MY FAREWELL TO ROME.

In the month of February, 1835, I had so arranged my affairs that nothing stood in the way of my projected departure from the Eternal City. I hesitated some time, between two separate modes of accomplishing my purpose; a sudden flight, or the more regular way of setting out in due form and with the permission of the appointed authorities. The former would put an immediate end to all my embarrassment, and give me my complete liberty at once. I was at first disposed to adopt this method, but subsequently abandoned it, on reflecting that I should thereby give occasion to a great deal of discussion with respect to my reasons for so suddenly leaving Rome; more especially as I had never yet publicly given any idea that I was at all dissatisfied with her doctrines, or that I differed in opinion with the monks, or had quitted that faith which I had hitherto advocated to the world with so much applause. It only remained to me, therefore, to adopt the latter plan, which, in a quieter and more convenient way, would suit my purpose, and excite no troublesome inquiries. Accordingly, after due deliberation, I arranged all my plans and left the result to Providence.

Cardinal Serra di Cassano had requested me to preach during Lent, in his archiepiscopal church at Capua. I accepted the duty, and forwarded to the good Father General Olivieri my resignation of the post he had conferred on me; which he was pleased to accept, on condition that, as soon as my duties at Capua were over, I should return to Rome, where, he gave me to understand, fresh promotion awaited me. I made him no promise, merely hinting that it was possible I might return, unless God should think fit to order my steps elsewhere. He did not appear to comprehend my meaning, and my projects were confined within my own breast.

"I hope," said he to me, "you will present yourself to the pope. Cardinal Polidori told me that he wished to see you. I think it would be as well for you to keep up the etiquette in these matters."

"As you wish me to do so, most reverend father, I will go to the pope; but, to tell you the truth, I thought I might dispense with the ceremony."

"Why you know the pope has a regard for you; he frequently inquires after you; and it was only the other day he was talking of a dinner given by Cardinal Velzi at the Villa Salara, where he said he met you and Cardinal Castiglioni, before he became Pius VIII."

"I certainly remember that dinner, and the conversation I then held with Cardinal Cappellari, now Pope Gregory. He spoke very forcibly concerning truth, and his words will ever remain engraven on my memory; he extolled it as superior to everything, declared that it was God himself, that all truth proceeded from Him, and that all who obeyed the truth were the sons of God. He spoke of Jesus, the Christ, as the visible form of Truth, who being fully imbued with it, as St. John says, showed to the world that in Him, the Word, the Logos, the Divine Wisdom, was incarnate. He reminded me, that in His death, Christ bore witness to the truth; and we cannot better follow Him, and become like unto Him, than by a veneration for, and a strict obedience to the truth. And here, placing his hand on my shoulder, he added, 'My dear friend, ever advocate the truth; live for it, combat for it, even die for it, and God will be your reward.' This holy advice I listened to as if it came from an angel; at that moment I really believed him to be inspired. I remember also another remark he made. Cardinal Castiglioni had exhorted me to read Pallavicino's History of the Council of Trent; to which I replied, that I had already given it a perusal, as well as that by Friar Sarpi. 'Well then,' exclaimed the good old man, 'read Pallavicino again,'—and he thundered his words out so loudly, that some present thought he was angry with me. 'What's the matter with Castiglioni? asked Cappellari. 'He wishes me,' I replied, 'to read over and over again the History of the Council of Trent by Pallavicino.' 'He is so passionately fond of that history, that he advises every body to read it,' observed Cappellari; 'for my own part, I should like to see a third writer on the subject, who would give us the true account of that Council. But this work, which ought to be written in Rome, and from the archives of the Vatican, could never be published there.' 'Then,' observed I, 'the truth must not be spoken in Rome!' to which Cardinal Cappellari replied with a smile and a sigh."

Olivieri listened to me with profound attention, then wrung my hand, and recommended me anew to pay my respects to the pope.

There was at this time living in Rome a very respectable man, a certain Father Parchetti. He was well known to a great many people, but had few friends. His universal talent in all kinds of literature had gained him considerable reputation; he was of a liberal and kindly disposition, a keen investigator in all matters of science, and was more worthy of honours than he was ambitious in looking after them; he had, in fact, never received any promotion, simply because he despised it. Strict in his own habits of life, he was indulgent towards others: kind and charitable to the poor, and easy of access to all who were not themselves proud or overbearing. He was a great talker, and was sometimes sarcastic and even satirical in his speech, which arose from a naturally ardent temperament.

To the monk Cappellari he had been a friend, but to Pope Gregory he was an enemy. We had been acquainted with each other from my earliest youth; I never, however, talked about our friendship before other people, as he was in disgrace with the Court, and consequently his associates would have shared in the contempt bestowed upon him by their party. I had not at that time sufficient firmness to go against the tide, and boldly declare my opinion in his favour; but still I had a great regard for him, on account of his sincerity and truth; and I discovered in him so many estimable qualities, that I overlooked his trifling defects. He had frequently given me his counsel and advice. I had consulted him with respect to my scruples of conscience; I had laid before him my new theological views, and he had considerably enlightened me on the subject, and confirmed me more and more in my new opinions. I had recourse to him whenever I required advice. He first taught me what Rome really was—Rome, as influenced by priests and monks, by prelates and cardinals. Whoever wanted information respecting the papal court, applied to Father Parchetti, who knew the secret history of every one connected with it, and was perfectly well informed in the history of the Romish Church; his experience was of seventy years' standing, in the course of which time he had become well acquainted with everything that had happened in Rome, and every exact detail as to place, time, and person.

"Well," said I to him one day, "I am going to leave Rome. I thank you for your good advice as to keeping clear from the snares of office, and shunning ambition in my views. See how well I have eschewed everything of the kind! I am going to Naples, on the plea of having to preach at Capua during the ensuing Lent. I shall be heartily glad to leave this place; I most thoroughly detest it, or, rather, the people who govern in it, and sincerely hope never to return to it. I shall find some good reason or other to remain in Naples, when Lent is over; at any rate, I can petition for my secularization,[55] I shall then be at liberty; and in the quiet of private life, occupied entirely with my studies, I may hope to obtain tranquillity and peace."

