MY CONVERSION.
THE aversion which from this time I conceived for everything
savouring of Romanism,--pope, cardinals, bishops, priests, and
friars,--proceeded, no doubt, from the change which for several years
had been working in my mind. I already was no longer a papist, for I
had long ceased to believe in many doctrines which are matters of faith
in the Romish Church. I will now state how this was brought about.
While holding the head professorship of theology, in the college of
Santa Maria di Gradi, at Viterbo, and advocating and teaching, with
great zeal, the Romish doctrine, a very nourishing school, not only
of Dominican students, of which the college consisted, but likewise
of other friars and priests, used daily to attend my lectures, and
be present at our _circolo_, or "circle," as we call our meeting for
scholastic exercise, when a theological proposition is given, and
defended by a professor and a student, while other professors and
students raise objections. The exercise is in Latin, and in the logical
form of reasoning as held by Aristotle.
I had ordered that this exercise should take place three times a-week;
the theological lectures were five in number during that period, and
it sometimes fell to my turn to defend, while the others objected.
One day I was defending the doctrine of transubstantiation; one of
the best disciples in the school, whose name I feel a pleasure in
mentioning--Father Baldassare Conti, a Roman, who afterwards filled
the professor's chair of theology in the Minerva, at Rome, with much
honour, was on my side.
The question was, "Whether the bread and wine in the sacrament of the
Eucharist are, in virtue of the words of consecration, actually and
substantially changed into the body and blood of Christ, together with
his soul and his divinity." We maintained the affirmative, and three
or four others, with fictitious earnestness, denied the proposition;
advancing arguments which they had the precaution to assure us
beforehand were all borrowed from the heretics. The contest went off,
as it invariably did; we were, of course, right, and our opponents
wrong. The reasoning of my good and clever Conti, and that which I
contributed myself, were the _ne plus ultra_, for the school, and even
elicited uproarious applause. The heretics were discomfited, the Roman
Catholics triumphant. We were the two heroes who had gained the battle,
the laurel crown alone was wanting. Who after our arguments could
possibly have doubted a doctrine so boldly asserted, so powerfully
demonstrated? Who would have dared to have sided with the heretics,
viz. with those who denied transubstantiation? I believe not a shadow
of doubt entered the mind of any one excepting myself. In the midst
of this universal satisfaction, I alone remained unconvinced. To me,
the answers to the objections appeared feeble and inadequate. I was
disquieted within me. I asked the young Conti how he was pleased with
the "circle?" whether any of our answers seemed to him to want weight?
"I am pleased with the arguments I brought forward," he replied,
"and still more so with those that you yourself advanced. Indeed, I
am not aware that more could possibly have been said. But after all,
the matter is a mystery which cannot be explained by reasoning; faith
must come to our aid. Henry Moore, a celebrated Englishman, has well
observed, as Erasmus relates, _Crede quod habes, et habes_,--'Believe
you receive, and you do receive.'"
Of course, it was not proper for me to infect the young student with my
doubts; he was better pleased in having discovered, as he fancied, the
mystery of that religious impossibility than an alchymist would have
been in finding the philosopher's stone.
I had none in whom I could confide. My colleague and friend, Professor
Borg, was a man who would rather have renounced his reason, or doubted
of his very existence, than have denied a dogma of faith; besides
which, he was of opinion that such points ought not to be too freely
discussed.
"What did you think of our controversy?" said I.
"All went off well," he replied; "he is an excellent young man, that
Conti. What he said pleased me very much; and very true is that famous
verse of Salomone Fiorentino with which he concluded:
Vedi che in fronte ha scritto: adora e taci."
It would evidently have been useless to enter upon any discussion with
such a man as my good friend Borg; I therefore came to the conclusion
that I had better study the thing by myself, and endeavour to ascertain
the real truth.
It is this important question which so many have racked their brains
to understand in the Romish sense. The matter resolves itself simply
into this: Are the words, "This is my body," "This is my blood," to be
understood in a literal sense? Every one must see the absurdity of it.
The least consideration will show that Christ said these words in the
same sense as he said on another occasion, "I am the bread that came
down from heaven," and no one ever supposed that _He_ was actually
bread, and subsequently changed, or transubstantiated. A little
examination was sufficient to shake my belief in that doctrine which
I had hitherto professed. Would Jesus Christ have told us things that
were impossible to be? Now it is impossible, absolutely impossible,
that what is bread should at one and the same time be His body; and
that what is wine should be contemporaneously His blood. This cannot
be, either simultaneously or successively. The Church of Rome saw the
first to be an absurdity, and therefore held to the second. But how can
the body of Christ become bread, and His blood wine, if such change be
not in accordance with the laws of nature? Could Christ deceive us? Now
it is not true that bread and wine, according to nature, have ceased
to exist in the sacrament; for we see they do exist; that which we
see, touch, and taste, is natural bread and wine. Can there be faith
against nature? And yet that is against nature, which neither is nor
can be: whatever is, must be according to nature's laws. There may be
substances of a higher nature, and subject to superior laws than those
with which we are acquainted; but they can never exist in contradiction
to those laws, since nature herself, in that case, would be destroyed.
Therefore, what is bread and wine cannot be not bread and wine; God,
omnipotent as he is, cannot order it otherwise. But the sacrament,
after consecration, remains natural bread and wine; therefore it is not
the substance of the body and blood of Christ.
And what, I should like to know, would be the use of this pretended
transubstantiation? Would it merely be that the faithful might,
materially, eat the body and drink the blood of Christ? Now who does
not see that this so-called eating and drinking of Christ is entirely
metaphorical?
"The kingdom of God is not meat and drink,"[39] said St. Paul; "It is
the Spirit that quickeneth, the flesh profiteth nothing."
"The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are
life,"[40] said Christ.
