Before I received these cautions, however, soon after my arrival in Rome, I paid a visit to the Dominicans belonging to the Minerva, to see after my friends there. The general of the Order, Father Ajello, was my principal inducement; he was a worthy old man, whom I had known in Naples, and highly esteemed. I was received by him with every possible kindness; he brought old times to my remembrance, and spoke gratefully of the attentions I had shown him in my office of Prior; with him I willingly took a cup of chocolate, which is the usual compliment the friars offer their guests.
And here I may observe of these friars, that some of them are at present exactly in a similar state of mind to what I was myself, while among them; that is to say, greatly desirous to be acquainted with the truth; as was the case with the blind man in the Gospel, when he exclaimed: "Lord, that I might receive my sight."[105] The opportunity only is wanted, or some impulse to occasion them to open then eyes to the light. Should any one ask them why they remain as they are, they might probably reply as the cripple at the pool of Bethesda, "Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool."[106] I have myself, on various occasions, seen so many persons who have evinced their desire for the truth which leads to the putting on of the new man, that I feel confident if the Lord would grant us to breathe the air of liberty once more, in our much-loved country, we should see, even from the very monasteries, men come forth as preachers of the Gospel, Apostles of the Truth.
A very small number as yet have had the courage actually to issue from their dens of corruption and death; and in those who have attempted it the step has not been altogether complete. Either from the want of sufficient means, or that the period which Providence has assigned for these great changes has not yet arrived, these brethren, who might make themselves so useful, are for the present content to remove themselves a short distance from Rome, and to take no further measures.
I have had the same experience, with others. Three years since a dear friend of mine in Rome, struggling between light and darkness, life and death, called upon by the Spirit to come forth, and retained by the flesh in bonds, wrote to me at Malta such moving letters, as almost brought tears into my eyes. "Pray for me," he exclaimed, "pray that the Lord may enable me to overcome in this conflict; pray that the Spirit may triumph over the flesh."
I showed his letter to my friends, and besought them to add their prayers to mine for the relief of our brother, who was undergoing the same struggle that I had myself endured, and the severity of which I knew full well. Soon after, I left Malta to visit England, which I then did for the first time. My route lay through Switzerland and France, and wherever I met any of our brethren in these countries, I did not fail to ask their prayers also, that our friend in Rome might have the strength to break asunder the bonds in which he was held, and to vanquish his spiritual adversaries. It appeared that our united petitions in his behalf to the Fount of mercy, were not without success, since before I returned from London to Malta, our convert was already there, expecting my arrival. He is now a diligent labourer in the Lord's vineyard, and it is to be hoped that our earnest supplications may be beneficial also to many others, who are now undecided and wavering. We are indeed often disappointed in our most sanguine expectations, and deceived in our most flattering prospects; but all we have to do is to commit ourselves to the care of the Divine providence, after having ourselves done our utmost, as faithful ministers in Christ.
In my last visit to Rome, I entertained the idea that among the various monasteries with which the city abounds, many would be found who would listen to the word of God with enthusiasm, and that a considerable portion of the monks would unite with me in the good cause. Accordingly, on my arrival I made a circuit among the monasteries, declaring the necessity of separating Christianity from Popery, as utterly incompatible with each other. I entered into the discussion of various particulars, and although I met with considerable opposition, the major part of my hearers listened to me with docility, and evidently derived advantage from my arguments. But when on the very point of conviction, of declaring their disbelief of the Romish faith, and of professing their adherence to the true principles of Christianity—when they were just prepared to abandon the Mass—it was then, even at the decisive moment, that I saw them doubtful, apprehensive, and vacillating in their resolution; and it ended with some of them avoiding me from that time, as if the very sight of me reproached them with their weakness.
I had an interesting meeting, in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, with my old friend and companion, Father Borg, a Dominican, and one of the Penitentiaries belonging to that Basilica; a good man and a sincere one; a papist from conviction, and thoroughly conscientious. He had been a Professor at the same time with myself, in the monastery Di Gradi at Viterbo. He was acquainted with every particular of my life; but I had not at that time let him into the secret of what was going on in my mind, with respect to my religious belief, as I deemed him unfit to give the matter impartial consideration. He had seen with the utmost surprise and consternation the events that had befallen me, and ignorant of what was passing within me, he could not in any way satisfy himself as to the great change I had experienced. From the time I had left Viterbo we had never met, but I felt assured of his regard. I could not, therefore, now remain in Rome without paying him a visit, and as nothing at the present moment forbade my doing so, revealing my sentiments.
Accordingly, I set off one morning for the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. The canons were chanting their regular service in the choir, and my friend was seated in his confessional, waiting for sinners to come before him to receive their pardon, and holding in his hand his long rod,[107] with which to touch the heads of those who should kneel before him. He did not expect to see me; I passed before him smiling, and saluted him; then turned back again, and did the same: at last he recognised me, and stretched out his hand to me, scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses.
"What, Achilli?"
"Yes, at your service. How do you find yourself?"