"No, my friend," replied Parchetti, "do not hope for peace in Italy, under any circumstances. It is not enough that you keep quiet. You know full well, that among other evils to which those gentry who call themselves our masters are subject, is that of envy. Do you imagine they would let you rest? And suppose you quit the brotherhood of the monks, you would still be among the priests. Well, then, there is the bishop, and his vicars, and others of their set, who would load you with calumnies, and persecute you in a far greater degree than you have had to endure hitherto, and which your present strength would by no means enable you to support. Here there is no middle path; we must be either bigots or hypocrites, as they are, or become subject to their hatred and their malediction, and exposed to every danger and every evil, through their instrumentality. They have adopted as their motto, 'He who is not with us is against us;' and consequently, they reckon every one as their enemy who removes himself ever so little from their prejudices, their customs, and their society. He, moreover, who refuses to bend the knee before the idol of the Vatican, is, as you very well know, looked upon as a heretic: here, it is not God in whom we are to believe, but the pope. C—— and T—— are a couple of atheists; nevertheless, they were both made cardinals. But if you and I were to declare that we believed in the Bible, and in the Bible alone, we should be speedily handed over to the Inquisition, and there condemned as heretics—if, indeed they would do us so much honour; for they begin to be sensible that the term heretic is no longer one of so great reproach as formerly; but still, not to allow us to escape, they would give out that we were condemned for some offence or other against the civil laws, such as theft, adultery, and the like. There is poor Capistrano condemned to perpetual imprisonment in the dungeons of the Inquisition; I once asked one of the officials of the Holy Office what he had to say against such a respectable old man; 'He is a great scoundrel,' was the reply; and on my inquiring why he bestowed on him that epithet, 'Why,' rejoined he, 'because he is guilty of a great many crimes.' 'How?' I exclaimed; 'has he then robbed, borne false witness, or committed murder? But what an abominable thing it is to attribute crimes to so good a man as Capistrano! I will tell you what you yourselves are guilty of, and for which he has justly reproved you—the crime of Herod, who condemned John to death!' Now, listen to me, my dear friend: as long as you remain among either friars or priests, you will never enjoy a moment's tranquillity; but you cannot get out of their way whilst you stay in Italy. The first conclusion therefore is, that in this country you will never be at peace, since both friars and priests will unite to persecute you."

"And what, I pray you, is the second conclusion?"

"The second is, that as long as you continue in the priestly office you never can hope for rest in this country. It is not enough that you cease to be a friar, you must also cease to be a priest: both are equally bad; there is no choice between them; they uphold the same system, and the system itself is bad. You must renounce it altogether, if you would be at peace. But a great difficulty stands in the way; a great obstacle is to be overcome before this can be done; and it is this very obstacle that has hitherto prevented me, also, from shaking off this terrible slavery, which I have a hundred times desired to do. The difficulty I allude to is one which deprives an Italian of all courage; it is, that of being obliged to quit his native country; and for evermore to lose the idea of returning to it. Geneva, they say, is a fine city; and I have heard that in London, too, one may hope to find the means of subsistence. But another Italy we can never hope to see; and nothing, I fear, could compensate for its loss. I speak in a worldly point of view. Certainly, such a step requires courage. I can easily conceive that the first step is the grand difficulty; and, after all, a great deal is in our own imagination: but we Italians, like all southern nations, are swayed more by our imagination than by our senses; our understanding, indeed, may be said to feed upon it. Now, if you have more courage than, I confess, I possess, and can decide on taking the grand leap that will place you beyond Italy, I feel assured you will at length find peace, and become happy."

"This project of yours," I replied, "is the true, the only one; I have frequently entertained the same idea. But, as you observe, it presents a difficulty that appears insurmountable; to quit one's native country, to leave one's relatives behind us, to lose all one's property and one's means of subsistence, to reduce oneself to indigence, and undergo privations always more or less humiliating, is a sacrifice, my dear Parchetti, that a man is not always prepared or willing to make. There must be some great motive, or, to speak more correctly, some sudden impulse from above, similar to that which arrested Saul on his way to Damascus, to impel a man to do that concerning which he was before uncertain and irresolute. Perhaps the day may come when I shall myself be thus influenced; but at present I must proceed gradually, till I acquire greater experience; and I shall always submit to the will of God. As we are on this subject, however, tell me, Father Parchetti, and tell me sincerely for our old friendship's sake, what is your opinion of the Protestants? I speak of those of Geneva and London."

"You have chosen rather a dangerous subject to discuss in Rome; but, however, as we are alone, and no one can overhear us, I will speak out; and may it be for the glory of God and the advancement of truth! This is not the first time I have touched upon the argument between Protestantism and Romanism; and you know how excited I get on that topic, and how apt I am to forget the place I am in, and to whom I may be addressing myself. It has happened more than once that I have inveighed against the Holy Office in the presence of some of its officials, and have, in various public places, spoken pretty freely about Rome, likening her to Babylon, and Geneva to a second Jerusalem. It was fortunate for me that the Inquisition did not get hold of it. Since, however, I have up to the present day escaped being burnt alive, and since the ears of the public have become accustomed to my remarks, I do not imagine they will molest me, now that I am old. In fact, they content themselves with vilifying me in their own way; they call me a madman, a foul-mouthed fellow, who speaks ill of every body, and so on. And in this manner they repay me for the attacks I make upon them, which I do not cease from doing in the cause of truth.

"But to return to our subject. Protestantism is early Christianity revived, which protests against and denounces later Christianity; that is to say, Romanism, or, more properly, Popery. Having given this definition, the truth of which it is impossible to deny, I proceed to observe that I consider the Protestants are right de jure, but that the Romanists arrogate that right to themselves de facto. I will explain myself more clearly. The Protestants have the Bible on their side; their doctrine is founded on its truths, and, fortified with them, they boldly challenge the Romanists to enter the field of controversy. But against these truths papistical arguments cannot stand. For this reason I maintain that the Protestants are right de jure. On the other hand, the Romanists boast of their traditions, a series of alleged facts more or less ancient, altogether irreconcilable with Scripture, but received on the authenticity of respectable men, whom their own Church has dubbed as saints and doctors. These traditions have given rise to various decisions in councils, and these again have occasioned the celebrated decretals of the popes, bulls, and pontifical constitutions, which serve as so many dogmas of faith with all the upholders of Romanism. And this is how they possess their right de facto.