The expressions, to eat and drink, signify to believe; to identify
oneself with; as also to accept anything with pleasure. "Kill, and
eat,"[41] said the Spirit to Peter; in the vision at Joppa, figuring
under the unclean animals, the Gentiles. Now, all this Peter well
understood, and never imagined he was to eat those animals, much less
the Gentiles that he might fall in with; but to convert and receive
them into the communion of the Christian faith.
Why, then, should we eat Christ? To believe in Him--to unite ourselves
to Him? But this is entirely the work of the Spirit, and has nothing
whatever to do with matter; on the contrary, everything material is
repugnant to this union of faith. Corporeal substance may be a type,
a figure of the spiritual, but nothing more. Baptismal water is the
outward and visible sign of the spiritual and purifying grace, because,
as the former cleanses the body from impurity, so does the latter wash
away the stain of sin from the soul. In the same manner as bread and
wine are the common daily food of the body, and as through them we
receive nourishment and strength, so the body and blood of Christ,
immolated and shed for us, are the continual aliment of our faith,
which gives vigour to our souls, and is the substance of our spiritual
life and salvation.
The words of Christ are truly divine; full of truth and wisdom. The
interpretation of the Romanists is a grovelling human conception; full
of error, falsehood, and absurdity. Christ could not better symbolise
the effect of his passion and death; and we cannot more grossly abuse
it, than by attributing to a sinful priest the virtue and power of
the Saviour: with the additional enormity, that what Christ has been
pleased to do once, a wretched priest pretends to be able to repeat as
often as he chooses. The doctrine of transubstantiation, considered in
relation to Christ himself, is a falsity and an absurdity; considered
as regards so many thousands of wicked priests, it is an impiety and an
abomination.
Thus did I reason with myself, and became fully convinced that such
was not the meaning of Christ's words; that such was not the Christian
faith; that such was not the belief of our fathers: and that thousands
of Christian doctors, in all ages, have refuted this doctrine of
transubstantiation, the author of which was _Eutichus_, a heretic,
whose dogma was presented to the Church by Pope Innocent III. who had
it confirmed by the Council of Lateran (1215).
In consequence of this reasoning, I already disbelieved in the virtue
of the Mass; which can only be a propitiatory sacrifice, so far as it
presents a true and living Christ, to be immolated each time it is
celebrated. Take away the doctrine of transubstantiation, and the mass,
in its grand essential, is nothing but a lie; a solemn imposture; an
actual sacrilegious assault against Christ; who being now glorious,
according to our faith, is also impassible; and as such, can neither
be "broken" nor eaten by us. To eat Christ! the bare mention of such a
thing is blasphemy. Far less was the crime of those who crucified the
Lord; for they knew not that he was Christ. What should we have said
to those, who, associated with Christ, and hearing from his own lips
the words which we read in St. John vi. 53, "Verily, verily, I say unto
you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood,
ye have no life in you," had straightway, from literal acceptation of
them, begun actually to eat His body and drink His blood? Which of his
disciples would not have exclaimed against such an act of barbarity?
And yet they would not have been more guilty than the theologians of
the Romish Church.
From this time, in saying mass I was no longer a Christophagus;[42]
I had ceased to believe in what I did. What then, in reality, was
the act I performed? I know not. I was like Luther, and many others,
who no longer believed the mass, who had rejected its doctrine, and
learnedly refuted its errors, but still continued to celebrate it. I
said it, indeed, as seldom as possible; always with a bad grace, as
if under compulsion, and frequently I could not restrain my sighs. I
was, moreover, ashamed of saying it in the presence of sensible and
intelligent persons; as if afraid of their censure for performing
an act, in the efficacy or virtue of which I no longer believed. I
contrived, too, to say it at those hours when there were the fewest
persons in the church, and at the most secluded altars. I always
refused solemn masses. In short, the mass, which for others was a
delightful service, had become for me a very painful one. I endeavoured
sometimes to regard it as a simple prayer, leaving out the idea of a
sacrifice or sacrament; but this was impossible when what is termed
the offertory was to take place, and still more so at the time of
the consecration and elevation of the host and the chalice. Although
I myself was no longer an adorer of the bread and wine, yet at my
mass there never failed to be some who adored, believing in their
transubstantiation, and therefore I could not help looking upon myself
as the agent of that idolatry.
Thus, I consider that the dogma which constitutes the mass, with its
double element of transubstantiation and propitiatory sacrifice, is the
most fatal of Romish doctrines, the most detestable of all heresies,
and the most abominable of all practices. Around this, as their sun,
revolves all the rest of the papal system. The power which, according
to this doctrine, the priest has of fabricating in a moment, not one,
but as many Christs as he pleases, and of offering them to God, as
victims of a sacrifice which in itself is enough to atone for the sins
of all, and to take out of purgatory by them, as many souls as he
pleases;--this pretended power, I say, is the occasion of so much pride
in the priests, as to make them think themselves privileged persons,
sacred and unapproachable; and to consider their head, the pope, holy,
infallible, and having all authority in heaven and in earth.
In disbelieving the doctrine, I denied the power. To me friars,
priests, and prelates all savoured of imposture; and the more I
advanced in spiritual light, the more I felt myself adverse to such
hypocrisy. The pope daily became more abominable in my eyes. In him,
or rather in his ambition, I saw a Lucifer, who, after having seduced
himself, had power to seduce others; thus causing the fall of myriads
of shining stars from heaven to hell.
Many say, "I believe so, because the pope so believes; if the pope
errs, I must err with him; if he were to call virtue vice, and vice
virtue, I must be his echo, and in all and through all follow him."
Such is the language of the Jesuits, from Bellarmine to Father Perrone.
"O ye foolish ones, who hath bewitched you?"
As my creed changed, so did my conversation. Lenient to the laity,
I was severe towards ecclesiastics; for the former I was full of
compassion, for the latter I had only reproof: their vices were
become insufferable to me; with their example continually before me,
I endeavoured to be as opposite to them as possible. They for the
most part were unoccupied and idle; I made it a rule to keep myself
constantly employed: they were generally given to gluttony; I was
habitually temperate: they were heedless, imprudent, dissipated;
inquisitive after other people's affairs, and intriguers in private
houses: I never interfered in what did not concern me, and was an enemy
to the intrigues and cabals in which they took so much satisfaction.
