divinity, 433 \nSee of Rome, founded by St. Peter according to Catholic au- \nthority, ... 30 \nSee of Constantinople, privileges extended, 3j \nSecreta Monita, or Secret Rules of the Jesuits, 473 \nShangti, Chinese deity, 267 \nScepticism, progress of in France, 278 \nSimony, universal practice of in the 14th century, 154-160 \nsale of the Pontificate, \'73 \nSigismund, interferes with church affairs, 171 \ninvades Bohemia, jg^ \nentry into Prague, jgQ \nSpinola, humiliation of, j 24 \nSmalcade, formation of the league of, 232 \nSt. Patrick, Apostle of the Irish, 4q \nSt. Michael, feast of, eg \nSt. Bernard, IQ2 \n\n\n\n598 INDEX, \n\nSt. Dominic, birth of, and accompanying prodigies, 305 \n\nmiracles, devotions, and penances, 306 \nobtains a commission for the extirpation of heresy in Italy 307 \nis sent among the Albigenses, and Waldenses, with the \n\ntitle of Inquisitor, 307 \n\norganizes the order of St. Augustine, 308 \n\nSt. Francis, an extirpator of heresy in Italy, 307 \n\nfounds the Franciscan Order, 403 \nSt. Benedict, founds, the Benedictine order of monks, at \n\nMount Cassino, 395 \n\nSt. Anthonys order of, 401 \n\nSt. Paul, the Hermit, 393 \n\nSt. Martin, erects Monasteries m Gaul, 394 \n\nSt. Theresa, reforms the Carmehtes, 418 \n\nSt. Maur, Congregation of, 431 \n\nSt. Bridget, nuns of, 415 \n\nStephen II., crowns Pepin King of France, 47 \n\nSaisset, Bernard de charged with sedition and treason, 127 \n\nSt. John, Lateran church of 141 \n\nSt. Paul beheaded at Rome, 19 \n\nSadducees, opposition to the Christian religion, 14 \n\nSigni, Lothario de succeeds Innocent III,, as pope, 93 \n\nSeville, Bishop of, author of decretal epistles, 56 \n\nSt, Syncletica, founds the first community of female recluses, 412 \n\nSultan of Egypt, letter to Innocent III., 116 \n\nSupremacy, Spiritual of Rome, 269 \n\nSylvester I II., obtains the pontificate, but is driven from Rome 73 \nTaylor, parson of Hadley, burned in the reign of Queen Mary, 246 \n\nTetzel, John publishes indulgences in Germany, 225 \n\nhis character and practices, 226 \n\nTemplars, suppression of the order, 134 \n\nTeutonic, order of Knights, 410 \n\nTheodora, character of, 62 \n\nThaborites, destruction of, 190 \n\nThorn, outrage of, 276 \n\nTheatins, a class of monks, 419 \n\nThomas a Becket, shrine of destroyed, 427 \n\nTien, Chinese deity, 267 \nTorquemada, a Dominican, appointed confessor to Queen Isabella, 315 \n\nobtains control over her mind, 311 \n\nTortures of the Inquisition, different method of, 341 \n\nTurin, Claudius de evangelical prelate of the 9\'th century, 104 \n\nappointed grand Inquisitor of Spain, \' 631 \n\natrocities committed during his administration, 317 \n\nhis character and death, 3^9 \n\n\n\nINDEX. 599 \n\nToleration In America, 500 \n\nTrial by the Inquisitorial Court, form of, 341 \n\nTridentine decrees, reception of, 238 \n\nTurgot, opposes the chuich, 279 \nTheodosius, the Great, elevates the bishop of Constantinople \n\nabove those of Antioch and Alexandria, 29 \n\nTheognis of Nice, sustains Arius in the Nicene council, 32 \n\nTolbiacum, battle of, 39 \n\nTitus leads the Roman army into Palestine, 1 5 \n\nbesieg- s Jerusalem which is taken by storm, 15 \n\nTorment, chamber of, 358 \n\nTomacelli, Pietro de cardinal of Naples, elected Pope, 153 \n\nTiberaide, battle of, ^ ^ 91 \nTrajan, Emperor of Rome, meditates the extermination of \n\nChristians, 19 \n\nPersecutions of his reign, 23 \n\nTours, Bishop of, introduces monasteries into Gaul, 394 \n\nUllerston, Richard, 194 \n\nUoum Sanctum, papal bull, 129 \n\nUniversity of Paris, attempts to heal the schism in the church, 254 \n\nUniversity of Cologne co-operates with the Parisian, 155 \n\nwithdraws allegiance from Pope Benedict XIII. 158 \n\nUnigenitus, bull issued by Clement XL, 240 \n\nUnited Brethren of Bohemia, 191 \n\nUrban VI.*, tumultuous election of, 143- \n\nrigid policy of Urban, 148 \n\nconspiracy against his life, 152 \n\nUrsulines nuns, order of, 418 \n\nUrsuline Convent, destruction of in Charlestown, 438 \n\nUrban IV., his pontificate, 114 \n\nValladares Don Diego de. Inquisitor general, celebrates an \n\nauto da fe at Madrid, 382 \nVails, Raphael execution at Majorica, 388 \nVan Halen, Juan de narrative and sufferings, in the Portu- \nguese Inquisition, 378 \nVaudois, heretical sect, 104 \nVenice, interdicted by Paul V., 270 \nindependent conduct of the Venetians, 270 \npeace effected, 271 \nVirgin Mar}*, worship of, 70 \nVictims of the Inquisition, estimated number, 389 \nVirgins of Love, order of nuns, 433 \nViles, John Baptist institutes a Seminary for the promulgation \n\nof the Catholic Faith, 265 \n\nVulgate, translation of the bible, declared authentic by the \n\n\n\n600 INDEX. ^^V"""^,, \n\ncouncil of Trent, ^ f 337 \nVoltaire, ridicules the Jesuits, > ys"- ^ 488 \n\nVincent, Paul de founds the order of Priests of the Missions 433 \n\nVienne, in Dauphine, residence of the order of St. Anthony, 400 \n\nVatican, standing army of, - " 409 \n\nVandals, Sueves, and Alans, converted to Christianity, 38 \nVi^aldenses, their character and creed, 104-307 \n\npersecuted by the Church of Rome, 307 \n\nWaldus, Peter, " 103 \n\nWalter, the Moneyless, 53 \n\nWickliff, birth and education of, 179 \n\ndeclaims against the vices of the Romish Church, 180 \n\nopinions of, 181 \n\nWilhelmina, the fanatic, a Bohemian woman, 403 \n\nXimenes, Francis Cardinal, his character, 314 \n\nopposes the translation of the Gospel into Arabic, 317 \n\nZachary, ratifies the deposition of Childeric King of France 47 \n\nZisca, heads the Bohemian insurgents, 189 \n\nZuinglius, Ulric advocates a reform in Switzerland, 232 \n\nZamora, sermon of at an auto da fe, 382 \n\nZorilla, the inquisitor, directs the torture of Van Halen, 378 \n\nZacharias, of Cremonia, founds the order of Barnabites 419 \n\n\n\nI \n\n1 \n\n\n\nDeacidified using the Bookkeeper process. \nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide \nTreatment Date: Jan. 2006 \n\nPreservationTechnologies \n\nA WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION \n\n1 1 1 rhomson Park Dnve \nCranbern/ Township. PA 16066 \n(724)779-2111 \n\n\n\nLIBRARY OF CONGRESS \n\n\n\n017 318 538 8 \n\n\n\n'