"Now, these two parties are similar to two armies, which have been opposed to each other for the last three hundred years; but they are by no means of equal strength: I speak of human strength. The Protestants have gained over to their side many men of learning and sense, yet they have hitherto failed in their attempts to overthrow the papacy; they have, however, humbled it, and prevented it from domineering over the whole of the Christian world.

"Romanism is nevertheless content with its de facto power, which it upholds through the authority of its doctrines and the activity of its Propaganda. It has proclaimed to the vulgar herd, that the holy men who have worked miracles were all of them of its own Church; and this assurance is sufficient for those who have no better principle to guide them than the criterion of authority. It has, moreover, found means to send its missionaries to all parts of the world. The great secret of Rome is this—money to send out missionaries, and missionaries to send back money. Whoever sees the expenditure of the Propaganda 'Fidei,' praises the zeal of Rome, and imagines that the pope makes an immense sacrifice every year, to supply the wants of such an institution. How many bishops, vicars apostolic, friars, and missionary priests, derive incomes from the Propaganda! And who supplies all this money? Is it Rome? and where does it come from? Again, who maintains the Court of Rome, with all its crimes and all its caprices? who, if it is not the Propaganda? Look at the offices of Rome—the Dateria, the chancery, the office for briefs, the council, the bishops and regulars, the rites and indulgences, sacred relics, and the like; whence do all these derive support? Evidently from foreign parts. And what, in return for all this money and protection, does Rome send abroad? Indulgences and quackeries. Who are they who sustain the Court of Rome, and the papacy, in all its ambition—I will not say its honour, because it never had any—if they be not the Romanists abroad? and not only they, but even Protestants themselves, now, contribute to the coffers of the Romish Church. How willing are the English to pay at our festivals! and Rome wants nothing else, desires nothing but money. She thinks herself the first power in the world, and has gone so far as to insult and hold in derision the Protestants. They must be good people, indeed, to submit to it, for they have it in their power to make Rome tremble, and reduce her to dust.

"But to return to the subject of religion. The Protestants have only one defect, that of being divided among themselves, and often waging war upon each other. And now I will tell you a secret, that you cannot know as yet; but I do. It is one of the artifices of Catholic missionaries (especially the Jesuits) to sow discord as much as possible among the Protestants; because they can afterwards profit by it, by fishing in troubled water, according to the common saying. So long as the Protestants will moot the question, whether their Church should be Episcopalian or Presbyterian, and go on excommunicating each other, Roman priests and friars will make proselytes from each party. Now, these good Protestants do not see how this very question is settled de facto, without noise, or rumour, or division, by the Romanists. They have their priests and friars; the former governed by bishops, and consequently episcopalian; the latter (and in these I include monks and regular clergy, &c.) subject to their superiors, who are nothing more nor less than presbyters. Consequently, this set, which exceeds that of priests in numbers, is, in fact, Presbyterian. Priests and friars have also their disputes; and it is impossible there should not be disputes amongst any body of men whatsoever; but they are soon settled: for both parties have the Church between them in common, as well as the pulpit and the confessional. There is no difficulty in passing from one order to another, as you well know; and when they do, they change not only their habits, but their rites, forms of prayer, and every branch of discipline. I do not see why it should not be permitted to Protestants to do so likewise. But, above all, what I blame is, that the Episcopalians, for example, shut their churches against the Presbyterians. I here speak of the ministers; because the people themselves would care little about mere forms, provided they find in their pastors (whether Episcopalian or Presbyterian) that spirit, and knowledge, and zeal, that is according to faith in the Lord Jesus Christ."

"My dear, friend," I replied, "what you say is excellent. It never struck me before, and certainly books would never have imparted it to me. I thank you for the lesson, and again repeat, that though I quit with sorrow the one Rome I so much love, I do so execrating from my soul the other that I so much hate; and who can say whether you do not hate it even more than I do, and did not hate it long before I did; for you have known it longer and better than I have! But tell me another thing, (and may the blessing of God be with you!)—Do you think this wicked Rome—this Babylon, as you call it, and which St. John the Evangelist calls 'the great whore,' 'with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication,'[56]—do you think it will always remain in such transgressions, or do you believe a day will come in which popish Rome will be reformed, and that we shall unite with the Protestants to form one only church; that is, one and the same body of believers in the pure doctrine of ancient Christianity? Tell me truly your opinion—do you prophesy that it will be so?"

"I will tell you what I think; but first I will say that which I believe. I believe that popish Rome will be destroyed. The eighteenth chapter of the Apocalypse strengthens me in this belief. I also think that papal Rome can in no way reform itself. Popes are bound hand and foot, so that they cannot move. Popery is become immovable—a petrifaction. Can she alter her creed to anything different from that composed by Pius IV.? She must first destroy the Council of Trent. Can the Latin Church return to the faith of the Greek Church, in all in which the latter is right? She must first destroy the Council of Florence. Can she, in short, be brought to approve the doctrine that the Reformers profess? and that, too, after having burnt as many of the Reformers themselves as she could get into her clutches? This outrage was first committed by the Council of Constance, by which those two holy men, John Huss and Jerome of Prague, were sentenced to be burnt alive! Would Rome, then, condemn the Council of Constance? The French, in one of their Gallic propositions,[57] (which, by-the-bye, is not prohibited,[58]) would come forward and say that the council is superior to the pope, and cannot be destroyed by him. So you see that Rome has deprived herself of every means of extrication, and shut the door upon the possibility of return.

"Papal Rome must therefore necessarily remain as she is, or cease to exist. But she will never die by her own hand, and she will make every possible struggle against any other that may be lifted up to give her her death-stroke; unless it be the hand of God, which, let us hope, will strike her so surely that she shall never raise her head again. So be it. Amen. And this may be the case even in our time. Do you not think, indeed, that she herself is hastening the moment, and that, as David says, she will fall into the pit she has dug for others?

"Yes, yes; the Lord blindeth those whom He wills to destroy. Rome is committing the greatest blunders every day, and does not know how to correct them. And the hour will come when she will make a last and fatal one. Can you guess what it will be?"

"Certainly not; but I should like to hear it from you."

"Listen, then, and remember it, because I shall not live to see it, although you may. I am already old, and the Lord will, most likely, soon take me to himself, before my eyes have seen the salvation of Italy.