"Why do you scarcely ever go to hear confessions?" asked one of those
friars who delight in hearing them continually.
"Because you and your fraternity, not knowing how to employ your time
better, pass the whole day in listening to the business of others,"
answered I. "There is no reason that I should follow your example;
on the contrary, I do what you do not; I study to learn, that I may
be able to teach others: in short, I endeavour to be useful to my
fellow-creatures, in every way I can."
"Why do you so seldom attend choir?" was the inquiry of one of those
Epicurean friars, who had he not had the exercise of chanting psalms,
and singing at the top of his voice, would probably have had no means
of digesting his dinner, and preparing his stomach for supper.
"Because," I replied, "I have so many other corporeal employments, that
I am in no need of this."
"But prayer? that is a duty we all owe to the Almighty?"
"No doubt prayer pleases me when made in spirit and in truth. But to be
in spirit it should be free; not attached of necessity to the Psalms
of David. What have you said or done, by reciting three, six, nine,
or a dozen psalms in Latin? What have you achieved? I am sure you do
not know yourself. If you go to ask something from the superior of a
convent, your first care is that your petition should be at any rate
intelligible, and have a meaning. When you were in your own family, and
had any favour to request of your father, I presume you asked simply
for what you wanted. You certainly did not begin by reciting poetry,
or singing in Latin. And is not God, our first, our true, real, and
heavenly Father? Why then do we pray to Him in psalms? The most we can
do is to sing them in his honour and praise; but prayer, real prayer,
should be in our mother tongue; clear, expressive, and simple. My good
brother, he who doth otherwise, erreth; following false traditions,
and transgressing the commandments of the Lord. Remember what Christ
says, 'But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do:
for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking.'[43]
And observe the preceding verses. 'And when thou prayest, thou shalt
not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the
synagogues, and in the corners of the streets; that they may be seen of
men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. But thou, when thou
prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray
to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret
shall reward thee openly.'
"These are the reasons why I come to choir so seldom. I prefer offering
my prayers unto the Lord, in the seclusion of my chamber. I fear that
reproof of Jesus Christ:
"'Ye hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying, This people
draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their
lips: but their heart is far from me. But in vain do they worship me,
teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.'"[44]
These, and similar lessons, did I give to my companions in profession,
and as I perceived truths myself, so did I endeavour to impart them to
others.
Towards the end of my residence at Viterbo, I was made superior of the
monastery di Gradi, and also of two convents of Dominican Nuns. I had
for some time seen things in a new light, with a view to reform; I saw
not much, or clearly, as yet, but sufficient, nevertheless, to place
me far out of the common sphere. In Lent, 1833, certain friars came to
me to ask permission to eat meat, on account of slight indisposition;
and I was very lenient with them. The nuns came with the same request,
and I willingly granted them all they required. The rumour got abroad
that I allowed everybody to eat meat. Amongst the monks was a good old
man, the _Padre maestro_ Linares, who moreover was the confessor to
the nuns. One evening he came to my rooms, and said, that he ought to
address me with every respect; but that, as the oldest of the house,
a master of theology, and not to fail in his duty, he felt compelled
to represent to me the complaints of certain religious monks and nuns,
subject to my jurisdiction, which complaints were chiefly touching
the numerous dispensations I had granted for eating meat that Lent.
"At this rate," said the worthy father, "the precept of fasting would
be rendered null and void, were liberty accorded to every one not to
observe it;" (which was true enough.) "I think," added he, "that many
of those to whom you have granted the dispensation to eat meat, might
have abstained without much inconvenience."
"I think so too;" I replied, "but I wished to save them even this
little inconvenience. In short, they asked for what they wished, and
I granted it to them: I did not feel their pulse, or look at their
tongue, like a physician; I supposed they wished to eat meat, and I
gave the permission, precisely in the same manner as I should have
wished it to be granted to me, had I asked it of my superiors."
"Ah! you must not be so indulgent. This is a question of an observance
of a divine institution--Lent!"
"I think, on the contrary, I ought to be as indulgent on this point as
possible, bearing in mind the words of our Lord, 'And he called the
multitude, and said unto them, Hear, and understand: not that which
goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the
mouth, this defileth a man.'[45]
"Strive as you can, my good Father, to prove that Lent is of divine
institution, with all due deference, I cannot agree with you. I find
no ordinance of the kind instituted by the Lord; of Him indeed it is
written, that He fasted 'forty days and forty nights;' and it appears
that He took nothing during that time; but He has not taught us to do
it _now_. Our Lent is not therefore an imitation of Christ's fasting;
with us it principally consists in abstaining from certain meats, and
eating less of others. Both one and the other are human institutions
in Christianity; they are precepts of the Church, and articles of
tradition. To eat somewhat less at certain times, for us, who generally
live quite well enough, I consider a very good sanitary principle, and
as such I recommend it occasionally; but not so the abstaining from
meat altogether; which is often prejudicial to health; and, moreover,
what is substituted for it by the Roman regime is unwholesome, and to
many very injurious."
"But we are commanded to keep Lent."
"Granted; and I am authorized to dispense with the keeping of it, by
those who require it of me; and I do so with pleasure, and without much
importunity."
In this manner I was frequently led into a discussion upon the various
doctrines of the Church of Rome, which one by one glided from my belief
in an incomprehensible manner; insomuch that my very disbelief seemed
to be the effect of inspiration.
Frequently the decisions of my understanding were the promptings of
my heart. I was called by an internal voice in my soul to that which
I did contrary to the teaching of the Church. For instance, I became
displeased with myself whenever I went to confession. I as yet knew
nothing of the contrary doctrine, and yet I felt within me a conviction
that the practice of confessing one's sins to a fellow-man, was
not, neither ever could be, enough to form a positive command upon;
particularly one of such rigour: I felt all this before I was well
persuaded of its truth.
It is not possible, said I to myself, that this command should be of
apostolic date. I had not yet fully examined the question, but had
already decided it in my own breast. On this point, however, I ventured
not to speak to others. In fact, I altogether left off confessing. I
remember the last time that I related my offences to a priest, I felt
as much repugnance in doing so as the most timid child could have
experienced. My penitentiary was a certain Doctor Semeria, formerly
a Dominican, but then living in Viterbo, as a simple priest: a man
learned in many sciences, and one who had been professor of theology;
but that which redounded to his credit in my eyes, was his goodness
of character; his Christian simplicity, and his gravity of demeanour;
which obtained for him universal love and esteem. My friend, while I
was yet a child, was my confidant; he knew all my secrets when I chose
him for confessor; I did nothing without consulting him. To such an
one I had no difficulty in opening my heart, and disclosing all the
operations of my mind; but I found that I could not do it truly and
fully, unless in familiar conversation. The trust I had in him vanished
in the formality of confession. More than once, in the course of it, I
have been obliged to interrupt myself, and rise from my knees, because
in that attitude I lost confidence in my friend, who, perceiving my
embarrassment, would often kindly forestall me, and say, "Let us
converse without restraint."
Confession had at length become so odious to me, that I could no longer
bear it myself, nor endure the practice of it in others. People were
continually wanting to confess to me, and I always found some pretext
for not hearing them. From the earliest period of my ministry I had
been obliged to apply myself to this branch of duty. I was not yet
twenty-four, when I was sent, by the Bishop of Viterbo, to confess
even nuns. In 1830 I was appointed by Cardinal Gazola, Bishop of Monte
Fiascone, to officiate for a month as confessor and preacher in two
of his monasteries. The good old man chose me for his own confessor
likewise, (I shall have occasion to speak of him again;) Cardinal
Gamberini would have me, afterwards, at Orvieto. This man, reputed a
first-rate lawyer, was made prelate, then Bishop of Orvieto, afterwards
cardinal, and lastly, Minister of the Interior in Rome. He had never
been a theologian himself, nor was he much their friend, but a sworn
enemy of the Casuists. The priests in the neighbourhood were all
ignorant men; his own Theologian, for every bishop has to appoint one,
was anything but what his title and office required.
"I wish to confess myself to you," the Cardinal said to me, one day; "I
trust you will not deny me this favour."
"To say the truth, your Eminence, I do not like to confess any one
who has nothing but his sins to communicate to me; I have so many of
my own, that I hardly like to be burdened with those of other people.
A confession of sins makes me melancholy, and I feel that I am not
performing my proper duty in receiving it. Excuse the comparison, but
I really feel like an actor reciting his part; and this is a part I
know but imperfectly. If sometimes I am forced to play it, I do so as
well as I can, but it is painful to me to listen to a catalogue of the
failings and infirmities of other people."
"But I know that you do confess the common people, and even nuns; why
then will you not confess a bishop?"
"It is true, I am more ready to confess the common people, and I have
great patience also with the nuns; although I am so little interested
about their sins, that when they recount them to me I never speak;
letting them go on without interruption: and when they have finished,
I make but few observations, directing them to ask pardon of God, who
alone can absolve and pardon. I then dwell a little on the incidents
of their life, good or bad as they may be, and especially on their
peculiar habits; taking occasion to instil into them the moral precepts
of the Gospel, correcting their faults, and exhorting them to walk
in the way of virtue. Now, such schooling as this, of which both the
people and nuns stand in need, and which I adopt in the confessional,
your Eminence does not require."
"If everybody thought like you, we poor cardinals and bishops should
find no one to shrive us."
"So much the better; you would then confess to God, who alone is able
to remit sins. Does your Eminence imagine that the holy fathers ever
dreamt of confessing? Bishop Fenelon says that he sought throughout the
whole of their biography, and examined the minutest detail of their
lives, and their pious and religious practices, and found not one
single word about confession. 'We must therefore conclude,' he adds,
'that confession was not in use at that epoch.'"
"But those fathers were saints, and therefore did not require it."
"Saints, I agree, as far as holy life goes, far more so than we are;
but your Eminence, I suppose, would not infer that they were without
sin; for you must remember it is written, 'If we say that we have no
sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess
our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to
cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say that we have not
sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.'"[46]
"Well, St. John here says that we ought to confess our sins; and this
is precisely what I wish to do."
"I consider that the Evangelist here speaks of confessing to God those
sins committed against God; in the same manner as St. James speaks of
confessing to men those sins especially committed against men, when
he says, 'Confess your faults one to another.' Thus, for instance, if
I should offend your Eminence, I know I am in duty bound to come and
acknowledge my offence, and implore forgiveness; and your Eminence
knows equally well what is written: 'If thy brother trespass against
thee ... and if he repent, forgive him: and if he trespass against thee
seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee,
saying, I repent, thou shalt forgive him.'[47] Such is the law of
confession according to the Gospel; clear, and sufficiently easy for
the comprehension of the meanest capacity. Now, we must not confound
these laws with those of the Council of Lateran under Innocent III.,
and of the last Council of Trent. According to the Gospel of Jesus
Christ, we are only obliged to confess our sins to God; according to
the Canons and the Decretals we ought to reveal them also to a priest,
called a confessor."
This conversation entered deeply into the mind of the Cardinal, and I
believe produced a good effect; since, some years after, when I met
with him in Rome, he said to me, "I remember well our conference at
Orvieto, touching Confession; and the more I have reflected upon it,
the more true I have found it." Certain it is, that from that time
such were my sentiments; for which reason I desisted from Confession,
and counselled others to do the same, so far as their sins alone were
concerned. The case was widely different when I had to exercise my
ministry; not as regarded authority, with which I did not consider
myself invested, but for the sake of charity and friendship--then I
fulfilled it most willingly. I was the friend of all those who came to
confide their secrets to me, and to receive counsel and advice; and I
exercised this duty with the greater pleasure the more I saw they were
in want of it. I was particularly attentive to the instruction of the
young men, but as to bigots, I drove them from my confessional.