"But now mark what I foretell. The war between Catholicism and Protestantism will be renewed. However improbable a religious war may appear, in these times of liberalism, it is nevertheless inevitable, and cannot be far distant. And Rome herself will be the exciting cause, inasmuch as the missionaries of the Propaganda, ignorant and blind as they are, and liars by profession, industriously circulate the report that through their labours all the world is about to be converted to papacy; that the Madonna and the saints are working miracles on every side. And so they will instigate Rome to commit some act of imprudence.

"Remember the case of Leo XII. who in 1824 created an Archbishopric of Grand Cairo; and, without any consultation with the Viceroy, appointed as archbishop that inefficient youth Cashiur, and gave him for vicar such a knave as Father Canestrari; sending them both to Alexandria, to make converts of all the Mussulmans, beginning with Mahomet Ali himself. The end of the affair was ridiculous enough, excepting for the condemnation of the poor Archbishop. But who can tell what was the real intention of Pope Leo and his advisers? Now what I foresee is this: the influence of Rome in the British Isles must produce its effect, which is that of converting many Protestants to our faith. If to the English and Irish missionaries which Rome has hitherto employed, those of Italy, and more especially the Jesuits, are united, proselytes cannot fail. In fact, they will be so numerous, and will excite so much interest, that Rome will be led to imagine that the time has arrived for her to take England by assault. Accordingly, the Pope will create Bishops and Archbishops, declaring the Protestant hierarchy completely null and abolished. England, not being prepared for this master-stroke of policy, will for the moment be too astonished to testify her sense of its audacity; but soon recollecting her former history, and conscious of her power, she will shake off the lethargy that has so long oppressed her, and permitted an enemy to enter into her house; and perceiving that not only is her substance wasted, but her rights usurped, and her Church outraged, she will do that which every person of sense would do, when conscious of having erred, of having been incautious, ill-advised, and imprudent: she will refuse to continue her vain indulgence, and will withdraw the hand of friendship from the Church of Rome,—she will institute new laws to prevent usurpation, and will drive away the aggressors, forcing them to restore what they have stolen: in short, she will destroy the nests of these crows,—the only method of preventing their increase,—and once more put them to flight, and banish them beyond her seas. England will do this the very day that Rome gives her sufficient provocation: and that day will be fatal in its results. Italy, wearied out with popery, will profit by the opportunity; all her strength will be exerted to break her old chains, and break them she will! The papacy will be destroyed in Italy by the Italians themselves; and the idol of the Vatican, before which the pagans of modern times have for so many ages bent the knee, will be driven into exile, an object of mockery and derision. Yes, 'the man of sin, the son of perdition,' who has seduced the world by his lies, will have the finger of scorn pointed at him by the whole world. This, my friend, is what I prophesy: when it comes to pass, recollect what my words have been."

These sentiments delivered by the good old man in the year 1835, now appear as if they had been dictated by inspiration.

One evening, Cardinal Polidori conducted me to the pope, who was in a very jovial humour. A Venetian priest, a friend of his Holiness, was present. The Cardinal conversed with the priest, whilst the pope took me aside, and, somewhat profanely, addressed me as follows:—

"What is the purport of this nocturnal visit? You follow the example of Nicodemus, who visited the Lord at night."

"His Eminence the Cardinal chose this time to present me. I am come to ask the blessing of your Holiness, before I set out for Capua, where I am summoned by the cardinal-archbishop to preach during Lent. The papal benediction will, I trust, be followed by the blessing of God."

"May the Lord bless you! After Easter, I hope you will return to Rome: is not that your intention?"

"I cannot promise. After so many years of fatigue, I need a little repose. I may perhaps visit Naples for a short period."

"Naples is a dangerous place to go to: its luxurious climate, its numerous attractions of every description, so powerfully enchant the mind that it is difficult to get away from their seductive influence. I hope you will not become a Neapolitan. But tell me, is there any particular reason why you are desirous to quit Rome? It appears to me that you are not quite satisfied with your situation here? Perhaps matters are not according to your mind at the Minerva. But the monks are not better at Naples than they are at Rome: I am of opinion that if you complain of them here, you will equally do so there."

"In that case, Holy Father, I should find means to separate myself from them altogether. Your Holiness would not withhold from me your permission to secularize,[59] as many others have done."

"And if that should not be sufficient?"

"God will provide for the rest."

I now began to be persuaded that my getting rid of my employments of Rome, of quitting the city, and even of abandoning the monks, would not be sufficient. Father Parchetti had foretold it all; the pope too seemed to be fully aware of my discontent, and to have a pretty good idea of what was to follow. Nevertheless, I had not yet learned to go boldly forward; I advanced in my onward path step by step, and passed through many states of sorrow and temptation. For example, though I already abhorred popery, I still continued to visit the pope, and even felt a veneration towards his person, which no doubt was the result of habit and early education. I detested the cardinals as a body, yet I was on friendly terms with several of them: there was no great harm in that. But with respect to the mass, although I was thoroughly persuaded of its imposture, and of the two great heresies in its doctrine, I still continued to perform it; certainly without devotion, yet with a show of earnestness: I very seldom celebrated it, but had not the courage to abandon it altogether. I became anxious and worn out, and felt a strong necessity to throw myself into the arms of a better faith, since my present one, so far from satisfying me, every day rendered me more and more wretched.

The importance I attached to this departure from Rome is worthy of remark. I seemed to be leaving it never more to return. On every former occasion of absence I had never thought it necessary to make parting visits to my friends; but now I sought out all my acquaintance to bid them farewell. Many days were consumed in parting and complimentary visits, which I had never before been accustomed to make. One day I was dining with Monsignore Cioja, the governor of St. Spirito, and two of that order of canons (which, I believe, is now abolished) were there. The discourse turned on Germany and England. One of these canons was a man of learning; not so the other: both of them, however, joined in the conversation.

"Do you not think Luther was in the wrong," said one of them to me, "in making himself the head of a church? And in England, what a farce it is to see the king placed at the head of religion!"