During the time of my ministry in the Romish Church, I have confessed
a vast number of persons--I should think many thousands, and of all
classes. At first I did so, in the firm belief that in virtue of the
power conferred upon me by the bishop, I really had authority to pardon
sins; and subsequently, my persuasion was that Confession, made to
a priest, as a sacrament, had the efficacy of obtaining pardon from
God, and that the words of the Absolution were a declaration to that
effect. In the first case, I acted, if not according to the doctrine
of the Bible, at least in accordance with the tenets of the Roman
Church. But in the second, I acted neither in agreement with the Bible,
nor with the Church of Rome. Under this conviction, then, it was that
I at last omitted the form of Absolution, as being unquestionably
anti-scriptural, and limited myself to a prayer, muttered between the
teeth, according to the usual mode of giving absolution; and in which
I asked God to regard the faith of those penitent people, granting to
them pardon of their sins, through the merits of Jesus Christ.
Yet even then I found occasion to accuse myself; since those who had
made their confession to me, believed that they went away absolved,
through the efficacy of my ministry. They were deceived, therefore,
in consequence of my silence; yet, on the other hand, if I had spoken
out, and explained my sentiments, they would have been scandalized and
offended at my not conforming to the usual custom. I found, therefore,
that the better way was to give up the so-called Confessional, wherein,
as the people imagine, the priest becomes invested with the authority
of a forgiver of sins; and to those who asked me to listen to them,
I proposed any place, excepting the confessional, where we could both
sit down, and have our conversation without any show of hypocrisy. This
system I began in Rome, and followed also in Naples; confessing many
persons, and even nuns, at the grating of the parlours; or rather,
I held a conference with them on their moral and religious wants;
terminating with a prayer to God, that He would pardon their sins,
through the blood of our Lord.
This system, however, could not be continued without my coming under
the notice of the Inquisition. In fact, when I was called to answer to
the charges against me, I was accused of having acted with contempt
towards religion--_in spretum religionis_--since I had not observed
the laws and ordinances of the Church. At last I was tired of living
in the midst of opposition. My conscience daily alienated me more and
more from the practices of popery, whilst my soul expanded to the
convictions of pure Christianity. I had taken an aversion to image
worship, to the adoration of relics, the patronage of saints, and
their whole catalogue of miracles. In Viterbo, I had often ridiculed
the history of the monastery di Gradi, in which it is asserted, that
in or about the year 1220, while St. Domenico di Guzman was on his way
through those parts, staying in the house of Cardinal Capoccio, bishop
of that city, Mary, the Mother of Jesus, one night appeared to both
the cardinal and the saint, and conducted them in spirit to the site
of the present church of the monastery di Gradi, where at that time
stood a forest; and here, addressing the two holy men, she said, "It
is my desire to have a convent established in this place for my dear
brethren the _Predicatori_, [Preachers,] where I shall be honoured,
and my rosary preached up by them." So saying, she burnt a circle in
the wood with a lighted torch, marking out the boundary of the future
building. Now, as the vision appeared to each of them, in the morning
they compared notes, and setting out together to the wood, found there
a circle actually marked out by fire. This history, which is entered
in the chronicles of the monastery, is received by the monks as a fifth
gospel. Was it possible that I should longer give credence to such a
story?
There is also, in Viterbo, another monastery of Dominican monks, called
_La Madonna della Quercia_; the history of which is, that an image
painted on a tile, and placed in an oak-tree, in the midst of a wood,
began performing miracles about the commencement of the fifteenth
century. Devout supplicants thronged from all parts, and the graces
that were bestowed, and the miracles that were performed, according
to report, surpassed the most sanguine expectations. Thousands were
said to have been healed of various infirmities; thousands to have
received, in various ways, assistance from Providence; in dangers, in
persecutions, in recovering lost property, and in retrieving their
honour. But the greatest and most astounding miracles of all were
those performed on persons who had been blind from their birth, and
instantaneously recovered their sight, by the virtue of that same
picture; and on others who eight days after death had returned to life.
These fables I had believed in, for a time, as true. Blind, like the
rest, because born in the land of darkness, I also, at one time, used
to go and pray to the image _della Quercia_ (of the oak). One miracle,
however, is certain, and that, too, the work of no other than this
so-called "Madonna," (a horrible figure of a woman with a child in her
arms,) namely, the enormous riches which rained down upon the _Frati_
for more than three centuries in consequence of it.
The monastery is very large, with a magnificent church, in the
_Bramante_ style, and surrounded by houses inhabited by the servants
and husbandmen, with their families, who cultivate the immense extent
of land belonging to the fraternity, which brings in every year a
considerable revenue.
There is a book upon these pretended miracles of the "_Madonna della
Quercia_," printed more than a hundred years ago, which relates them
with the utmost minuteness of detail. This book is sold to the
devotees who are continually going to the monastery in order to pour
their money into the treasury; and after I began to disbelieve the
influence of its vaunted Madonna, I named it the Book of Industry. It
is written in the worst possible style, and is full of grammatical
errors.
"Why do you not correct it?" said Father Pastori, who was at that time
the Superior of the monastery; "why do you not revise it, and render it
more readable? If you were to arrange the stories in proper order, and
dress them up in flowery language, it would be perused with pleasure,
and would tend to increase the number of devout worshippers of our
Madonna."
"Believe me, I should like very much to correct it as it ought to be;
but I am afraid, in this case, it would be much less readable than at
present."
"How so?"
"Because out of three hundred pages there would not remain one."
Upon this the old fellow began to grow angry. I will not here repeat
how many threats he thundered out against me for daring, as he said,
the displeasure of the _Madonna della Quercia_. Little evil, however,
has as yet befallen me, that I can trace to this cause.
One day this same old man, who, to say the truth, after all had really
a partiality for me, was holding a conversation with me and some
others, among whom was Cardinal Velzi, who, as well as myself, belonged
to that monastery, at least, to that section or family, though neither
of us resided there.
"I have been thinking," said Father Pastori, "of some way of reviving
the worship of our holy Madonna; it is very much on the decline; what
do you think we should do to awaken the dormant devotion of the people
in the neighbourhood? I remember when I was a young man, that all
the province of Patrimonio and Umbria, as far as La Marca, used to
send pilgrims, votive offerings, wax candles, money for masses, and
quantities of other offerings. Now, there is scarcely anything brought,
even at the two fairs, and all the rest of the year we receive nothing
at all. It is evident that the people no longer think of us, and that
their piety is becoming lukewarm. I wish, therefore, to rekindle their
devotion to the Madonna, and I think the best way of doing so would be,
to send about, through all the neighbourhood, the large picture of the
Virgin, with all the miracles inscribed around it; but as the engraving
is not a very good one, I have thought of ordering another upon the
same plan. What do you say to my idea?"
The Cardinal shrugged his shoulders, and neither said yes nor no. I was
silent also.
"Well, I say, what do you think of it? The present engraving was
executed more than two hundred years ago, and was retouched about one
hundred years since. It is now high time to have a new one, for it
seems to have lost its efficacy."
"I know very well," said Cardinal Velzi, "that these things pass
current among the people, as matters of pious belief; but the fact is,
there are too many of them in Southern Italy. I proscribed many similar
observances within my own jurisdiction, when I was master of the sacred
palace; besides, these miracles are not sufficiently attested."
"Your Eminence will doubtless recollect," added I, "how both of us,
two years ago, prohibited the image of the Madonna of the Augustines
of Viterbo, which was surrounded with a legion of devils, crying out,
'To hell with Viterbo.' This story is said to have originated at the
beginning of the fifteenth century, when one day a letter issued forth
from the sacred image, commanding the devils to quit the precincts
of the city, and to follow the said letter as far as it should go.
Off went the letter, and away went the devils; the letter fell to the
ground about a mile distant, and the devils all sank into the earth on
the very same spot; in perpetual memory of which event, even to this
day bubbles up a well of boiling sulphureous water, in the identical
place, which is said to take its rise from hell.[48] This Madonna has
ever since enjoyed the title of _Liberatrix_, or Deliverer. I had
frequent disputes with the Prior of the Augustines on this head, and
threatened to seize all his pictures, if he made a trade of selling
them. The only defence he could make was, that the engraving was
ancient, of the same epoch as that of the _Madonna della Quercia_;
and I recollect answering that I did not approve of the image _della
Quercia_ either, and that, for my part, I should do everything I could
to prevent the circulation of that also: what then do you think I
should do if I saw the image _della Quercia_, with all its pretended
miracles around it, restored? Oh! do not entertain any such idea,
my dear Father Pastori. I shall be obliged to oppose it, and I am
glad to see that our friend the cardinal is of the same opinion with
myself. And now, since we are upon this topic, let me, as a son of
the monastery, give you another piece of advice. This church of ours
has latterly become so filthy and disgusting, with its wooden and
_papier maché_ statues, its exhibition of heads, arms, legs, and every
other part of the body, presented as votive offerings for all kinds
of pretended cures, that, what with them, and the miserably painted
tablets, broken blunderbusses, rusty daggers, and other objects, which
disfigure the walls from top to bottom, any person of good sense would
be ready to rush out of the place at the mere sight of them. I should
propose, therefore, to take down all these things, whitewash the walls,
which is very much wanted, and put all these votive offerings, or
monuments of brigandism and superstition, into two or three large rooms
adjoining the Church, so as to form a kind of museum of curiosities,
for such as may feel inclined to inspect it."
The good old man could here no longer contain himself; but broke
out into violent indignation, exclaiming that I was an innovator, a
man whose opinions were of the most dangerous description, &c. The
Cardinal, however, interposed between us, and so the matter ended.
By this time the change in my manner of thinking began to be publicly
talked about. I was represented as not being one of those bigoted
_Frati_ who give credence to every religious lie, under the cloak of
"holy faith;" that I was no great votary of saints and relics, and
disbelieved all their miracles. Many other circumstances occurred to
establish this opinion of me, one or two of which I will briefly relate.
I was requested to write the religious life of Santa Rosa, the patron
saint of Viterbo.[49] This, however, I declined, on the plea that
Santa Rosa would not be over-well pleased with my work; upon which the
task was separately undertaken by my friend Dr. Selli and my uncle
Dr. Mencarini. The former produced a small treatise of little or no
importance, and I allowed it to circulate; the latter set to work in
good earnest, and forwarded a large volume to the "censor." Now, this
uncle of mine had been a second father to me, and was a man whom, of
all others, I loved and respected. He was versed in many sciences, a
man of refined learning, and a professor of natural philosophy; he was,
moreover, a man who shone in society, a sincere friend, a benefactor to
his country, and was universally esteemed and beloved.
I was surprised to see so large a volume on so trivial a subject as
the life of a poor baker's daughter; though she certainly showed a
great deal of talent in the part she took in the political disputes
between the Guelfs and Ghibellines, which occurred in her time; and as
she was on the pope's side, that is, for the liberty of the "commune,"
(for popes were liberals in those days,) she joined in the cry against
the Emperor Frederic II., she was consequently persecuted by the
imperialists, and ran through all the country, declaiming against them.