"You do not understand what you are talking about," replied I; "Luther never made himself the head of the Church; neither are the kings of England at the head of religion. Both the Lutherans and the Anglicans acknowledge no other head than Jesus Christ. He, as St. Paul asserts, is the sole Head of the Church. And for this reason, my dear canon, that a Church does not mean a body of priests or bishops, but a people and congregation of believers. It is very well that the bishops should have authority over the priests, and among all the bishops one must be the chief: in the Latin Church, the first, the head of the other bishops, is the patriarch of Rome; in the Greek Church it is the patriarch of Constantinople; in the Anglican Church there are two primates, who for the government of the Church, as regards worship, depend altogether on the king and the parliament. What do you consider objectionable in this?"

"That the king and the parliament," replied the other canon, "can understand nothing at all about ecclesiastical matters, as the bishops do; that the king of England and the parliament have never been addressed in the character or person of Peter, in the words, 'Feed my sheep;' that the king and the parliament have no apostolic succession—they do not belong to the hierarchy—consequently are not invested with any spiritual authority whatever."

"Allow me," I rejoined, "to make a few comments on your observations. You say, the kings of England and the parliament do not understand ecclesiastical matters. You imagine that the Protestant sovereigns are as uninformed in Church affairs, as the rulers of Roman Catholic countries, who require to consult their theologians on such points, (and these now-a-days are invariably Jesuits.) The sovereigns of England, of Prussia, of Hanover, of Wittemburgh, and other Protestant dominions in Germany, understand quite as much about religion as the pope and his cardinals.[60] The first study of Protestants, is the study of their Bible, in which they are all well read. In the British parliament there are men learned in every department of science; there are even bishops and their primates: in cases of difficulty it resolves itself into a council, in which religious questions, like others, are rationally argued, and brought to a settlement. No one among them pretends to infallibility; if the question before them is not made sufficiently clear in a first sitting, it is argued in a second, or in a third, until they are agreed upon it. There are no oracles in England or in Germany; these are for the benefit of Rome only: there are only believers; who, however are possessed of true Christian knowledge, and are under the guidance of the Lord. Now, it was to the believers that the words of Christ were spoken: 'Feed my sheep.' 'Peter' is not intended to denominate the person (his true name indeed was Simon), but it is an appellative; as when, for instance, I call you 'canon.' By Peter is to be understood every one who is a man of firmness and stability; in short, a believer. And for this reason it is that St. Augustine, alluding to these words of Christ to Peter, says more than once, 'What was addressed to Peter was addressed to all;' that is to say, to all believers. Quod dictum est Petro, dictum est omnibus. Therefore to you and to me, who are neither the Apostle Peter, nor his privileged successors; to us two, who are not even bishops, but simply believers, are the words of Christ spoken: 'Feed my sheep.' Do you see any difficulty now in this matter? If the sovereigns of England and the members of the parliament are in the true faith, have they not also the office of feeding the people committed to their charge?

"Can you define to me what is the nature of this apostolic succession, which is so much talked of in Rome? Is it a peculiar right of heirship which the apostles bequeathed you? And what, I ask, would be the nature of the bequest? The apostles were rich in faith, and consequently were full of the Holy Spirit and celestial gifts. As they had faith, they also possessed an understanding of the holy Word, and they had that Spirit which rendered their teaching infallible. Being full of faith they accomplished prodigies. But can you really believe that faith is transmitted by succession, and granted as a privilege to a particular class of men? According to your view, then, who would be the true successors of the apostles? The pope and his bishops? But are they grounded in faith, as the apostles were? If so, then truly are they their successors. But if, on the other hand, they are wanting in this faith, to which of the Apostles would they succeed? To that only one who was without faith; to Judas Iscariot.

"I can very well understand how Apostolic succession may take place among the true servants of the Lord—among those who live conformably to the Divine laws. Without doubt, this succession is bestowed on those zealous ministers of religion, who, in the midst of danger, difficulty, and privation, warm with holy charity for the salvation of others, bear to distant regions the name of Jesus Christ. Would you equally bestow the title on those fat priests, clothed in their rich gala dresses of various colours, who rise from their luxurious tables, glutted with the choicest viands, to repose on soft couches, or to seat themselves in their gilded coaches, and endeavour therein to digest their sumptuous meal?

"The apostolic succession through the laying-on of hands, is an idle dream; invented by priests, in order that the laity may not look at their vices, but at their dignity; and on account of that quality, at least, hold them in some sort of respect! Now I would propose, that if these persons are to be objects of public veneration, Judas Iscariot also, who was one of the chosen twelve, should be held in the same estimation by Rome.

"But let us return to the sovereign and parliament of England, who, according to your doctrine, ought to have no ecclesiastical jurisdiction, since they are not in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. That is to say, they are not of those for whom their mother requested of the Lord the highest offices in the church, saying, 'Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left, in thy kingdom.'[61] At that time it was that the first idea of a hierarchy arose among the followers of Christ. Concerning which project, however, I find no other approval on the part of our Lord than that contained in his subsequent words spoken to the apostles and to their successors: 'Ye know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them, and they that are great exercise authority upon them. But it shall not be so among you: but whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.'[62] Might not this, now, be the beginning of the ecclesiastical hierarchy?"

"St. Paul tells us that Jesus Christ himself 'gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers.'[63] Now here is sufficient gradation to form a hierarchy. And the apostle says, in another place, that there are in the Church of Christ 'diversities of gifts ... differences of administrations ... diversities of operations ... to one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom; to another, the word of knowledge by the same Spirit; to another faith by the same Spirit; to another the gifts of healing by the same Spirit; ... to another prophecy; to another discerning of spirits; to another divers kinds of tongues; to another the interpretation of tongues;'[64] &c. Now all this being of ordination, implies an office and a ministry derived from another. And we call this a hierarchy."

"On the contrary, I find that all this is operated in the Church 'by the same Spirit,' and 'by the same Lord.' 'There are,' says St. Paul, 'diversities of operations, but it is the same God that worketh all in all.'[65] Do you find a hierarchy in the human body? You are aware that the apostle has likened the Church to the human body. Listen to, and consider his words. 'For us the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ.'[66] And so it also is with the Church of Christ."

"But is there not a hierarchy belonging to the Church in heaven? Equally, then there must be one in the Church upon earth."

"Nego consequentiam et paritatem. It is no reason that because it is so in heaven, it must be so upon earth. Besides, I know nothing concerning the hierarchy in the Church in heaven. If by Church you mean the assembling together of human spirits, who are blessed in the Lord, in my opinion, they are equal among themselves, and God himself is over them all. They have neither rank nor office; nor have I ever been able to suppose who was the greatest among them."

"Was not St. Michael the Archangel called the chief of the heavenly hierarchy?"

"In that case, he would belong to the hierarchy of the angels; not to that of men. But the Romish Church finds a hierarchy everywhere. I assure you, I know of none; there is none mentioned in the Bible. How is it, then, revealed to us?"

This argument was long and interesting. On quitting the house, we crossed the Piazza, and all three (the two canons and myself) went into the Church of St. Peter. Before leaving Rome, I appeared to myself to be under the necessity of paying a visit to this church, which every time I entered it inspired me with different sensations. I had never been so devout as to worship at what is called the tomb of St. Peter and St. Paul, because (I believe the first time I entered the place) I overheard a priest say, speaking of this tomb, "I, for my part, have no faith in the authenticity of this; and I have good reasons for doubting it: if, however, it were not credited, who would come here to visit and to pray to the holy reliques, and fulfil their vows of gifts and thanksgiving?" Ever after this, I looked upon the place where so many lamps are burning and so many people praying, with great indifference. I never either knelt or prayed there, but always turned another way. On the present occasion, my two priests knelt down to offer a short prayer to St. Peter;[67] I, without taking notice of them, occupied myself with looking up into the cupola, till they should have finished.

"What a prodigy of art!" exclaimed one of my companions. "This truly may be called a church! In the whole world there is not another like it. I should call it the temple, per antonomasia, like that of the Jews. What say you? It must have cost its weight in gold."

"I should rather call it 'Haceldama,' or the field of blood,[68] since the price of it was not so much gold as it was blood."

"Truly," rejoined the other canon, "your remark is just: the field that the high priests purchased with the money of Judas, was so called. And St. Peter's was built with that derived from the sale of indulgences, sent into Germany by Leo X."

"Since we are on this subject," said the elder of my companions, turning himself towards me, "explain to me a little about these same indulgences. Is it true, as they say, that a plenary indulgence immediately introduces one into paradise?"

"No doctrine whatever," I replied, "is so completely incomprehensible to me as that of indulgences. According to what is stated concerning them, it would appear that the infinite merits of Jesus Christ, and of the saints, and of the Virgin Mary, are, by authority of the pope, bestowed on such individuals as perform certain prescribed works; one among which is the payment of a sum of money. Much has been written on the subject, as to the origin, nature, and effect of these indulgences; and all agree that there is in the Church a treasury or bank of these merits, and that the pope has the power to draw upon it, and dispose of it as he chooses. This is what is taught: it is of very little consequence whether theologians believe it or not, so long as the people do."

"You believe, then, that the theologians have no faith in indulgences?"

"I am certain they have not. Whoever attentively examines this doctrine finds it to be new, extravagant, and anti-scriptural. The early Christians knew nothing about it: there is no vestige of it in the writings of the fathers. How, indeed, can it be supposed that the pope has the power to apply the merits of Jesus Christ to a person who pays him a sum of money, or makes a pilgrimage, or prays before a particular image; or to one who persecutes the heretics, who delivers them up to the Inquisition, and does his utmost to have them burned alive? The Scripture teaches us that the merits of the passion and death of Christ are applicable to us through faith; not through the operation of any man, but from Jesus Christ himself, who is the only Head of the invisible Church, the only High Priest; as it is written of Him, He, 'because he continueth ever, hath an unchangeable priesthood. Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them. For such an high priest became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and made higher than the heavens; Who needeth not daily, as those high priests, to offer up sacrifice, first for his own sins, and then for the people's: for this he did once, when he offered up himself.'[69] Such is the doctrine of St. Paul concerning the merits of Christ and their application. As to the merits of the Virgin Mary and other saints, I conceive the inventors of indulgences are altogether mistaken, since no human being whatsoever has any merit due to him for his good works, as it is written, 'So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants.'[70] Certainly, no one of them has any overplus to bestow, as a legacy to the Church of Rome."

"What doings are these!" exclaimed the canon, turning to his companion. "Who, after hearing even these few revelations, can believe any longer in the virtue of indulgences?"

"My dear friends," continued I, "there are many other things I could tell you, should I have the pleasure of meeting you again. It is useful to discuss these topics, in order to elucidate the truth; if you cannot do so with me, at least do so among yourselves. Do not be afraid of reading books that are called heretical. You know very well that in this country, whatever is not in accordance with their own doctrines, the priests condemn as heretical; and it frequently happens that these doctrines are nothing else but what regards the mitre and the belly, as Erasmus said."

This conversation was not without its good effects. My two canons began to open their eyes. Some years afterwards I met one of them at Naples, who told me of a work on the Bible which they had undertaken conjointly. Their views were truly Christian. May it be the will of God that through faith they may be regenerated into newness of life.

I continued to pay my parting visits, letting all my friends know that I was about to leave Rome.

"You intend," observed some of them, "to return to us, we hope."

"I cannot say," I replied; "I do not think my return probable."

"Oh! but you will though," said Monsignore Ubaldini, "a canon of St. Peter's assured me that you would return to Rome to be consecrated bishop. The pope told Monsignore Acton so, the other day, when he was speaking about you."

"May Heaven preserve me from such a misfortune! If I could have foreseen such an intention on the part of the pope, I should have done all in my power to have got out of the way of such a chastisement from God."

"How! do you call a bishopric a chastisement from God?"

"And can you esteem it otherwise? The office of a bishop, such as it is at present in the Romish Church, is altogether unscriptural. Read the Epistles of St. Paul to Timothy and to Titus, and compare what a bishop ought to be, with what he really is."

"Well, if you were to be made bishop, you might begin by giving a better example."

"Yes, and that would serve to send me more speedily to the Inquisition."

"How! a bishop, for doing his duty, would be sent to the Inquisition?"