She died at the early age of eighteen; poor but honoured, and highly
eulogized by her fellow-citizens. The ignorance of the times attributed
to her the power of working miracles, and superstition "dubbed" her a
saint. There is no doubt she was a very excellent young woman, and as
such, and on no other account, do I honour her memory. I dare say my
uncle thought much as I did on the matter; but he got so bewildered
with the mass of materials which various earlier biographers had
collected together, that he did little more than copy what he found in
their works, without giving himself the trouble of investigating their
authenticity.
There are not in the whole world such _bonâ fide_ liars as the
writers of the lives of saints; for "the glory of God"[50] they allow
themselves every species of invention and exaggeration. Can a lie ever
tend to promote the glory of God? It is a principle I have never acted
upon in any case. My uncle was deceived by a parcel of old impostors,
and it was for me to undeceive him.
"Now," said I to him one day, "do you believe all you have written?"
"No," he replied; "I was disgusted with a great many things; but
I thought it my duty to write, or rather to repeat them, because,
having been asserted so long ago, they are now known and believed by
everybody."
"Now, my dear uncle, do not say by everybody, for there are ourselves
in this very place, who believe nothing about them; and who knows how
many others may not have the same good sense? Why should we, then, seek
to deceive the ingenuous and simple-minded, particularly the young, who
would no longer read the old trash about this said St. Rosa, unless it
were dressed up in the pleasing garb of a good style, and written with
a show of historical erudition? Is it not a pity--nay, a sin?"
"But if I were not to relate what has been already written and handed
down, what would there be to make a life of?"
"Little, I grant; my friend; little, but good. I should give the
simple truth. This same Rosa was a very worthy creature, and a woman
of spirit for the age in which she lived; full of courage, and loved
her country as much as any one. The priests represent her as devoted to
the pope; but I, on the contrary, maintain that she was devoted chiefly
to politics, and only in a secondary degree to matters of religion. In
fact, the people of Viterbo were almost all _Patareni_;[51] and yet,
between the pope and the emperor, they held most to the pope, because
he did not, like the Emperor, threaten the liberty of the commune, by
imposing upon them any particular code of laws, but allowed the people
to govern themselves by their own institutions. In short, to me the
actions of St. Rosa appear so entirely mixed up with the political
events of her time, that if I were writing her life, I should connect
it with the history of that period, merely as an episode."
"And who would you get to read it?"
"Everybody, except a few bigots; but perhaps it is for them you are
writing?"
These remarks appeared so far to influence my good uncle, that he began
to correct his great volume, which soon became reduced to half its
size, but gained double in value. Still, I regret to say, that some
stories were left which would have been far better away. The truth
of the matter is, that although I no longer believed in the miracles
of Rome's catalogued saints myself, yet I had not as yet acquired
sufficient courage to wage a war of extermination against them. I was
more severe with another relation of mine, Dr. Nicola Grispigni, who
had written the life of Lucia di Narni, a bigot, beatified by Rome. He
was at that time Professor of Rhetoric in the college at Viterbo, and
is now Bishop of Poggio Mirteto, in Sabina. He too had followed the old
biographies, and without any selection, had dressed up their worn-out
falsehoods in elegant modern phraseology. The manuscript was sent to
Rome, and duly approved, with the _nihil obstat_ from two theological
censors, and the _imprimatur_ from the master of the sacred palace;
and, as a matter of course, was about to be printed, when by chance
it fell under my notice. Never in my whole life had I seen such a
tissue of gross falsehoods. I immediately stopped the printing of it,
and referred it again to the master of the palace, and received his
authority to make all the corrections I might think necessary previous
to its publication.
"My dear Dr. Nicola," said I to him, "where on earth did you find all
the nonsense that you have put together in this volume?"
"In the biographies of the Beatified[52] Lucia, and especially in that
written by a very reverend Dominican, under the approbation of the
master of the sacred palace."
"I am delighted to hear it, but these relations are all evidently
untrue, and some of them are absolutely immoral. Such, for instance,
is that which states that a wife, in consequence of some vow, refused
conjugal duty to her husband,--a thing quite at variance with sound
morality. Here now is a story invented by some one in the first
instance, repeated by others, and now related again by yourself; and
which, having once more escaped the eyes of the censor, would have
been in print in a very short time. Had I not happened to have seen
it, the religious world would again have been regaled with the same
lies and the same imposture! And what is all this nonsense about angels
descending from heaven to minister to your _Beata!_ and all the saints,
and the Madonna, the mother of Jesus, coming down to hold conversation
with her! Away with all these fables; we have already too many of
them; they disgust even the most simple-minded. Religion holds such
falsehoods in abhorrence; they are called _pious_, whereas they ought
rather to be termed _impious_ beliefs. For it is highly impious to mix
falsehood with truth in order to mislead the understanding and deprave
the heart. You surely are not so simple as to believe everything that
is printed _con licenza dei Superiori_, under which authority you have
admitted all these foolish stories about Beata Lucia. At any rate I
cannot allow the reprinting of them. Revise your book, purge it of such
ridiculous matter, and I will then give it my approval."
My friend was easily guided, and having left out what he considered
the most difficult to swallow, the work was finished; but after all
I was too indulgent, and allowed much to remain which ought to have
been expunged: the fact is, as I said before, although I saw what my
duty was, I had not then the moral courage to act entirely up to it, a
courage which is the particular gift of God's grace.
My reformation must have been the immediate work of God, and therefore
from Him I felt myself destined to receive the perception and knowledge
of the truth. St. Paul gloried in having received the Gospel not from
men, but from God, through whose command he also received authority
to preach it. His reform was instantaneous, as was his conversion,
and they are wonderful in our eyes. A gradual conversion and a
progressive reformation are not so astonishing. The lightning flash
amid the darkness of night affects the senses in a far greater degree
than the opening dawn that gradually brightens into day. I imagined
I had already received the full day-light of truth, whereas it was
only that of the morning star, the sweet harbinger of a brighter day.
What shall I say then of my entire conversion? God alone knoweth. My
understanding unquestionably began to be illuminated about that time,
but the conversion of my heart took place at a much later period. I
began to be aware that we are not saved by our own merits, but by the
merits of Christ; I knew, moreover, that those merits are not imputed
to us by the efficacy of the sacraments, but by virtue of faith. This,
which I deem the only true system of salvation, I already taught in
the schools, preached in the pulpit, and sustained in public, as well
as in private conversation: therefore it was that I had incurred the
hatred of the priesthood, and of the Jesuits of the Romish Church. But
for all this I was not as yet converted at heart. So true it was, that
I did not at that time even understand the difference between these
two conversions. I was already a Protestant, but not yet sufficiently
a Christian. My life had not undergone a formal and complete change,
but only a partial amendment. My virtue arose from self-love, and not
from faith. I had acquired some practice in the habit of well-doing,
but was not yet guided by Divine inspiration. My heart had desires,
but not affections. I spoke of Divine love, but did not yet experience
it in my soul. Oh! what joy possessed me when I first began to feel
its influence. Oh! how delightful is the life of a believer. He lives
by faith. He may vacillate for a moment, but he soon returns to the
principle that forms the system of his life. The believer, far from
considering himself infallible or sinless, feels, on the contrary,
the weakness of his nature, trembles for his safety, and incessantly
humbles himself before God. True faith does not attribute to man
strength that he does not possess. Peter was weak when he believed
himself to be strong. Jesus Christ said to the Apostles, "All ye shall
be offended, because of me this night."[53] And what was Peter's reply?
"Although all shall be offended, yet will not I." And lo! Peter the
believer, who esteemed himself stronger than all his brethren, and
vaunted himself accordingly, met with the severest humiliation. Who
would say with Cephas, "If I should die with thee, I will not deny
thee in any wise?" To such a one the reply is ready: "Verily I say
unto thee, That this night, before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me
thrice."[54]
So true it is that conversion is the work of faith, and this comes
by grace. In me faith has been awakened after much experience,
accompanied by conviction in the understanding, and affection in the
heart. I thank the Lord, who has made me a believer through His grace;
and so much the more do I thank Him, as He has given me this grace for
the conversion of others. I felt the necessity of my giving up a system
which I had found defective in so many points, and experienced a strong
desire to assist others in getting out of the same mire. I could no
longer hide the truths I had discovered. I seemed a traitor to myself,
to my duty, and to the will of God, in concealing my enlightenment;
while on the other hand, I saw the danger of publicly acknowledging
it. The only way was, to communicate my principles in secret. But the
Inquisition is a tremendous power, it possesses every possible means of
discovering the most hidden secrets; and in that part of Italy where
its laws are in vigour, nothing is concealed from its penetration.
I began my mission in the manner I have related, and the Inquisition
soon commenced its proceedings against me. More than once did its
officers try to circumvent me, and arrest my progress; but the
beneficent hand of Providence was over me, and guided and protected
me; so that I never feared anything. No one knew better than I did the
artifices of that diabolical tribunal, and the means it employed to
hunt out its object. And yet I was not afraid; I felt a certain secret
assurance in my mind of my final success. I accordingly quietly pursued
the path that Providence and the hand of the Lord had opened out to me,
knowing not where my steps might lead me. I was like a man blindfolded,
but led by a faithful friend; sure of His care and love, I willingly
abandoned myself to His direction.
I will now state what happened to me on leaving Rome in 1835, as well
as what took place after my departure from Italy, in 1842. All which
will fully explain the complete history of my conversion; which,
while it has been to me the most fortunate event of my whole life,
will also, I hope, prove the commencement of an era in the history of
Italy which my fellow-countrymen have been expecting and looking for
during the last 300 years. I look upon this circumstance as the first
link of a long chain, that is one day to be completed. My individual
conversion and reformation will, it is to be hoped, be the means of
effecting that of many others; how or in what manner, I am unable
to judge; certainly not as calculated upon in the popish sanhedrin,
but according to the secret arrangements of the Most High. I read
in this conversion of mine a most extraordinary event: Rome did all
she could to retain me as her defender, as a theologian qualified in
every respect to serve her purposes; and I, on the contrary, against
the inclination of the natural man, did all in my power to show how
much I despised her service, and her flattering offers,--indifferent
alike to her honours and her gifts; drawing down upon myself her
eternal odium and vengeance. Still I must acknowledge, that it was
not myself, but a secret spirit within me, that resisted; overruling
my natural inclinations, and preventing my being led away by the
proffered allurements of ambition and wealth. I began to look without
apprehension on my position with respect to the Church, and my duties
connected with it. The dormant idea of Hierarchy had faded from my
mind, and that of Community occupied its place. I required not the
assistance of the pope to understand the Bible; I looked to the Saviour
alone to elevate my soul towards God. It had now become impossible for
me to remain any longer under so vile a subjection. Higher aspirations
came over me; I was led into other paths, through the adorable
dispositions of that Providence by whom the destinies of all men are
ordained; the same which, after having permitted for all-wise ends the
abomination of popery to dominate during so many ages in Italy, seems
now to will its destruction. So may it be. Amen.
FOOTNOTES:
[39] Rom. xiv. 17.
[40] St. John vi. 63.
[41] Acts x. 13.
[42] Christ-eater.
[43] Matt. vi. 7.
[44] Matt. xv. 7-9.
[45] Matt. xv. 10, 11.
[46] 1 John i. 8, 9, 10, c. v. 16.
[47] Luke xvii. 3.
[48] This is the famous Bullicame of Viterbo, a thermal spring, which
existed many years before this famous Madonna. Dante makes mention of
it.
[49] Every town in Italy has its patron saint, besides several
subordinate ones. Naples has its St. Januarius, and about fifty
subalterns.
[50] _Ad majorem Dei gloriam_, is the motto of the Jesuits.
[51] A class of heretics so called.
[52] _Beata_ is a degree below Saint, as Bachelor of Arts is below
Master.
[53] Mark xiv. 27.
[54] Matt. xxvi. 34.