"Unquestionably. The first duty of a bishop is to preach a 'sound doctrine;' and that would be sufficient to condemn him at once. The doctrine at present taught by the bishops is no longer that of the evangelists or the apostles, but that of decretals and canons. Do you imagine, my dear monsignore, that I could be brought to tamper with my conscience, so far as to preach differently to what I thought? Do you recollect what I said to you, when Monsignore Acton and yourself used to come to me in an evening to study theology: that the foundation of this science could be found in no other place than in the Holy Scriptures? We ought, therefore, as soon as ever we perceive that any doctrine which may be offered to us is in opposition to the Scriptures, immediately to reject it. This you admitted as a principle. We had none of us at that time made application of it, but we were quite resolved to do so, when necessity might require it. Well, this necessity presented itself to me the moment I became aware that certain doctrines in the Romish Church are opposed to Holy Scripture. You, too, may arrive at the same conclusion, if you will take the trouble to examine these matters for yourself."

"Oh! that is not very likely to happen. My practice is, to rely entirely on the authority of the Church of Rome, and so I am spared the trouble of any investigation."

This maxim of Monsignore Ubaldini's, I am sorry to say, is generally adopted by men of mere worldly wisdom in the Romish Church. They allege that they are themselves not competent to judge in questions between the Church and the Bible, which of the two has reason on its side, and that it is consequently better to avoid discussion, lest their conscience should be disturbed thereby. "We have no business," say they, "to call the Church to account for any of her acts; we are bound, on the contrary, to give an account if we have not obeyed her." This is their argument, which is full of sophistry and deceit.

Two opposite feelings at that time influenced my mind with respect to my leaving Rome. I was convinced of the necessity of separating myself from a class of persons whom I held in such aversion; I longed to escape altogether from the city that I considered was polluted by their presence; and I must frankly confess that I could not help condemning to the utmost the whole race of priests, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven upon the Vatican, hoping that I should myself one day see the people, blessed with the light of truth, and aware of their own rights, rise up against their oppressors. All this made me desirous to hasten my departure from Rome. On the other hand, I was about to quit the land of my affection: a Roman by birth,[71] I loved my native country, as I love it now, and as I ever shall love it, while life remains. How then could I tear myself away without grief of heart? In the midst of my desire to depart, I was overwhelmed with affliction; at one time I expressed my satisfaction, at another my grief, at the thought of going.

In walking through the streets, I met on every side, lordly priests, who seemed to be the masters of Rome; cardinals in their gilded coaches, whose looks denoted their desire to be saluted by the passers-by. But I turned aside from their path, and looked on the people; that beloved people, who are not made to be the slaves of priests; an intelligent people, full of genius and good sense, exceedingly amiable in conversation, uniting wit and elegance of diction with judgment and discernment in their mode of thinking; a people proud of their traditionary history, with a natural superiority about them which the priests have never been able to overrule.

How frequently have I heard one of the laity disputing with a priest, and very often having the best of the argument! How frequently have I stopped to admire their various costumes, especially on festivals; and to take pleasure in witnessing their gaiety!

One day, passing along the Lungara, in the Trastevere, I observed a number of persons, chiefly women, collected together around one of those mendicant friars who go about relating visions and miracles to the people, to induce them to bestow more liberal gifts and offerings on their saints and their Madonnas. He had a box in his hand, like those in which church money is generally collected, and was just then begging baiocchi for one of his saints. I had the curiosity to stop to hear what was going on between him and the people, who were joking and laughing around him.

"Uncle Friar,"[72] said one of the women, "what a glorious life you lead! We poor creatures must work hard to get through the day; our husbands have to sweat to gain a morsel of bread; and we are destitute of almost every comfort; but you, through the favour of St. Francis, can live in plenty, without a single care; you have nothing upon earth to do, but to come and tell your miracles to us, in the hope of drawing a little money out of our pockets, for you are never satisfied. Come, work us a miracle, if you can; persuade St. Francis, who has such wonderful power, to cause us to find a good purse of money when we return home: I promise to share it with you."

"It is a good joke," observed another woman, "for the friar to seek money of us poor folks. Let him go to the pope; he has got plenty."

"Would it not be better," said a fellow who was standing by, "for the friar to make our fortunes, by giving us the lucky numbers in the lottery? We could give him rare contributions then."

"Well!" said the friar, "let me go; I see it is of no use my staying here."

"No, no!" exclaimed several voices; "you shall not go without giving us the numbers."

"These friars," observed an old woman, "have dealings with the devil; they are sure to know what numbers will turn up prizes."[73]

"I think," said a boy, "that we had better take the old friar home, and keep him without victuals, till he tells us."

Another proposed that he should be taken to the osteria, and well plied with wine, in order to get the secret out of him.

The friar consented to this latter proposition, on the understanding that the wine was good. Accordingly, off they set in a pretty strong body; and no doubt they got merry enough.

This little incident led me to reflect on the cause of the idleness and immorality of the common people; and I saw clearly that it had its origin from the example of this odious class of society, which shuns all manner of employment, detesting industry, and everything tending to produce; while, on the other hand, it is greedy to consume: a parasitical race, living entirely at the expense of others, and on the fat of the land too, without ever troubling their heads about its cultivation. Oh! how I should like to root out these impostors, scandalous alike for their slothfulness, their ignorance, and their vices.

These idle drones are the real cause why, in the southern parts of Italy, we find our population so generally inert and sluggish. They see these friars, who, like the ravens in the parable, "sow not, neither reap," enjoy all the necessaries of life. Is it not very natural that they should look with an envious eye on such an easy lot, and endeavour as much as possible to make their own like it? Let us hope, for the welfare of my dear country, that this worthless race may be wholly extirpated; and that in future, if any one be determined to turn monk, or hermit, he may do so in the best manner he can; without coming to disturb others, who in the holy bands of matrimony obey the Divine laws—let him, I say, separate himself entirely from the world, and live in a wilderness at once; and renounce in good earnest, and not in deceitful words, the comforts and the pleasures of society.

I was on the point of departure from Rome, when I received a summons from Cardinal Falsacappa. I had never been particularly friendly with him, and did not know that he interested himself about me. I thanked him for having, as he said, spoken favourably of me to the pope, and also for his courteous expressions. But the principal object of his desiring to see me was to keep me at Rome, or at least to obtain a promise from me that I would return, as soon as my business at Capua was terminated.

"No," said I, "I cannot promise what I do not intend to perform. Indeed, to tell your Eminence the plain truth, I do not mean ever to return to Rome again, unless a wonderful miracle should take place."

"And what would that be?"

I was silent, to give him to understand that what I had in my mind was not to be spoken in the ear of a cardinal, without danger. And in fact his Eminence appeared to take my meaning perfectly well.

"I understand," said he; "it is not always prudent to speak out: confidence can only exist between friends. A cardinal is frequently to be pitied, since he inspires no confidence, and never enjoys the delights of friendship."

"And what more than you already possess, do your Eminences desire?"

"I ask of you, what is it that we really possess, that is so valuable? You who are intimate with so many cardinals know what their life is. Are there in the whole world men more sacrificed than we are? Loved by no one, not even by our nearest relatives, we are frequently hated by our own brethren; and are certain to incur the odium of all those who desire our favour, protection, or interest, and fail in their hopes. Our very servants are often our enemies: they spy out our faults and make them known to the public. Every one praises us to our face, even to adulation; behind our backs their censures amount to calumny. Does this appear to you an enviable life? I think a cardinal is more an object of compassion than of envy. Our only advantage is in the opportunity we occasionally have of doing good to others. And if we always availed ourselves of it, it would be well for us; otherwise, even that is a misfortune. I mention these things to give you my own idea of a life which many esteem as so fortunate and happy. I cannot, therefore, wish you may ever wear a cardinal's hat. Far better is a private life."

"I am glad to hear this from your Eminence. You are not the first cardinal who has made these complaints. Cardinal Velzi, among others, frequently exhorted me never to desire a dignity like his own, observing that he himself would gladly relinquish it. For my part, I make my bow to their Eminences, and do not trouble my head with their affairs."

"I understand—you have but little veneration for them. But I do not wish to assume the Cardinal over you. Consider me as a friend, and speak to me as such."

"Well, then, to a friend I should in all confidence say, that I leave Rome grieved at heart, on account of the abominable acts of the government, and the false and anti-scriptural character of the Church. I would say to a friend, that, having no longer any hope of seeing things mend, in so corrupted a system, my prayer was, that all that was incapable of being reformed might be cut off. All this I should say to a friend, though not to a cardinal. It would need no explanation, since the political and religious state of Rome is sufficiently notorious."

The good Cardinal sighed; he sought, however, to persuade me that under such circumstances a good man ought not to abandon his country, but rather remain in it, and endeavour to be of use. I convinced him, however, that the idea was altogether hopeless; that neither he nor I, even with the assistance of some few others, whom we might be able to rely upon, could do anything towards the reforming of that which was old and callous. It had been tried before, and without success, and the lives of those who made the attempt were sacrificed. And here, I remember the poor Cardinal threw his arms round my neck, almost weeping.

"All honest men, then," he exclaimed, "all real lovers of their country, will abandon us! Surely the wrath of God hangs over us.... May I be taken hence before I see the punishment that is preparing for this unhappy country!"

Such were the parting words of the good man, as he dismissed me from his presence. It is well known how he subsequently was the victim of his own philanthropy.[74] I next visited Cardinal Micara, an old friend of mine, long before he found out that I was also intimate with Luigi da Bagnaja, his enemy and rival, but whom I esteemed for his many good qualities. I esteemed Micara also for his talents and his liberality, and above all things, I liked to hear him declaim against the Court of Rome. No cardinal was ever so severe as he was, against the vices and luxury of this court. He always himself, on gala days, appeared in his old shabby dark-coloured coach, drawn by very ordinary horses, and with servants in the plainest livery. He generally resided in the Capuchin monastery, where he dined with the monks, on the common fare. Being made Bishop of Frascati, he inhabited an apartment in the Seminary, and accustomed himself to the same table as the Professors. He would have been accounted an excellent man, in every respect, had he not retained too much of his early education in the cloister, which rendered him jealous, invidious, and censorious; faults too generally the result of an intercourse with the brotherhood.

The Cardinal was not much liked by his colleagues. I have frequently heard them openly abuse him. This, however, was by no means to his disadvantage; indeed, the common people, who instinctively hate the whole race of cardinals, liked him all the better on that account. Many of his sayings were in great repute among them, as well as many passages in his discourses before the pope and cardinals, in which he boldly denounced the manner of living among these "princes of the Church."

At length, having paid and received all my visits, I quitted Rome with a lacerated heart. I had never before experienced so much reluctance to absent myself as I felt on the present occasion. I seemed to have given up so many things! I could not express my sensations: I was like one who is obliged to leave his family at the very moment when they most require his assistance! I was separated from them in body, but present in spirit. My affections were divided between love for the people, and hatred for the priests. Yet, although I was overcome with grief, I did not despair. I remembered our Redeemer, who wept over Jerusalem; and my trust in the providence of the Almighty was a balm to my soul. A voice appeared to sound in my ears, with words of comfort to my heart—"Weep not, endure yet for a season, and you will witness the salvation of your country!"

"Farewell, Rome!" I exclaimed; "the land of my fathers, the country of my predilection. Thou hast had a glorious page in the annals of the world; thou hast enjoyed a state that no other land can boast, the memory of which will endure to all generations. But what now remains of all thy former grandeur? A melancholy recollection! On every side we behold the remains of thine opulence, thy beauty, and thy prosperity. Such was Rome! Her name only now remains: her existence is gone; but the name lives, and will long be preserved. Let us, however, hope she may yet revive; not the Rome of the CÆsars, but of the people; not the haunt of superstition, but the abode of truth. Alas! at the present moment, where is the boasted wisdom of the senate, the majesty of the people? A foolish government dishonours, an evil one persecutes us, and renders the descendants of heroes imbecile and depraved. Farewell, then, Rome of the priesthood! The mists from the Tiber are thickening around thee, and shutting out from thy sight the Vatican which has enslaved thee with its sorceries. Oh, my beloved Rome! a sun is arising in the east which shall gladden all around, and dispel the darkness of the horizon: a sun which shall not again be obscured."

Thus did I bid adieu to Rome. And what was to be my future destiny? I knew not. My going to Naples was a mere pretext to enable me to get away. I felt a strong impulse to extend my journey to a far greater distance. The idea of a more spiritual separation from Rome was also busy in my brain; a separation more complete than could be effected by any distance of sea or land; and for this, unconsciously to myself, everything was preparing. The ways of the Lord are different from our ways, they are the dispositions of that adorable Providence which regulates alike the most trifling and the most important actions of our lives.

[55] The relinquishing of the religious habit and office, for that of the secular clergy.